I love the story of the prodigal son. I grew up loving it – it was a favorite.

       I was sitting Indian style in the living room on the carpet in front of one of the 3ft stereo speakers. The song shivering down my spine. I was nine year’s old and I couldn’t rest. Like any artistic dreamer, I would immerse my soul into every nuance...

And yet, the vision of the open road had somehow impregnated them… you know, these kind of visions, they don’t let go so easily…

Vision is powerfully dangerous, at least, the true ones. You know when they are true because they try to kill you. And yet I am learning that to fully posses them, you must first let them kill you…

The idea that God saw me as a spiritual giant seemed too good to be true…

A true dream, one that is birthed in the heart of “old men dreamers,” carries with it authority and power. Only a person who has experienced the death of vision, who has nailed vision to the cross, has access to the power of resurrection. When he dreams again, he dreams the dreams of heaven. And a dream that’s birthed in heaven has power to transform earth, it can change a family, a neighborhood, a city, a nation, it grows exponentially and has eternal significance.

We are designed to live a life of risk and trust, to do valiant acts of faith, to live out our radical acts of surrender, to leave it “all out on the field,” all for the glory of our King, so that when we get to heaven we will experience in those 3 beautiful seconds, those 6 stunning words. We are all living for the, “Well done.”