My Lonely Battle

It is a lonely battle. I stand alone. My shield dented, my sword blood stained, and gaping wounds on my face, arms, sides and legs. My banner is not torn down. I have arisen. The war is not yet over. I have not given up. Alone I stand, just me…and God.

I wipe the sweat and blood from my eyes. Resolution fills my wounded heart. I may have been knocked down, but I’m now on my feet, ready to fight.

The memory of my father is painted brightly in my mind. For him I fight, for his name and memory. My mom and sisters too, as well as for my brother; I cannot let them down. And for my future wife, I know not who she is, but I know she is beautiful, and I know she is kind and loving, she is strong and she is captivating, and she is good. Someday I’ll meet her, and I cannot die before that day. The battle is yet begun.

As I view the innumerable host that is my enemy, my heart pounds. Can I defeat them? Even so hopelessly outnumbered? But the battles of my past have hardened me and strenthened me. I’m not the amatuer fighter I was before. I am now confident. God has never let me be killed, and will not let it be so now. My past battles have made a man of me. I came onto the battlefield a boy, I now stand a man.

The scars I bare are evidences of the brutality of war, but more than that, they are my pride and honor. “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.” They are medallions of victory—they are my personal medal of honor.

No wound can kill me, unless I give up. No attack can overcome me, unless I give in. With God’s help I can receive no mortal wound, no matter how deep or painful. I can overcome, I can heal, I can rise again. And with each healed wound another scar of honor is added. I become a better man, a more dangerous warrior.

The enemy is afraid. They band together and council late into the night on how to defeat me. They hate me, and would destroy me. They would take away my freedom, my family and my friends. Their goal is bondage and misery; mine is freedom and happiness. There can be no treaty, no “parlee”. My enemy will not sleep until I’m destroyed. I will not sleep until I’m free.

Let them come.

I do not fear the battle, I do not fear my enemy. I cannot lose, no matter how much I am wounded. I love the victory, it is so sweet to my taste. The spoils of war far outweigh the suffering of the battle. I am married to the battle. I cannot divorce it. Until the day I die, I will fight. I must fight.

I am alone with God—and I will win.