"Falling in love" really ought to be "choosing to love".
Men seem to "fall in love" while women seem to "choose to love". I think that's because women tend to be more biologically invested in any affair. They force themselves to be rational about it because, after all, they bear the children! Most men -- in matters of love, at least -- regard children only as an after-thought. In this day of "the pill", that is certainly truer than ever. Many men -- and, unfortunately, many women now -- are choosing to do without children altogether. After making the choice to forego (or postpone) motherhood, women are no longer "bound" to "choose to love"; they can now "fall in love" with reckless abandon! (The welfare state and an accommodating, condoning, corrupt culture likewise promote such poor decision-making.)
No wonder the world is going to hell.
That reminds me...
I've met the devil precisely once (that I know of).
As usual, it was in a dream.
I was standing against the wall of a brilliantly lit room, with several others like myself. All were dressed in gleaming white. (This was surely a temple.) It was announced that the Savior would soon be joining us. The next few moments were filled with anxiety! I looked at all those who waited with me. We were trepidatious!
I could see from my position near the doorway that three personages approached! One in the middle wore red. I turned away as soon as I saw the hem of his robe.
Surely this is the Christ! I imagined.
When the red-clad entity entered the room, I dropped to my knees, head bowed. Overwhelming sensations of unworthiness enveloped me! I could remember all of my failures, all of my transgressions, all of my sins and abuses. I felt utterly unworthy to be in his presence! I did not dare to look up at him, but wept uncontrollably, pleading for mercy.
He was more than willing to grant it.
He placed his hands upon my head, ostensibly to give me a blessing. As he spoke, I was startled by what I heard. It wasn't what he said...or how he said it...or even the tenor of his voice. It was that his voice wasn't the voice I recognized. It wasn't the voice I knew.
I looked up.
The personage in red placed his hands over my eyes, preventing me from clearly seeing him. I struggled with him, moving my head and pushing his hands away. When I finally caught a glimpse of his face, I was surprised!
It was a woman.
This entity I endeavored to worship was, in fact, a woman.
I stood up.
The personage in red protested, demanding that I kneel again before him (her). I would not. The personage said "I am Jesus Christ!" I accused him (her) of being an imposter.
Before my eyes this woman transformed into a very handsome man -- a George Clooney-esque fellow with a toothy grin and well coifed, jet-black hair. In his power he commanded me to worship him, but I refused. Instead (as one who has witnessed such things should know), I commanded him to depart and the wall behind him vanished. He trotted off, in his anger and malice and hatred for me, ranting and raving as he went.
What did I learn from this?
That my "god" was a woman. I had made woman my god.
I worshipped "her". (I doubt that I am the only man to ever do this!) I placed my love for her above all else, even above my love for the true God. I wanted woman more than anything else.
I am keenly susceptible to placing this "idol", this "false god" upon the altar of my heart. She is woven, as it were, into the fabric of the "natural man". If I ever let him gain control again, she will manifest herself, no doubt.
My love for Jesus precludes me from letting that happen. I cannot...I must not...allow it.
There were times in my youth when I wanted to be "good" even when everyone else, it seemed, was bad.
There were times in my youth when I desperately wanted to be "bad", but others, seeing my "goodness", determined to keep me that way. (I really should be grateful to them!)
I'm grateful for such people today.