So I could go on and on about what this beautiful campus looks like, what the people are like, what this city is like, what my classes are like, what I've done, who I've met, how I feel...but I'm not gonna do that here
I have learned to love. This is what I have done. This is what I becoming. Within a week I am completely different from who I was the week before. Literally....supernaturally. God has brought me to this place for such a time as this. Every moment has confirmed and is confirming it. He has brought me to love here, and be loved.
God has blown me away with what He is pulling out of me right now. I never realized there was such beauty, and it is all coming straight from Him. The foundations my feet stand upon are proving strong. God is shaping my sight, forming my words and sharpening my ears.
We are a people of love, created for love, saved by love...
This new world I have entered is all about loving people. That is all my life consists of at the moment. As for everything else...well it all just falls into place.
So if you ask what I'm doing right now, what I've experience....a new world, as seen through God's eyes.
I always said I wanted adventure....
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
An excerpt from Red Moon Rising...
(from an amazing book I'm reading right now!)
So this guy comes up to me and says,” What’s the vision? What’s the big idea?” I open my mouth and words come out like this...
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 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 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 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 Satan 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 tattoo 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 cozy little hide.
Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs,
Laughing at labels, fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mold 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 chooses JESUS (He breathes out, they breathe 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 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 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.
(Red Moon Rising by Peter Greig)
So this guy comes up to me and says,” What’s the vision? What’s the big idea?” I open my mouth and words come out like this...
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 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 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 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 Satan 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 tattoo 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 cozy little hide.
Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs,
Laughing at labels, fasting essentials.
The advertisers cannot mold 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 chooses JESUS (He breathes out, they breathe 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 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 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.
(Red Moon Rising by Peter Greig)
Monday, August 4, 2008
Summer's almost gone...
The scent of summer clings to my skin, like a warmy balmy breeze. Its a scent immersed in laughter, smiles and voices of dear family and friends. The sounds and images dance fresh through my mind. Bittersweet moments, lingering goodbyes, last looks, long hugs. I wish time would hold still, just to contain the richness of all these passing, precious memories. To remain still, however, would only hold back the beautiful memories to come.
Summer. Vibrant life. Pulsating heated passion. Glowing inspirations. The heartbeat of heaven has grown strong this summer in my soul. But the heat of the a noonday sun is slipping down into the cool of evening. The heartbeat is evening out into a steady rythmn. A rythmn perhaps even deeper than the exciting, wildness of the first.
Less than two weeks left, before summer ends and halls and pathways of a new world open their unfamiliar doors. I'm ready.
saying goodbye to summer...
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