Bring me my armor, my helm, my greaves and my sword. Underneath your welcome wings I feel not the pierce of the blade nor temptation of the Earth. I am a man created in your image--unwilling to hide from the fire outside. I crave not the sanctuary of the tired and cold. I desire not the fleeted foot of retreat. My boots will stand firmly like the roots of an ancient Oak... to brave the unclean elements of a weakened world.
Father, keep my blade sharp and my gussets clean. Bring me the strength of spirit so I may shield faithful and the faith-fallen, alike.
In grace and mercy,