the gift of ministry

I call you, as a little gray bird,
to move about the earth on spidery legs,
with a voice as soft as the sound of the dew,
quite defenseless,
weighing less than a hiccough.

But all around you are troops
of drooling, ravening wolves,
ready to devour anything at all,
anyone at all,
especially tiny, helpless birds.
The speeding feet of enemy wolves
thunder in the dirt;
their voices howl,
they are wild with hunger.
They are mad, insane.
They hate your song.
They cannot fly.

And you, My little bird,
are called to loose the bonds of wickedness
these wolves promote as normal living.
I call to you, "Undo the chains!
Set the oppressed free."
The wolves have chewed, devoured, held captive,
made homeless, stripped and starved My people.
And My people have allowed it.
They sigh, "That's life."
But then they raise their voices like trumpets,
and they screech for help in the night.
Whom shall I send, My little gray dove?
I send you.

You go into all the world and tell them
of the higher places to soar;
sing them My new song;
bring the light to the darkness.
Because you ride on the heights,
your wings have become like those of an eagle,
yet you will not boast of the strength
of chariots or horses.

You can soar above the clouds
as a flame of fire.
Never lose heart!
I give you the words,
the strength, the anointing;
the Gift.

Soar with Me.

Author unknown