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Before coming here and learning this truth through the teacher, my family lived nearly four years with a woman who called herself a Christian. Through her, I first learned about the Bible and came to believe in God. Knowing nothing about Scripture, I assumed everything she taught was true, accepting it without doubt. She claimed these were the last days, that judgment was nearing, and that we must shed flesh and blood to stand perfect before the Lord’s return, using this as a pretext to instruct our family. For a while, it was fun and pleasant, with no issues. Then one day, she suddenly said the Lord appeared in a dream, warning that little time remained and we must quickly attain perfection, beginning to berate me, my daughter, and my son. That’s when our misery began. My children and I became her servants; she constantly scolded my son for not obeying her, interfering in every detail, making life mentally and physically unbearable. The kids dreaded coming home from school, filled with fear, and I, too, reached my limit, struggling immensely, when I met the teacher. I came along because the reincarnation She believe in was mentioned in the writings on the teacher’s website, and She thought She should listen to the teacher’s lecture at least once. On the first day, when the teacher declared himself Moses, I froze as if struck, my mind reeling with earthquakes and thunder—utter chaos. Having only heard her repetitive, monotonous tongues, the teacher’s tongues revealed hers as false in an instant. I realized I’d been deceived and resolved to return and hear more.
That’s how I met the teacher, discovering only after hearing the truth did I finally realize that I had been believing and learning falsehood until now. Four years with her—interpreting Scripture with metaphors, teaching empty words and knowledge without action—left nothing gained, just wounds in my and my children’s hearts.
Learning the truth here, I realized the divine book, the Bible, isn’t for humans to interpret or dissect. Truth isn’t felt or grasped through human knowledge and theory, sitting in pews chasing from sermons—it’s learned and internalized in daily life, experiencing my sinful habits through my body, cultivating a heart worthy of God’s powerful grace. It’s not sweet or fleeting leaven like a balloon inflating and bursting. Living in a world stained scarlet with sin and evil, renewing our hearts requires the tillage of hardship and rebuke. Human teachings, chasing ideals within human limits, only stir reflection, resolve, and vows to avoid sin—never breaking the hamster wheel of sin’s cycle.
Truth grants power to escape that cycle, making humans divine. It’s not religion—religion is man-made to govern, but truth is knowledge, wisdom, and treasure from God’s love, beyond human limits and comprehension.
Habits ingrained in my body over years, fused with my flesh, went unnoticed as sin until clashing with others revealed them. Without uprooting them, they repeat—uprooting requires tongues’ grace. Without it, even in truth, salvation’s path to heaven remains closed. Tongues aren’t gained by desire but are God’s gift, received by forsaking the flesh. Latent habits hide when body and mind are at ease, surfacing unbidden in sickness, hardship, or haste—sparking disputes, hurt, aversion, and hatred, a vicious cycle of sin birthing sin. Unable to break them alone, rebuke’s rod refines us, painfully engraving them on our conscience. Living by my worldly, absolutized rightness, chasing fleshly desires, sudden rebukes here stirred anger and resentment over reflection—sometimes sorrow for unappreciated efforts, even packing to leave. Through this, I gain patience, engraving my sinfulness on my conscience, bearing humility’s fruit.
Escaping that woman’s chilling snare, ten years with the teacher and this truth—without him, my life’s fate is too horrific to imagine. My wrong choice scarred my children, failing as their shield. Truth wraps those wounds in warm love, a refuge for my weary, battered soul from a harsh world. It felt as if my heart, once bound and unable to move because of that woman, was finally being set free; darkness and misery faded.
Reckless as I was, stumbling here, I’m still far off—grateful to even be here. I feel endlessly ashamed and sorry that I still amount to so little, despite the teacher’s wholehearted efforts to teach and rebuke me with all his strength in order to make me whole. Full of discontent, emotionally driven, my pheasant-like vision lacks depth and breadth, unfit as God’s precious vessel. Neglecting truth’s value brought sickness near death. I should accept it with my heart, engraving my sinfulness, serving others above myself—yet I can’t forsake myself.
Sometimes he offers praise—not just in lectures, but freely in life’s moments, wherever, whenever. In an unknowable tongue, it feels soft, sweet—beautifully fragrant. It strengthens me in hardship, renewing my heart; after rebuke’s pain, tears well uncontrollably; in sickness or sorrow, it comforts; sometimes it rebukes. A mystery that no human can possibly imitate, a richness that no human heart can possess, and the gentle warmth of God’s love softly permeate the heart—melting a heart that was once cold and hard as stone, just like snow melting under the warmth of the sun. Early here, I was astonished when, through the praise, it was said that the human heart is wider than the sky. It gathers my scattered mind, stirs longing for God, and sparks hope to mirror His vast, deep love.
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