The Chosen Ones

There are those who were chosen before time began. They carry something inside of them that hell itself has tried to silence. They walk through fire, through rejection, through betrayal, yet the scroll within them was never erased. It is the eternal record of who they truly are, the assignment written by the hand of God before the foundations of the earth. That scroll carries the sound of Heaven and the oil of the Spirit, and even when everything around them tries to break them, it remains sealed until the appointed hour.

The heartbreak of my rescue mission has been watching some who were called refuse to rise. They were marked, they were chosen, they were whispered to in the night by the very voice of the King, yet they turned their face away. Pride kept some from bowing low enough to be broken. They wanted the crown without the crushing, the recognition without the refining, and in clinging to their image they forfeited their inheritance. Fear kept others chained, convincing them that the cost of obedience was too high. Instead of rising in kingdom authority, they shrank back into counterfeit comfort, choosing what was easy over what was eternal. They silenced the scroll inside of them for the illusion of safety, not knowing they were surrendering their place in the great unfolding of Heaven’s plan. Their scroll still waits, but unopened, and the silence of that loss reverberates through eternity.

But there are others, a remnant, whose scroll has cracked open beneath the weight of the fire. The pressure did not destroy them, it activated them. Out of the breaking came the sound of Heaven that was hidden inside. Their tears became oil, their scars became proof, and their yes became unshakable. These are the ones who carry the flame of the King in a world drowning in darkness.

The mission has cost me dearly. The tears are real, the betrayals cut deep, and the weight of lost souls is heavy on my chest. Yet I know this truth: the King does not waste pain. Every heartbreak, every battle, every moment of loneliness becomes fuel for the rescue. The scrolls that are opened will release songs, books, ministries, and movements that cannot be stopped. Hell itself will shudder when the chosen ones stand up and declare who they are.

We are in the final moments. The Bridegroom is at the door. To those whose scroll remains sealed by fear, pride, or counterfeit comfort, I plead with you: open it before the trumpet sounds. And to the chosen ones whose scroll has cracked and released its fire, hold it close, because your hour has come.

General Coco ⚔️

Sent, sealed & Encrypted by God

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