The Password She Already Had

In 2019, a cybersecurity firm in Austin, Texas reported that 81% of data breaches began the same way — not with sophisticated hacking, but with a simple phishing email. The message would arrive looking official, trustworthy, even helpful. And it always carried the same underlying whisper: "Your current access isn't enough. Click here for more."

Sarah Chen, a network administrator in Portland, described how she nearly fell for one. She had full administrative access to her company's systems — every file, every database, every tool she could ever need. But the email suggested a higher-level clearance existed, something she was missing out on. For thirty seconds, her cursor hovered over the link. The promise of more made her forget the abundance of what she already held.

That is the anatomy of the oldest temptation in Scripture. The Almighty placed Adam and Eve in a garden of breathtaking generosity — every tree, every fruit, an entire world of "yes." But the serpent did not start with a lie. He started with a question: "Did God really say...?" He reframed limitless provision as unbearable restriction. He made the one boundary feel like a cage instead of a gift.

And just like that phishing email, the moment they clicked — the moment they reached for the one thing placed lovingly out of bounds — they didn't gain access. They lost it. Their eyes opened not to power, but to shame.

Every temptation still begins the same way: making us forget what God has already given.