Our God comes and will not be silent!

My eyes sting and embrace the few seconds they are closed while blinking.
But I can't go to sleep until I write something, anything.

He is moving, stirring.
The scar-covered outstreched arms of his children
have caught his attention
and the Father and his children weep together;
mourning for the lost souls of sons and daughters,
brothers and sisters.

He leads them by fire in the darkness,
taking them into the foreign lands
taking back the ground once stolen from him
taking the kingdom.

We, the children of the revolution, do not lag far behind him.
He issues his commands at daybreak,
and by dusk we have declared the war
and died a thousand times over.
He sends us not amongst the strong
but summons the people of the slums.
He cannot ignore their cries.

And so we set out
on barefoot,
on enemy grounds,
on angel's wings.

Spend our time and energy fighting hard
against an enemy that wants to steal far more than just our lives.
He wants our eternity.
And we cry and we pray until our chests heave from brokenness of our hearts;
The father's heart.
We praise and dance until our legs give out and our backs ache
from the repeated pounding of feet on ashphalt
(not on streets of gold, as they will one day be)
We prophesy and dream until there are no more possibilties
and we have seen all of our Father's plans.

We keep our eyes on Zion and imagine His perfect beauty.
all with the hope that one day, we will win.
That one day, we will be called home.
And our Father will run through the Heavens rejoicing and cry out

"My children are free! My children are free!"

And we will be free.