I'm on my knees, battered and torn. The wolves are circling. My clothes are ripped to shreds, I'm bleeding, and they can smell it. I'm barely holding them off, with a flaming torch in my hand, fending them away from me, Still they growl and sniff at me. Mocking my last stand, waiting with glee. Waiting for life to fade, Before they start their fleshly raid. Then as I fall, I am spirited away. The last second, the last breath, darkness claims me. I awake in a strange place. The wolves are nowhere near. "Hello?" I call out, wondering where I am. "Is any one there?", the echoes running away. Silence is golden. Or so they say. Then a man approaches me. "I saw the wolves, I saw your pain." He binds up my wounds, as I sit there, no fight needed. The fire inside is not dim. I have learned. Wolves will always hunt the weak. My weaknesses, I give to God. In Him I am strong In Him I can rise again In Him, no wolf will win. In Him, I have many Last Stands. I open my eyes, The wolves are circling. My torch is fading, My breathe freezes in the frigid air. I stand, new life flowing into me. Jesus Blood flowing through my veins. The wolves see life return. They are uncertain, they are afraid. Come wolves. Try to take me again. Feel my torch, my fire. You will leave me, bruised, but you will not bruise me. As I stand again, I am dangerous. The fight is not to fight. The fight is to stand, and keep standing. When all else fades away, It is just Him standing there.
