I shall begin my march for Camp tomorrow morning. It was not in

“I shall begin my march for Camp tomorrow morning. It was not in my power to move until I could procure shoes for the troops almost barefoot.” Thus spoke Anthony Wayne, a general of the American Revolution, known by his comrades as “Mad Anthony” for his fiery courage. Yet in these words, we find not only the ferocity of a soldier but the compassion of a leader who would not drive his men into ruin without first tending to their most basic needs. His words burn with both urgency and restraint, showing that true strength lies not in reckless haste, but in caring for those who bear the weight of the struggle.

The march he speaks of is more than the movement of soldiers; it is the symbol of progress, of destiny unfolding across the wilderness of uncertainty. Yet Wayne understood that no march, however noble in aim, can be sustained if the feet that carry it bleed upon the stones. Thus he waited, not from weakness, but from wisdom. He knew that to clothe his men’s feet was to clothe their spirits with endurance. His shoes were not leather alone, but the difference between despair and hope, between collapse and victory.

The image of the troops almost barefoot recalls to us the sufferings of Valley Forge, where ragged men left crimson trails of blood upon the snow. They fought not with comfort, but with hunger gnawing at their bellies and frost biting their flesh. And yet, under leaders like Wayne and Washington, they endured. Their sacrifice was not diminished by their lack of shoes—it was magnified. For when the body is denied ease, only the soul remains to carry the burden forward.

History gives us many mirrors of this truth. Consider Hannibal, who led his army across the Alps, not with abundance, but with sheer resolve. His men, too, struggled against hunger, cold, and wounds. Yet he became a legend because he pressed onward, finding ways to sustain his soldiers in the face of impossible odds. Wayne’s pause to secure shoes for his men is of the same cloth—an understanding that endurance in war is not born of glory alone, but of the smallest provisions that keep the soldier standing.

Wayne’s words also carry a hidden wisdom for the ages: that great undertakings are not accomplished by willpower alone. We may be filled with passion, eager to march, but without preparation, our efforts falter. The leader must balance urgency with patience, zeal with provision. For to rush forward unprepared is to invite disaster, but to move forward equipped is to invite victory. His decision to delay until the troops were ready shows that foresight is as heroic as bravery.

The lesson for us is timeless: before beginning your own march, be sure that your foundations are secure. Do not despise the small things—the shoes, the tools, the quiet preparations—for without them, your journey may end before it begins. Whether in battle, in work, or in the struggles of the spirit, it is the unseen provisions that carry us through. Tend to your body, strengthen your mind, prepare your resources, and only then set out.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, let this be your practice: when faced with a great task, do not leap without thought. Ask yourself—are my feet shod, are my companions ready, is my spirit equipped? And if not, wait, prepare, and then march with confidence. Remember the words of Anthony Wayne: he who delays not from fear, but from wisdom, shall march farther than he who runs recklessly into ruin. Strength is not only in the charge, but in the care that makes the charge possible.

So let us hold fast to this teaching: that true leadership sees both the glory of the battle and the wounds of the soldier. And as Wayne clothed his men’s feet before leading them to war, so must we clothe our own lives with preparation, patience, and foresight. Only then shall our march endure, and only then shall victory be won.