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You’re welcome to come knocking on my door, explaining how our Christianity is the same. Come. Tell me how we’re all gods to come. Come. Tell me about the revelations of the prophets to the Americas. Your book is not the Bible, no; but close, yes? Close enough… to be truth? Remember the static definition of truth. I have history in the realm you tread, though it is only a cult similar to yours. “…a special, mystical knowledge, reserved for those with true understanding,” as Gonzalez describes. Do you not feel the pull of all things called mystical? Do you not hear the arrogance of superiority? Of the “club” mindset? So childish! Gnosticism, as called in early church history. “Christian Science,” as known today. So come to me with your bits and pieces of mangled truth. The world you’re creating before my eyes has all the right elements of a fantasy novel. But I’d have to disguise myself as an angel wrapped in light to write it. But you’re such nice young men. One, so closed to negotiation, and to add to this–annoyed, with the points I make. And the other? Perhaps I have won him over. I neither attacked nor conceeded–this barefoot girl standing before two well-dressee men in starched shirts and ironed slacks. Perhaps this girl has planted a seed for the Redeemer to grow as He sees fit. Perhaps I have set before him a new path for his feet. Perhaps, perhaps.