The vision, the vision is Jesus. Obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus. The vision is an army of young people. You see bones, I see an army. And they are FREE from materialism. They laugh at 9 to 5 with the prisons. They could eat caviar on Monday and crust on Tuesday, they wouldn't even notice. They know the meaning of the matrix, the way the West was won. They are mobile like the wind. They belong to the nations. They need no passport. People write their addresses in pencil, and wonder at their strange existence. They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting, the dirty and the dying. What is the vision? The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. They gave up the game of minimun integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure. Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation. It loves people away from their suicidal leads, their Satan gangs. This is an army that will lay down it's life for the cause. A million times a day yet soldiers choose to lose, that they might one day win the great well-dialed... faithful sons and daughters.... Such heros are as radical on Monday morning as they were Sunday night. They don't need fame from names. Instead they grieve quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again, "common"... and THIS is the sound of the underground. The whisper of history in the making, foundations shaking, revolutionaries dreaming once again. Conspirecy is breathing. THIS is the sound of the underground. And the army is disciplined. Young people who beat their bodies into submission. Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. For me to live as Christ and die His game. Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners... Mardars... who can stop them? Can hormones hold them back? Can failure succeed? Can fear scare them or death kill them? Oh and the generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, no fear or tears but great barrol loads of laughter. Waiting, watching, 24/7, 365, whatever it takes that will be it. Breaking the rules. Shaking mediocrity from it's cozy little hide. Laying down the rights and the precious little roams. Laughing at labels and fasting essentials. The advestisors can not mold them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer pressure is POWERLESS despite the result of latenight parties, before the cop car comes. They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive inside. On the outside, they hardly care. They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide. When they surrender their image or popularity, they would lay down their very lives. Swap seats with the man on death road, guilty as hell... a throne for an electric chair, with blood and sweat and many tears. Sleepless nights and fruitless days they prayed, as if it all depends on God. And they live as if it all depends on them. Their DNA chooses Jesus. He breathes out, they breathe in. They're subconscious things, they have blood transfusion with Jesus. Their words make demons scream and shot themselves. Don't you hear them coming? Herald the wierdos, summon the losers and the freaks. Herecome the frightened and the forgotten, with fire in their eyes. They walk tall and trees applaud. Skyscapers bow, mountains are warped by these children of another dimension... Their prayers summon the hounds of Heaven, and emboat the ancient dream of Eden. And this vision will be. It will come to pass. It will come easily. AND IT WILL COME SOON! How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself. The groaning of the Spirit and the very dream of God. My tomorrow is His today. My distant hope is His 3D. And my feet will whisper faithless prayer in hopes of thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking graves. AMEN!!!Countless angels, heroes of the faith and Christ Himself. He is the original dreamer. The ULTIMATE WINNER, gaurenteed.
-Jake Hamilton
THIS HAS BECOME MY PRAYER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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