The Sky On Your Side.

Not too long ago, I went to go see 12 Strong while it was in theaters. It’s the story of the twelve U.S. Special Forces soldiers who go into Afghanistan, partnered with a team of local forces, in a deployment directly following 9/11. Throughout the movie, U.S. Captain Nelson repeatedly calls out the Northern Alliance leader, Dostum, on being careless with his men, to which Dostum in one scene tells Nelson that America does not really care about Afghanistan and is unwilling to sacrifice for it. Later, when the soldiers on the ground are overlooking a camp, preparing to tell their fellow soldiers in the sky where to drop the explosives, Dostum looks at Nelson and says, “You have the sky, but wars are won in the dirt.”It caught every last drop of my attention. I knew the power in that quote. I knew the meaningfulness in it. I knew it was more than just a line from commander to commander. It’s taken me weeks since seeing that movie and thinking about those words to be able to write about them. I don’t think the transition from winter to spring could have given me any more of a perfect platform.I absolutely love winter, but there’s no getting around the metaphors. It’s cold and dark and dreary, and there might be beauty in all of it, but one definitely has to put the effort into digging it out. Winter is the ultimate symbol in every novel with a depressed protagonist, every piece of literature with desperation as the setting, and any other story that just needs a little extra billboard-sized detail that screams “these people are sad.”This winter was, for me, one of actual desolation and desperation, and if my own limbs could have been as bare as the trees' then they would have sure done so. I was anxious and stressed and worn. Worn all the way thin. I was taking anyone’s prayer to anyone’s God for a way out. I was avoiding my own Beloved Father. I was miles deep in the dirt, wondering how in the world I could have, by His grace, all the authority under the stars and still feel and useless and hopeless as ever. I didn’t want it to work this way. I wanted to have my sky and use it too. But every beg wasn’t enough, every plea wasn’t enough. I felt like I maybe still had the sky, but the One who gave it to me was long gone. While it couldn’t be further from the truth, I learned that in fact, He doesn’t only watch from above, but gets down and all up in our personal space. All up in our dirt.In Donald Miller’s book, Blue Like Jazz, he talks of his friend’s friend who was a Navy SEAL, and how on a specific mission, they were calling out to a group of refugees in a dark, filthy room telling them they were Americans there to help. The prisoners sat frozen in fear, hiding their faces, unable to trust the voices and believe that they were really Americans. The friend in the story entered the room, removed his helmet and weapons, sat down beside the people, softened his face and put his arms around them. He stayed until the prisoners, knowing a guard would never do what he was doing, began to trust him and agreed to follow him to their rescue flight.I think that’s what it means when we say that we have the sky, but wars are won in the dirt. We have the advantage, but He’d rather be hammering away at the dirt right beside us than looking down from an impersonal imaginary little box from way up in the sky somewhere. It was never in the plan for Him to maliciously enjoy watching us figure our way out of our misery. Unanswered prayers were only a way for Him to remind us that if He made it easier, we wouldn’t get to fight through it together and in the end, we wouldn’t be closer. So your wars are won in the dirt.But you were never meant to fight them alone. And the sky was always on your side.words by Lauren McLemore and photo by Arianna Taralson