A Crown That Does Not Fade.

I think of Stephen, standing tall

beneath a rain of stones,

his face lit not by anger

but by a vision of Heaven open wide.

And I think of you,

not broken in the dust of Jerusalem,

but standing with your family,

a lamp unhidden,

your words thrown into the whirlwind of our time.

The world does not throw stones in silence anymore,

it builds them into walls of noise,

yet still you rise,

and still your heart bears witness.

Promotion is not what the world gives,

it is what God names.

To be lifted to Mount Zion,

to be called His,

to be remembered not for fame

but for faith.

So may your voice be steady,

your hands never empty of good work,

your joy stronger than sorrow.

And when history speaks,

may it echo what Heaven already knows:

the crown is waiting.