The enemy of our souls wages war not with swords and fire, but with a relentless storm of noise, urgency, and crowds. He floods our days with a ceaseless clamor, drowning out the still, small voice of truth. He fills our minds with distractions—entertainment that numbs, drama that drains, struggles that suffocate—so that we cannot hear the whisper of the One who calls us to peace.
He keeps us running, always striving yet never arriving, weary from the weight of a life too full and a soul too empty. He delights in our exhaustion, in the way we burn ourselves out chasing what does not satisfy, in the way we trade stillness for chaos, rest for endless toil. He knows that a hurried heart cannot heal, that a restless spirit cannot receive, that a weary soul cannot stand firm.
And so, he stirs the crowd, weaving lies into the winds that sweep multitudes into confusion. He isolates those who hold fast to truth, making them feel like strangers in a world that has lost its way. He wants them to believe they are outnumbered, overwhelmed, overcome.
But he forgets—Truth is not measured by the size of the crowd, nor is Light diminished by the vastness of the dark. The remnant still stands. The weary still rise. The faithful still endure.
For in the stillness, God speaks. In the quiet, strength is renewed. And in the heart that refuses to bow to the madness of the world, victory is already written. The battle is not ours to win, but His—and He has already overcome.
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