Thursday, February 2, 2012
Monday, September 5, 2011
the vision
The Vision
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 9-5 little prisions.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday. They wouldnt 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 addressess in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.
They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.
What is the vision?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up on the game of minimum 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 suicide leaps, their Ssatan games. This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.
A million times a day its soldiers choose to lose that they might one day win the great "Well done" of faithful sons and daughters.
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night.
They don't need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: "COME ON!"
And this is the sound of the UNDERGROUND. The whisper of history in the making foundations- shaking revolutionaries dreaming- once again mystery is scheming in whispers conspiracy is breathing....
This is the sound of the underground and the army is discipl(in)ed.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tatoo on their back boasts "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain."
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. martyrs.
Who can stop them?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed?
Can fear scare them or death kill them?
And the generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and with great barrow loads of laughter!
Waiting. Watching: 24-7-365.
Whatever it takes they will give: breaking the rules.
Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mould them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.
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. Would they surrender their image or their popularity?
They would lay down their very lives- swap seats with the man on death row- guilty as hell. A throne for an electric chair. With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them. Their DNA transfusion with JESUS. ( He breathes out, they breathe in.)
Their subconscious sings, They had a blood transfusion with Jesus. Their words make demons scream in shopping centres.
Don't you hear them coming?
Herald the weirdos!
Summon the losers and the freaks.
Here comes the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes.
They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it willc ome easily; it will come soon. How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God. My tomorrow is his today. My distant hope is his 3-D.
And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great "Amen!" from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.
Guaranteed.
- Pete Greig- Author of RedMoonRising.
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 9-5 little prisions.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday. They wouldnt 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 addressess in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.
They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.
What is the vision?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up on the game of minimum 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 suicide leaps, their Ssatan games. This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.
A million times a day its soldiers choose to lose that they might one day win the great "Well done" of faithful sons and daughters.
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night.
They don't need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: "COME ON!"
And this is the sound of the UNDERGROUND. The whisper of history in the making foundations- shaking revolutionaries dreaming- once again mystery is scheming in whispers conspiracy is breathing....
This is the sound of the underground and the army is discipl(in)ed.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms. The tatoo on their back boasts "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain."
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes. Winners. martyrs.
Who can stop them?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed?
Can fear scare them or death kill them?
And the generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, sulphuric tears and with great barrow loads of laughter!
Waiting. Watching: 24-7-365.
Whatever it takes they will give: breaking the rules.
Shaking mediocrity from its cosy little hide. Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mould them. Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.
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. Would they surrender their image or their popularity?
They would lay down their very lives- swap seats with the man on death row- guilty as hell. A throne for an electric chair. With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days, they pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them. Their DNA transfusion with JESUS. ( He breathes out, they breathe in.)
Their subconscious sings, They had a blood transfusion with Jesus. Their words make demons scream in shopping centres.
Don't you hear them coming?
Herald the weirdos!
Summon the losers and the freaks.
Here comes the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes.
They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it willc ome easily; it will come soon. How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself, the groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God. My tomorrow is his today. My distant hope is his 3-D.
And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great "Amen!" from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.
Guaranteed.
- Pete Greig- Author of RedMoonRising.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
your calling is..
"Your calling is ...
your calling is to Find out who he is .. To go on a Treasure hunt and Discover who he is ..
we are made to think thoughts of God, to take verses and press them into our minds and Ask Questions
questions are the doorway to revelation .. God asks us questions to give us revelation of who he is..
- Cory Russel
your calling is to Find out who he is .. To go on a Treasure hunt and Discover who he is ..
we are made to think thoughts of God, to take verses and press them into our minds and Ask Questions
questions are the doorway to revelation .. God asks us questions to give us revelation of who he is..
- Cory Russel
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Let Me In (song by United Pursuit Band)
the lyrics to this song <3 they move me so much ..this is what God feels for you.
open your heart and let me in <3 .. I am aching with love for you ,
I am longing for you ..
look my way , look my way , look my way my love
its gonna be great its gonna be wild .. its gonna be full of me
his heart is aching with love for you ..
open your heart and let me in <3 .. I am aching with love for you ,
I am longing for you ..
look my way , look my way , look my way my love
its gonna be great its gonna be wild .. its gonna be full of me
his heart is aching with love for you ..
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
abandonment
this is what counts , this is what i want ..
how far can i Go?
God is looking at my heart
at the end of the day .. did i learn to love ?
one thing ..
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
sustain
Cover me - there's a battlefield ahead.
Cover me - there's an enemy that wants to have my head.
Why do You let evil have its way? How can You let orphans die in vain?
When will You give answers for the pain?
Is there a place where hope can still sustain? ...where hope can still sustain?
Cover me as I walk this out alone - as I search deserted streets -
for a place to call my own.
I've wandered over all the earth - like an angel without wings.
I'm a song without a voice. I'm a ghost without a grave.
Why do You let evil have its way? How can You let orphans die in vain?
When will You give answers for the pain?
Is there a place where hope can still sustain? ...where hope can still sustain?
So please come, take the burdens that have held me down so long... so long...
And if I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding on to You - for You can make me new.
If I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding to Your arms. I've been holding on so long.
(If I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding on to You - for You can make me new.)
I've been holding on so long.
(If I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding on to You - for You can make me new.)
I've been holding on so long.
Cover me - there's an enemy that wants to have my head.
Why do You let evil have its way? How can You let orphans die in vain?
When will You give answers for the pain?
Is there a place where hope can still sustain? ...where hope can still sustain?
Cover me as I walk this out alone - as I search deserted streets -
for a place to call my own.
I've wandered over all the earth - like an angel without wings.
I'm a song without a voice. I'm a ghost without a grave.
Why do You let evil have its way? How can You let orphans die in vain?
When will You give answers for the pain?
Is there a place where hope can still sustain? ...where hope can still sustain?
So please come, take the burdens that have held me down so long... so long...
And if I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding on to You - for You can make me new.
If I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding to Your arms. I've been holding on so long.
(If I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding on to You - for You can make me new.)
I've been holding on so long.
(If I scream Your name again, will You reach my bloody hands?
God, I'm holding on to You - for You can make me new.)
I've been holding on so long.
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