Some are born not to rest, but to rise,
Not with the ease of the fearless or the strength of the wise.
But with a gift carved deep in their soul,
A fire, a grit, a warrior’s role.
It’s not in the power of muscle or might,
But in the refusal to surrender the fight.
God in His wisdom forged them in flame,
A mettle unyielding, a spirit untamed.
Life will come, relentless and vast,
Trial upon trial, a merciless blast.
They’ll bend, they’ll break, they’ll bleed, they’ll fall,
But rise again, standing tall.
Perhaps they’d wish for a gentler path,
A road untouched by sorrow’s wrath.
But warriors are shaped by battles countless,
And their enemies that stand before groundless
The hardest trials are sent to the few,
The strongest souls who will see them through.
For God’s own fighters, though battered and scarred,
Bear the weight of pain as a badge of the hard.
You may feel shattered, weak, and torn,
Yet in your struggle, strength is born.
What you’ve endured has made you strong,
A testament that pain won’t last long.
So when life’s storms rage, and hope feels thin,
Remember the steel God placed within.
Your battles have purpose, your trials a plan,
For only the toughest are called to withstand.
Do not give up, for you are His own,
A warrior of grit, forged by the stone.
Pain is a tool, shaping your right,
And you, God’s fighter, shine like a light through the night.