Dalrock correctly names the religion of this era as feminism, and the worship that of Self Esteem. You cannot talk about sin. You cannot make people feel bad.

But without confrontation there is no correction, without correction there is no regret, no godly sorrow, and no repentenece. We are not Gods.

We are broken. We are not Gods, though we were created in his image.

The enemy of our souls has painted a bleak picture of who we are (not worthy of love, not talented, not beautiful, too young, too old, too fat, too skinny, not smart enough, etc.), and unfortunately, we have believed the lies and not lived up to our potential.’

Not really…it was more like…

‘Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?” “You surely will not die! “For God knows that in the day you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

The enemy of their souls tries to get the woman to think she is a god. And feminism is doing that in spades.

We can either rejoice in the divine image and worship our creator, or we can be resentful and worship ourselves, which is self esteem, feminism, and that deeper lie of Lucifer and the Hindu: that we are gods, that we are divine.

This is an error. It can get you into places where you will be damaged.

I still remember my first day there, seeing all the fighters in their black robes and the savage gleam in their eyes as they warily circled each other before exploding in a paroxysm of violence. It was truly a place apart – a broken ankle was a cause for mockery and uproarious laughter, and if one was so unfortunate as to get knocked out during a sparring session … well, to that ignominy was added the expense of buying the victor’s drinks that evening.

Of every 10 newcomers, one remained a month later. Few – very few – ever reached the highest level, as the punishing belt tests were not so much sought as fearfully avoided at all costs. They were tests of skill and discipline, but more than anything, they tested one’s willingness to get back on one’s feet after being knocked down, again and again.

There weren’t many women in our midst, understandably enough. But I was close to one in particular, we called her “Penthouse” because of her long, flowing mane of hair and her not-quite-ready-for-Playboy prettiness. She was a single mother who’d been pushed around by her ex-husband one too many times and she was determined to learn how to defend herself. After three years, she was called on the carpet to test for her green, and I was one of those selected for her sparring test, which consisted of six consecutive two-minute rounds against three high-level fighters, none of whom had just been through a grueling three-hour demonstration of every strike, kick and kata in our repertoir.

By the fifth round, she was exhausted and bruised, barely able to keep her hands up to her chin, much less defend herself. She was nearly helpless, but she must have sensed my desire to take it easy on her, because she snarled at me not to dis her like that, that she’d earned the right to be treated as a fighter and a Dragon. And she had, so it was with genuine affection and admiration that I dropped her twice in the next two exchanges, leaving her with a black eye and a bloody nose. It was a wonderful performance on her part, as she never hesitated to pick herself up, unaided, from the concrete floor. A few months later, the entire dojo cheered her on as she mercilessly destroyed the competition and won her first tournament – never having fought a woman before, she said afterward that she couldn’t believe how weak and slow her opponents were, how easy it had been when compared with her training.

We are not God. We are limited: if we fight we will be hurt, if we lift we risk injury, and if we do nothing we become lazy and soft. What should we do? Not count ourselves as worthy, but instead give God the glory.