She has fallen many times and felt the sharp pain of defeat.
She feared her enemy would know she’d become very weak.
She fights many battles every single day.
A warrior’s heart. Full of open wounds, but she toughs it out and pretends she’s okay.
Because warriors don’t mourn until each battle has been won.
And the emotion she picks to unravel can not easily be undone.
She’s severely hurt and in tremendous danger.
And as she looks in the mirror, the person staring back is a stranger.
Bruises that run deep, gaping wounds, and broken bones.
Thousands of people could surround her, and she’d still somehow feel alone.
Pick up your sword. You’re not done fighting.
Don’t expose yourself. Just leave your emotions here in writing.
Don’t give them an advantage. Don’t let them get too close.
Alliances are like tear gas; if they get too close, she’ll choke.
Don’t back down. Stand up. Stand tall.
Don’t you dare give them the satisfaction of seeing your sword fall.
“For though the righteous may fall seven times, they will soon rise again.”
So she receives the full armor of God, lifts the sword once more, and whispers, “Amen.”