I sometimes wonder if my skepticism didn’t begin with religion at all, but with something much smaller- something almost harmless. I must have been five when I first realized that adults tell lies. Not malicious ones, not the kind meant to harm, but small, playful distortions of reality. My grandmother- “Nana,” in proper Southern fashion- was particularly fond of them. Once, while watching lizards outside, I noticed the strange way their throats stretched out in quick movements. Curious, I asked what that flap of skin was for. Without hesitation, she told me, “That’s their wallet. It’s where they keep their coins.” I tried to picture it- tiny lizard coins, perhaps stamped with the faces of important lizards. But before my imagination could run too far, I saw the smile creeping across her face. I laughed. It was a lie, but it was a funny one. Still, I filed something away without realizing it: adults were willing to bend reality, even when asked sincere questions. Not long after, I bega...