In your enemies face
As the dust cloud of my suffering charges closer to an impending assault, the advancing enemy is at full attack, and he points the weapons of my circumstances and fires the bullets at my past failures. But God has not risen up a standard against him, no this time it seems that God has only place a sandbag at my foxhole; a sandbag just high enough for me to duck my head below the fire of the advancing enemies. So I crouch my shoulders and duck my head down until my nose is almost submerged into the filthy germ-infested water that floods my foxhole. Just out of the reach of the advancing attacks I realize that there is not much room to move. Just a little lower and I drown; a few inches higher and a bullet ripped through the cavity of my brain. And to make things worst all my company has either died, or gone in full retreat and left me alone. There is nothing in me worthy in this battle, I have rocks, my enemies have tanks, I aim my slingshot, while he points his...