I have been buried. I have been wounded. I have been beaten, bloodied, and scarred, but I have never been broken. Not yet. Not ever.
All day, I move with the bearing of a commander: fierce, unyielding, untouchable. If you are not in my ranks, then you are rubble beneath my march.
You speak of honour, but words are nothing but wind. Steel alone proves worth. Deeds alone reveal truth.
They promise wings from potions and praise, from titles and empty crowns. But I do not rise by such frail gifts. I rise by discipline. I rise by fire. I rise by the will to conquer.
So hear me now: We do not crawl. We do not beg. We rise, we fight, we endure. And when the smoke clears, when the dust settles, it will be our banner that stands against the horizon.
For I have been wounded, but I have never been broken. And neither shall you.
In moments of crisis, the temptation is to answer every accusation, to respond to every whisper, and to shout down every lie. But silence is not surrender. Silence can be discipline. Silence can be strength.
The days behind us have been filled with untruths, misrepresentations, and shadows cast upon work that so many have poured their lives into. And yet, through every wound and every word of slander, one truth has remained: we have not been broken.
“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9)
This declaration is not born from bitterness, nor is it written in vengeance. It is born from faith. It is born from endurance. It is born from the unshakable conviction that no matter how ofierce the storm, the banner of truth and service will still stand.
Pain is not foreign to me. Wounds are not foreign to me. I have walked through valleys deeper than most can imagine, and I have carried burdens heavier than words can tell. Yet here I stand. Why? Because my strength does not come from myself. My endurance does not rest on human shoulders.
“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31)
My wounds may be real, but they have never undone me. My scars may be deep, but they have only testified that I am still standing. Each cut, each bruise, each scar has been transformed into proof that resilience is not an idea. It is a discipline, forged in fire, grounded in faith.
All day, I move with the bearing of a commander. Disciplined. Fierce. Untouchable in resolve. This is not arrogance. This is not pride. It is the knowledge that leadership demands an unyielding spirit, especially in times of chaos. A commander does not sway with gossip. A commander does not collapse under pressure. A commander stands. He leads. He endures.
“Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love.” (1 Corinthians 16:13–14)
To those who are not in my ranks, I offer no enmity, only this truth: those who oppose righteous work will see their opposition dissolve into rubble beneath the march of purpose. Not because of my might, but because truth and justice endure while lies crumble.
They speak of honor. They throw around accusations. They craft narratives. But what are words without substance? Words are wind. Deeds alone reveal truth. And what are the deeds of our work? Communities built. Children fed. Camps filled with laughter and learning. Families restored.
“Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.” (1 John 3:18)
Let the record speak, not of whispers in backrooms or the twisting of headlines, but of lives changed. Our worth is not proven by the approval of men, but by the testimony of service.
They promise wings through potions and praise. They hand out crowns with no weight and titles with no substance. But such frail gifts cannot elevate a man or a mission. I do not rise by titles. I do not rise by the fleeting applause of the crowd. I rise by discipline. I rise by fire. I rise by the will to conquer, not men, but obstacles.
“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” (Romans 5:3–4)
Fire does not destroy the faithful. Fire refines them. It burns away what is weak and leaves only what is pure, steadfast, unbreakable.
So hear me now. We do not crawl. We do not beg. We rise. We fight. We endure. This is not a call to violence. It is a call to steadfastness. It is a call to remember that endurance is the mark of the believer. The world may press down, but the faithful rise up.
“Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.” (James 1:12)
We rise not by force but by faith. We fight not with weapons but with truth. We endure not in our own strength but in the strength of Christ. And when the smoke clears, when the dust settles, it will be our banner, unbroken, unstained, that stands against the horizon.
What is our banner? It is not wealth. It is not fame. It is not position. Our banner is service. The work of CJF America, the labor of our teams, the sacrifices of those who stand with us, these are not erased by rumor. They are not undone by delay. They are not silenced by slander.
“And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9)
Service endures. Communities remain. Lives testify. These are the fruits that no critic can erase.
This declaration is not mine alone. It belongs to all who have endured beside me. To every leader who has been maligned but kept serving. To every worker who has labored without recognition. To every family who has held faith through trial.
“Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.” (1 Thessalonians 5:11)
We endure together. And in our unity, we are unbreakable.
For I have been wounded, but I have never been broken. And neither shall you. This is my declaration. Not of vengeance, but of resilience. Not of pride, but of perseverance. Not of despair, but of faith.
When all else fades, when words fail, when falsehoods collapse, when the storm passes, truth will remain. Our banner will remain. We will endure. We will serve. We will rise.
“But the Lord is faithful. He will establish you and guard you against the evil one.” (2 Thessalonians 3:3)
And when the world looks back, it will not see rubble. It will see a people, scarred but unbroken, standing beneath the banner of service and faith.