Undefeated

There are nights when it feels like the world closes in, when the weight of everything wrong and broken presses too tightly against your heart. You can almost taste the darkness in the air—it’s heavy, it’s loud, it’s relentless. The kind of darkness that doesn’t just live outside but creeps inward, whispering doubts and feeding fears until your strength starts to crumble. I’ve felt that kind of battle. The kind where you’re waging war inside your own mind, trying to hold on to hope while the shadows of despair push closer.

But just when it feels like I’m about to break—when the light seems too far away—You arrive. You always do. You lift me. You remind me that I was never meant to fight this battle alone. Suddenly the war isn’t mine anymore—it’s ours. And when we stand together, the darkness doesn’t stand a chance.

I wish I could say I never doubt You, but the truth is, I do. More often than I’d like to admit. Sometimes faith feels like a tug-of-war between what I know and what I see, between Your promises and my fear. My anger rises, my heart clenches, and I push You away even when I need You most. But You never leave. You never turn from me when I’m falling apart. You stand steady, patient, and kind. When my anger builds and blinds me, You answer it—not with judgment, but with mercy. Mercy that quiets the storm inside me. Mercy that wraps around me like a warm light in the middle of a cold night. Mercy I cannot live without.

And then the battles come—the ones I can’t see and can’t predict. The ones that wear me down until I feel empty. But when war comes ’round, You stand my ground. You hold the line when I cannot. You become my defender when I am too tired to fight. When I fall under the weight of it all, when I’m mistreated, misunderstood, or just too weary to keep standing, You lift me again. You heal the wounds that the world can’t see. You speak life over the parts of me that have long felt dead. You unseal my tomb, and I rise undefeated—not because I am strong, but because You are.

You pour strength into me when I am poured out and depleted. When I have nothing left to give, You fill my cup until it overflows. You meet me right there in my exhaustion, not asking for perfection, only surrender. You remind me that it’s okay to be empty, because You are the God who fills.

And when everything around me feels chaotic—when injustice stings, when life feels unfair, when hope flickers—You are my light. You bring balance back to my world. You make things right, not always by changing what’s around me, but by changing what’s within me. You turn anger into understanding, despair into endurance, pain into purpose. You remind me that broken doesn’t mean finished.

I stand here now, not untouched by pain, not free from scars, but undefeated. Because being undefeated isn’t about never falling—it’s about rising every single time. It’s about holding faith even when your hands shake. It’s about knowing that victory doesn’t always look like triumph—it sometimes looks like peace.

You are my victory, not because You erase the war, but because You fight it with me. Not because You take away the pain, but because You fill it with purpose. Not because You promise an easy path, but because You promise never to leave me on it alone.

So when darkened souls surround me, when the world feels cruel and loud and senseless, I will remember: nothing of this world can save me, but You already have. When I start to come undone, You gather every piece of me and breathe life into what I thought was lost.

And when morning finally breaks—when light spills over the edges of my fear—I’ll remember what it means to stand undefeated. Not because I’ve conquered everything, but because I am held by the One who already has.