It is clear that, as the madness spreads and the church just wrings its hands, it is time for the eagles to leave the turkey-yard. You know who you are, you who are an eagle. There’s a fire inside you that you can’t put out. You are ruined for ‘Church-As-Usual-Incorporated.’
For too long you’ve been told to be a good little birdie. “Don’t ruffle any feathers!” But you just can’t stomach the stale kernels they toss to you. You must have fresh meat. All around you, the turkeys peck at the ground. But all you can see are the clouds and the sky, where you know you belong.
You long to be home, where the glory is. Your place is alongside the heroes of faith that changed the course of nations. “Survival-mode” teaching sickens you. The idea that tepid happiness is the goal enrages you.
You made the mistake of looking…
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