From Corpse to Bride Part 2

The Rise 

I don't want to encourage a bunch of daydreamers to avoid living and hide in fantasy worlds. That's not the point of this pair of posts.

I want to release new identity over you. If you are reading this, it is because you are a prophet, a healer, an artist, and, if you'll receive the Kingdom that is your inheritance, a king/queen.

I want to see our imaginations restored and healed. I want to stop seeing our imaginations brushed aside  as fanciful merriment by our teachers and leaders, and start seeing it taught as a vital skill.

I want to tell you a story. It's a fun story about a dear friend. It's packed full of prophetic imagery. I tried to interpret it for those reading and for myself, but I'm not satisfied with my attempt (although I pretty much left it down there if you want to read it). So, I'm hoping if there's imagery to interpret, we can do it together. Otherwise, we can simply experience the power of testimony that demonstrates the force of imagination made reality.

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Kendal is one of my dearest friends. He is an Olympian, through and through. Raised in the wild and beautiful Capitol Forest, he relishes our drab, ever-rainy environment. When the rainy season begins and the heat of summer fades, his burden lightens and a smile is never far from his face. Grey skies and the heady smell of damp earth have much the same affect on him that sun and pina coladas on a Hawaiian beach would have on most. 

Few can match Kendal’s meticulous, diligent approach to his work and his art. It’s not perfection he seeks with his methods. And though rarely disappointed with the outcome of his efforts, be they cocktails or knit caps, the finished products are not his greatest joy. 

His grandmother passed on great wisdom to him early in life when, as the oldest child of nine, he was tasked with maintaining the dinner dishes every day. “You can worship God anywhere, doing anything,” she told him. “Even while doing dishes.” Taking the wisdom to the depths of his heart, he learned to savor labor with the passion of King David stripped to skivvies and dancing in the streets before God. 

He’s quite weird. When we first began working together, I found my patience tested. I hadn’t heard his grandmother’s wisdom yet, and wouldn’t likely have brought it anywhere near my heart if I had. It’s a finished product I like: a mopped floor, opposed to mopping. A cooked meal, opposed to cooking. Nearly four years in Kendal’s presence has rubbed off on me though. While his patience is that of a giant redwood, mine has at least increased from squirrel to some sort of large bird. 

Kendal’s green Volkswagen is a testament to his redwood nature. He’s had the little beast since he was sixteen, and after five years of loving labor he finally took it to a mechanic. Even at the mechanic’s experienced hand, it took several months to get the car running reliably. 

Kendal has driven joyfully and mischievously ever since. He’s learned the car inside and out - how to smoothly shift into first, which parallel spaces he can crank into, and exactly how far off asphalt he can venture. 

It was dark, in the earliest part of a late August morning. His vision was limited just enough that he didn't see the little yearling dear heaped pitifully in the middle of the road until it was suddenly directly in front of him. Knowing his car, though, he didn't flinch.

After driving directly over the deer, well clear of causing further harm, he eased to a stop and turned around. Dying or dead he couldn’t tell. Concerned and curious, he walked up to the dear and checked for vitals. It was breathing still, but the breaths were shallow and labored. Carefully, he eased the creature to the side of the road and sat next to it. Cradling its head in his lap, he stoked its neck until it was calm. Together, they waited. 

The dear was peaceful and quiet when, across the street, another deer emerged from the woods. A yearling as well, Kendal knew the two must be brothers. The second deer paused and examined the scene, then clopped onto the asphalt to get a closer look. At the sound of his hooves, the deer in Kendal’s lap startled. His legs locked straight out and his eyes went wide, until the force of his efforts killed him suddenly. The brother ran back into the woods. 

A child of the forest, Kendal made plans for the deer’s body. Nothing would be wasted. At home, he skinned it, ate some of the meat, and gave some meat to a friend. The pelt would be saved and traded. He was saddened by the deer’s fate, but appreciative for the encounter nonetheless. 

A week later, He and a friend were driving along the same road. In nearly the exact same spot, another deer had been hit. The driver who'd hit it, along with a few others passing by, had pulled over. When Kendal and his pal pulled up, the group seemed distraught. The deer was still awake and breathing. They’d moved him to the side of the road, but from there were frantically uncertain what to do. 

Kendal arrived, explained he lived nearby and would handle the situation from there. Relieved, they got in their cars and drove away. Kendal recognized this deer; his brother had died in his lap in this very place. When Kendal sat beside him, his panicked breathing slowed. Again, Kendal rested the yearling’s head in his lap. This time, his friend sat with him. Together, they waited. 

