Called to Serve

I quietly pushed open our girls’ bedroom door and watched them sleeping. Hannah and Sarah were snuggled together on the bottom bunk. Grace, in the top bunk, had her thumb in her mouth.

What will they think when I tell them Daddy’s going to Iraq? We’d prayed that it wouldn’t happen. We’d prayed since the week after Michael returned from Afghanistan. He’d come home from work one day with the news that his unit was deploying to Iraq the next year. I’d allowed myself just one minute of panic before I put up a wall against the thought.

“We’re going to enjoy our life together every day…not fear for the future,” I’d told myself.

But now, Michael’s words echoed in my head…the words he’d spoken before he left for Afghanistan that dark morning last July: “At least it’s not Iraq.”

At least it’s not Iraq. But this time it is. And the news about what’s going on over there is NOT GOOD. The kids know what “going to Iraq” means. How do I tell them that Michael’s going?

I pushed Joseph’s door open and looked in on him. What’s Joseph going to do for a year or more without his dad? He’s already surrounded by girls for most of the hours in a day. At almost five years old, he’s at the age when he really WANTS Dad. I stood there worrying most about what Michael’s absence would mean to him. He’d be starting kindergarten this fall...a very important year in a child’s life.

Michael was in bed when I finally climbed in. He wasn’t sleeping. His arms were folded behind his head and he was looking at the ceiling. I didn’t disturb him. I just lay down beside him, careful not to touch him. I lay facing him, watching him.

“We have to tell the kids,” he said quietly, still looking at the ceiling.