For too long, I justified myself with the excuse that dancing with the devil was justifiable—if I didn’t slow dance. I’d edge as close to overt sin as I could without stepping over the line. Close enough to get some pleasure, but not too close to get trapped, to have guilt overwhelm the good times. In high school days, how much physical contact with girls was acceptable before it became sin? That became more subtle as an adult, how much information could I withhold, without actually lying, to give myself an advantage? Or, while remaining a nice guy, what balance should I strike between serving others and using others to serve myself? These are just a few of many cases I could list. That was fast dancing with the devil. Some…