I don’t know how much longer I will be here-standing, fighting-engaging in a battle I am sure to lose. I’ve taken hit after hit. I’ve suffered significant loss.
My feet tremble underneath me.
My faith wobbles.
My resolve is drained.
The enemy cheers. He is relentless in his attacks-taunting, poking, shaming me until I can barely lift my eyes.
How much longer will he wait?
Will he not plant the final blow to my wounded soul?
Why keep me here: waiting, expecting, and hoping for the end to come?
Why not finish me off and free me from this fight?
Finally, it comes. The punch that knocks me to my knees. I laugh at my spiraling downfall. It has come! It has come! In the ashes, I find peace; I find rest. There’s a calmness now.
My Commander calls my name, offering me drink from His canteen. The refreshing water floods my being, bringing new life to my soul.
I rise again. My stature is tall and strong: my shield and sword in my hands. I laugh at my enemy. His eyes widen in horror.
“I had you down.” His bellowing rattles the ground beneath me, yet I am not shaken. “This cannot be. You are a weakling. A mere mortal. You cannot defeat me.”
Grace falls like rain, washing away the marks of his torture.
“I can’t, but He can.”
Behind me looms a shadow; it covers me and the ground I stand on. Unmeasurable strength overwhelms me as I assume my stance. I am His warrior. I am His daughter-His beloved.
I bend my knees and anchor my feet to the solid ground.
“Knock me down, and I will rise. You can beat me, taunt me, shame me; you will not win.”
Motioning to the One standing behind me-I flash my sword-and grin.
“When I fall, I fall on Him.”
“The Lord is my strength.”