Josh's War College Rejection

Dear Josh Mills,

Your are a butt.
You smell like poop therefore you are not
accepted into our college.
P.s you have body hair and are fat and have body odor.
Your tacky and we hate you.

Love the war college

It's Official!

I'm a Conqueror!
Salvation Army War College
Class of 2009


Forward march with blood and fire
and win the world for Jesus!

"The Vision"

By Pete Greig

So this guy comes up to me and says,

"whats the vision? whats the big idea?"

i opened my mouth and the words came out like this...

The vision?

The vision is Jesus:

obsessivley, dangeriously, 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

prisons. 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 who write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their

strange existence.

They are free

yet they are slaves

of the hurting, 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 a long time 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 would lay down its life for the cause

A million times a day

its soldiers choose to lose that they might one day win in the

great

"well done"

of faithful sons and daughters.

Such heroes are as radical

on Monday morning as Sunday night.

They dont need fame for 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 can beat their

bodies into submission. Every soldier would take a bullet

for his comrade at arms. The tattoo on their backs boasts

"for me to live is Christ and to die again"

Sacrifice fuels the fire

of victory in their upward eyes.

Winners.

Martyrs.

Who can stop them? Can hormones hold them back? Can

failur succeed?

Can fear scare them or death kill them?

And the generation prays

like a dying man who groans beyond

talking, with warrior cries,

sulphuric tears and

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 can not hold them

Peer Pressure is powerless

to shake their resolve

at late-night parties

before the cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool,

dangerously attractive (on the inside).

on the outside? they hardly care!

They wear clothes like costumes:

to communicate and celebrate but never hide.

Would they surrender their image and popularity? They

would lay down their very lives, swap deats with the man

on death row, guilty as hell:

a throne for the 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 if it all

depends on them.

Their DNA chooses Jesus

(He breathes out, they beathe in).

Their subconcious sings.

They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.

Their words make demons scream in shoping malls. Don't

you hear them coming?

Herald the wierdos!

Summon the losers and the freaks.

Here come the frightened and forgotten

with fire in their eyes!

They walk, and trees applaud,

skyscrapers bow,

mountains are dwarfed

by these children of another dimension.

Their prayers summon the Hound 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.

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.