He deceived them…

He deceived them.

Not the weak, not the weary, not the wondering.

But angels.

A third of heaven’s host.

Beings who stood in the fullness of God’s presence. Who beheld His glory in its unveiled brightness. Who never once questioned if He was real, because they saw.

They worshipped before his throne.

And still, they believed a lie.

How?

How does darkness slither into heaven itself and convince light to follow it into hell?

If Satan could seduce a third of the angels in the throne room of God…what makes us think he won’t come after us, too?

And not just come…

but come cleverly. Come disguised. Come patient. Come wrapped in counterfeit light, armed with a half-truth dressed like revelation, whispering just enough scripture to fool those who don’t live in it.

I’ve felt it. You have too.

That subtle pull…

that voice that says, “Did God really say?”

That hush that tempts you to make peace with compromise, to dance with sin as long as you don’t marry it. That soft suggestion that obedience is too rigid, that holiness is too extreme, that surrender is too much to ask.

If angels can fall, we can too.

If heaven can be infiltrated, then surely earth is under siege.

This is why I must be anchored in His Word.

Why I must be broken before Him, again and again. Why I cannot afford a single day of pride, of coasting, of wandering from His truth.

Because the deceiver isn’t intimidated by church attendance. He isn’t bothered by songs sung on Sunday morning. But he trembles when a soul chooses submission.

He rages when a believer lives in the Word, not just reads it, or cherry picks what they want of it.

He panics when we pray with authority, walk in purity, and resist his schemes with sword-in-hand determination.

I have learned:

Hell’s most successful deception is not always blatant rebellion. Sometimes, it is almost truth.

And “almost” is never enough when eternity is at stake.

I don’t just pray for protection from evil.

I pray for discernment to recognize it when it’s wearing a mask.

I pray to love truth more than comfort.

To hunger for the Word like breath itself.

To see through every trap, every counterfeit, every whisper that leads me away from the Cross.

Because I don’t want to be impressed by what fell. I want to be found among what stood.

“Take heed lest ye fall.”

“Put on the whole armor of God.”

He’s cunning. He’s powerful. But he’s not God.

And those who submit to the Word of God are not powerless.

Let me be one who holds the line.

Even if others fall. Even if angels did.

Even if I stand alone.