The Messy Truth I’ve written this four times. Each time, though, it seems too neat, too tidy, too finite, like wearing a power suit to brunch at the coffee shop with your best friend when you should be unshowered in joggers and a hoodie with your hair up in a messy bun. I start to write, get a page or two in and find myself staring at the words and wondering if I really believe them or fearing if I hit publish, what then? How will I be attacked? What will the fallout be? How will I lose? Because, spiritual warfare is real, and Satan is real, and I know Satan doesn’t want me to love my enemies. He doesn’t want you to love your enemies. He wants us all to wallow around in our hate and anger until it festers into something uncontrollable. But I don’t want that. I don’t want the hate. I don’t want the anger. I don’t want the spitefulness or the cynicism or the doubt. I just want peace. I want the peace of knowing I did the right thing. I want t