Pray for this generation

The Vision from Red Moon Rising: The visions is Jesus –obviously, 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 the 9-5 little prisons. They could eat caviar on Monday, and crusts 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 and dirty and dying world. What is the vision? The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes the children laugh and adults angry. It gave up 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 pure conversation. It loves people away from their suicidal leaps, their satanic games. This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause. A million times a day its soldiers choose to loose 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” This is the sound of the underground the whisper of history in the making, foundation shaking, Revolutionaries dreaming once again. Mystery is scheming in whispers Conspiracy 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. The tattoos read, “To live for Christ an 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 stop them, or death kill them? And the generation prays like a dying man 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 cozy little hide. Laying down their rights and precious little wrongs, laughing at labels, fasting essentials. The adversary 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 cloths like costumes to communicate and celebrate but never to hide. Would they surrender their image or 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, 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 chooses Jesus (He breaths out, they breath in) their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus. Their words make demons scream in shopping centers. Don’t you hear them coming? Herald the weirdo’s. Summon the losers and freaks. Here come the frightened, and forgotten with fire in their eyes. They walk and talk and the tall trees applause, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. Their prayer summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden, and this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come 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!!!