War is a horror to those who have no purpose. But to the anointed, every stroke, every stride, is the movement of an ancient knight. To hold within the purpose of the Lord, we become in time the soldiers of heaven, having within the strength of golden armored knights and kings.
When you face danger, the flesh without God is in terror, but the holy become armored by God to fight and to win in love and in power and in the anointing of all those in heaven who have fought and died as saints, as knights, and as kings.
Go, tell your tales of horror before battles. The realism is so manly, is it not? A nice and finessed counterposition to the old tales and the juices of manhood flowing from the ancient DNA of holy and victorious ancestors.
Now, I will tell mine, boy, a tale to be told - it is the story of a knight, a knight of Vartan of the fourth century, his name unknown, inspires me to the bone.
This is what protects mothers and daughters, sons and old men - not your realism borne of loss and cowardice. Or rather, let us scare ourselves more, and feign more manhood than those who fight and die like a legend and a hymn. Let us do so, and lose the Spirit of God? Rather, let us not and cast this mind afar, seeing it is a curse of unbelief.