At precisely 5:45, as the first glint of dawn light illuminated the Nicaraguan landscape, thousands of swallows came rushing down the sand dunes, past my ankles, skimming like miniature stealth fighter jets over the lake toward an island dominated by a volcano in the distance, all for no apparent reason.

There could have been a million of them rushing into ferocious headwinds on a stretch of beach perhaps a mile long and they kept coming for about ten minutes. It was a great spectacle of nature repeated each morning during my stay on the beach. The birds never did reach the island. Perhaps there was a swarm of insects way out on the lake. Perhaps it was an avian version of morning calisthenics.

Whatever the explanation, the swallows were a great illustration of a dream to which I've given my life - a dream of a generation abandoning their comfortable lives and flying in great numbers out into the world. They seem reckless to those committed to a life of causality and self-interest. They seem impetuous and foolhardy to those who measure out their commitment to follow Jesus according to careful risk/reward formulas.

When it happens, it will be an inexplicable, supernatural phenomenon that amazes all beach-standing onlookers. It will cause them to hearken back to a generation who, 2000 years ago, after the death and resurrection of their Lord, recklessly abandoned their home in Jerusalem and flew out into a world that would never be the same.