A police car pulled up next to the Volkswagen after several minutes. Someone who’d pulled over to help had phoned them for lack of anything better to do. A man and woman officer stepped from the car, gazing curious yet friendly at the trio. 

The officers explained that the dear was, clearly as all could see, dying. They’d take over from here, they assured the friends. They’d have to euthanize the animal, as was humane. “If you have nothing better to do with the body,” Kendal offered, “I know plenty of people who could make use of it.” The officers declined. “We’ll call the game warden out,” the man assured them.

Kendal couldn’t argue. Though his heart was with the little guy, a painful and slow death was of no benefit to anyone. Before he rose to leave, he felt goodbye was necessary. The deer was still resting in his lap. Gently, he raised the deer’s forehead to his own. For a moment, the deer’s fate - a quick, painless bullet to the brain - passed through his mind. Though an easy death, it wasn’t life in the forest Kendal would rather the dear experience. I'm sorry, he thought to the deer. I wish this didn't have to be. 

Kendal released his forehead from the deer’s and slowly stood to his feet. His friend watched along with the officers as, in unison, the deer rose to its feet too. They all stood in stunned silence and watched the deer calmly return to the woods. 

At a loss, the officers returned to their car. “You have some healing powers,” the man told Kendal, while the woman made every effort to never look at him again. 

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We imagine. We have visions of heaven.

So that we can create what we see.

To be created in His image is to be a creator. Creativity is vital to the human experience. To exalt our artists, our inventors, our pastors, our teachers, our prophets, our musicians - those among us who’ve tapped into their inherent creativity - to a level separate from “us,” is dangerous and destructive. It supports: Poverty mindsets that prevent us from giving to and serving our neighbors. Victim mentalities that convince us we are sick and injured instead of convicting us of the completion of Christ’s work on the cross. Political and educational systems that manipulate and control. Economic systems that idolize power and greed. 

Worse yet, every one of these atrocities can be witnessed inside of the buildings commonly accepted as churches. 

We all hear God’s voice. We all have untapped stores of imagination waiting to be created. We are all artists, prophets, teachers, pastors, students. To engage in a system that separates us from our creativity, worth, and communion with the God who created us,  is to dehumanize us. 

To dehumanize our existence, when God came to earth and made such a point of living profoundly human, is to directly contradict the message Christ lived and demonstrated. 

There's a a system laying in the Bride's lap that is dying. It's a system ruled and regulated by man, encouraged by principalities and rulers of darkness. Fear and panic will kill it. Religious works and actions without questions will kill it. Lack of imagination will kill it. Destroyed by that dehumanizing nature that has perpetuated its existence.

Call that system government, mass media, Christianity, or public schools, it doesn't make much difference. Not to be wasted, its carcass will be fully utilized. But its time on this earth is coming to a swift end. 

In its place, an alternative will rise. Is rising. Has risen. 

Imagination is necessary to creativity. Creativity is necessary if we are to rise into our callings. In order to live as Christ demonstrated, and do as he commissioned, we must be able to hear and see what God is doing. If we are to pray on earth as it is in heaven, or proclaim I do only what I see the Father doing, it’s absolutely necessary we get familiar with our imaginations, that mind space where God shows us heaven.

Not only will we rise into our callings, we will bring others up into their callings as well. 

Let me clarify. We need imagination. So much, that there is nothing - not one thing - worth hindering our imaginations in any way. Especially not our fear of the enemy. There is no art, literature, or created thing not worth our attention if it spurs imagination. 


As people who identify as “little Christs,” His hands and feet, His bride - we accept not heaven after death, but authority and responsibility in the present. His bride brings heaven to earth. Actively seeks God in His throne room. Not only hears Him but responds to what He’s saying, translating our visions received in Spirit language, to language our neighbors can receive. From vision to poem or narrative, painting or song, healing or prophecy, pipe or blog post. His Bride heals the sick, raises the dead, casts out demons. 


Christ’s Bride is human and engages the humanity in everyone; in all creation. 

Christ's bride is not a system, or a set of chess pieces, to use and be used.

From the corpse of man’s laws and systems, the Bride is rising. We’re going to walk in both the heavenly and earthly realms, oozing Kingdom. We’re going to live ascended lifestyles, traveling back and forth between the King’s throne to our living rooms, our work places, our malls; Open visions, prophetic dreams, translocation, healing, raising the dead, financial miracles, weather miracles. 

We can do this now, this very moment. Not tomorrow, or later next month. 

Now. 

Let's get out there.

Stumbled upon this gem from Company of Burning Hearts in Wales, UK. If your imagination needs encouragement, give it a listen.