The Vision


This is ‘The Vision’ and upon reading this– I was SO excited, encouraged, inspired! I HAD to share it with you. This was written by Pete Grieg, and was printed in the book I am reading right now called Red Moon Rising. If you guys are looking for something to read I recommend this one–It is about how 24/7 Prayer is awakening a generation.

So this guy comes up to me and says, “What’s the vision? What 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 your people. You see bones? I see an army.

And they are FREE from materialism.

They laugh at 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.

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 movie, every private conversation.

It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their satan games.

This is an army that will lay down the life for the cause.

A million times a day is 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 nights.

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 disciple(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.



Who can stop them?

Can fear scare them or death kill them?

And the generation prayers

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 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 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 come 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 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 faith, from Christ himself. And He is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.


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