Thirty-one years ago I joined You,
King Jesus, in the Fight—
Against the darkness,
Against the night.
Against unseen enemies
That never let me be,
Whispers in my mind
Saying I’d be better off
Dead and free.
Some battles You sent people
To help me fight.
Some, they came pretending—
Smiling masks hiding spite.
At times, by Your power,
I rose to victory.
Other times I collapsed in Your arms,
Weary and empty.
In some battles, I was certain
I’d live to fight another day.
In others, I quietly wondered
If I’d fade away.
My King, I confess—
When Satan knocked me down,
Bloody, bruised, and barely breathing,
I wondered,
“Is this the end?
Is it time for my crown?”
Then You’d come to my side,
Lifting this soldier once again,
Breathing life and power into me,
Telling satan, “This isn’t the end.”
“Is this it?”
I've asked too many times,
Sometimes as a question,
Sometimes as a silent desire to resign.
But every time,
You answered with power and love—
“No, not yet.”
You’d heal my heart, renew my strength,
And remind me I still had breath.
This war is not fought
With sword or spear,
But with words,
And a Spirit with no fear.
People think satan’s voice
Is what wounds me the most—
But it’s not.
It’s the words of those I love,
Words that once brought comfort,
Their words now like a ghost.
Today, I lay here again,
Wounded deep.
Satan, through people,
Has struck a blow so steep
I don’t think I can rise this time.
I’m down to my last breath,
But for the first time—
There’s peace in death.
So, my King, I ask You,
Come for this tired,
Battle-worn soldier.
Take me into Your forever Kingdom
Of light,
Where I’ll never again
have to fight.
By,
Jeff Dalton
