On September 11, 2001, at 8:46 am on a Tuesday morning in New York City, an airplane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Seventeen minutes later, at 9:03, a second plane crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center. At 9:37, a third plane crashed into the Pentagon, and at 10:03, a fourth plane crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. An estimated 2996 people lost their lives.

It was a dark day for America. The United States came under attack. On October 7, 2001, we answered the call to battle, and Operation Enduring Freedom was born. America went to war. America would go, fight, defend her constitution, and pursue her enemies. Osama bin Laden was the mastermind behind the Al Qaeda terrorist attacks on our country—pure evil.

A few years later, my son enrolled in the ROTC program at Jacksonville State University. During his four years there, he trained to fight on the frontline of the battlefield. He completed Air Assault School, Airborne School, Ranger School, and Warrior Forge Leadership School. He took the oath of an Army Officer. He swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

On January 26, 2012, my son boarded an airplane at Ft. Bragg Army base in North Carolina with the 503 Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division. Destination: Kandahar, Afghanistan. Their mission: to disrupt Taliban operations. They would deploy for 9 months.

This war had already been raging for 11 years, and almost 2000 American soldiers had lost their lives. My son was strong, brave, courageous, and ready to sacrifice his life for his country, his family, and for freedom. I was trying to be strong, brave, and courageous. The images of 911 tugged on my heartstrings. I tried to prepare myself for this day. I thought my faith in God was strong. I thought I was brave and strong. I would be the best military mom ever.

When my husband and I dropped him off that day at the Army base in North Carolina, we hugged him tight, said our goodbyes, and held the tears. When I turned to walk back to our truck, I heard the voice of the enemy waging war in my heart and mind.

John 10:10: “The enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy.”

A full-on spiritual attack from Satan hit me like a ton of bricks. He began spewing his lies in my head.

• You will never see your son again.
• He will be shot down as soon as he steps off the aircraft.
• He will step on an IED, and you will not be able to recognize him or identify his body.
• He will become a prisoner of war.
• The Taliban will torment him day and night.
• The Taliban will behead him and send you a video of the torture.
• Your son will come home in a body bag with your American flag draped over it.
• You will have nothing but your American flag.

I had never experienced a panic attack or anxiety attack. I never struggled with depression, but at that moment, I was experiencing all three. My mind had become the enemy’s battleground.

It was a long drive back to Sardis City, Alabama. That attack lasted four hours. I was exhausted when we returned home. I was a wreck, and that was exactly what the enemy wanted. The following day my son and his regiment stepped off the airplane onto enemy territory. He was 7283 miles away from home, away from me.

It is not natural for a mother to send her child into harm’s way. I was in unchartered waters, and I felt like I was about to drown. I tried reading my Bible. I tried praying. I felt disconnected from God. I tried talking to other mothers. The enemy’s voice was louder than my faith. The torment was endless. I was failing miserably at being strong, brave, and courageous.

The days became longer and longer. The number of deaths kept climbing. Each time the telephone rang, my heart would sink. Each time my doorbell rang, my heart sank. Each time an unfamiliar vehicle came down my driveway, I would hold my breath. I expected every day to receive the word that he had been killed. I was not living; I was barely breathing.

One night in mid-April, I was in a deep sleep and could hear Bobby screaming for me. I could see him far away in a desert on the ground, but I could never reach him. A force kept holding me back. Fear gripped me and woke me from sleep. I jumped out of bed, ran outside, and screamed at God, “Why do you allow Satan to torment me?” “Make him shut up. Silence him. I‘m losing my mind.“ God was silent. I was afraid to go back to sleep, afraid the nightmares would return. I showered and got dressed for work.

Shortly after sunrise, I walked into the First Baptist Church where I work. When I walked through the door, I took a left and found myself in the “little chapel.” I sat down on the floor in front of the altar, and I cried until I had no more tears to cry. I begged God to protect my son and all those who were with him. I begged God to speak peace into my troubled soul. I glanced up, and there was a Bible lying on the altar bench. I picked it up, and the Holy Spirit of God spoke, “Psalm 91”. I read it aloud. As I read the words, a peace began to wash over me.

It was like a cool drink of water on a hot summer day.

The Holy Spirit ministered to me that morning. I sat at my desk and wrote these words:

The God of Psalm 91:

• He is my Secret Place.
• He is my Refuge.
• He is my Fortress.
• He is my Deliverer.
• He is my Protector.
• He is my Habitation.
• He is the God of Army Angels.
• He is the lover of my soul.
• He is my Salvation.
• He walks in Afghanistan on the frontline of the battlefield.

I began to read it every single day. The “little chapel” became my War Room, my battleground. The Word of God became my sword to fight the enemy and his attacks. Psalm 91 shined light into my dark world.

My son had everything he needed for the battle. He had his armor, which included his helmet, weapon, ammo, bulletproof vest, and night goggles. Army tanks and helicopters for reinforcements were waiting. Years of training were becoming his reality. What I had failed to remember was that I, too, had everything I needed for the battle going on in my heart and mind.

I continued to visit the “little chapel” every day, and the Holy Spirit of the Lord always met me there. He began to teach me what it truly means to be dressed in the full armor of the Lord.

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil‘s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And, pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert.” Ephesians 6:10-18

My son came home in September of that year, 2012. When he stepped off that plane and his boots hit American soil, I wept. I rejoiced. I praised the God of Psalm 91. The year 2012 was by far the hardest year of my life, but the Lord taught me how to fight in a little chapel, on my knees, with the Word of God. I came out of that “War Room” swinging my sword and feeling like a Jedi. God reminded me I had everything I needed to fight the battle. The enemy still rears his ugly head and comes after me, but now I know how to fight.

Let me leave you with this thought. A war rose up against the Son of God, a war to silence the Messiah. They tried him for blasphemy. He was arrested and tormented. He was beaten, whipped, wounded, and suffered. They placed a crown of thorns upon his head. They nailed him to a cross. No reinforcements came. No rest. No sleep. He bled out. He died a cruel death. He is the greatest War Hero of all time. His accusers claimed victory, but on the third day, he rose up out of that grave with power over death, hell, and the grave. Satan trembled. His accusers trembled. The war was over. It was finished. This one, Jesus, sits at the Father’s right hand, making intercession for us. He deserves the Purple Heart because he died in the battle. He is the great and mighty warrior. Isaiah said,

“The Lord shall go forth as a mighty man, like a man of war. He shall roar and prevail against his enemies.“

Who is fighting your battles?
Who goes with you to the frontline of the battlefield?
Who is the Mighty Warrior in your life?

Dana Hill
Lean into Jesus Ministries
#danahillblogs