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In March 2003, the same month that President Bush declared war on Iraq, a Louisiana wife and a mother of three learned that her husband would soon be deployed to Baghdad.

"We were expecting it," Sabrina Moffett, 37, says of her family's suspicion that her husband, Kevin, an Army officer, would be sent off to war. "But I was hoping it would change. I was hoping for that until the day he left."

Circumstances didn't change, however, and the day that Kevin, executive officer of the 519th Military Police Battalion in Ft. Polk, did leave, is a day seared in Sabrina's memory. "I can visualize when we said goodbye and he left us sitting there in the car," she said of herself and her children, ages 10, 7, and 4. "I drove home thinking, 'I'm on my own now.'"

Throughout the past year that the U.S. military has carried out "Operation Iraqi Freedom," Christian families across the country with deployed loved ones have experienced similar goodbyes. And no age group or family dynamic has remained untouched.

Husbands and wives have become "single" parents, dealing with the pressures of managing their households alone and fighting off the loneliness and anxiety that come with having a spouse at war. Parents have watched in anguish as their own children have headed into the unknown. Empty-nesting couples have found themselves separated as their spouses have unexpectedly been deployed in their golden years. Even newlyweds, with wedding gifts barely unwrapped, have spent their first year of marriage apart with one spouse overseas.

Some of these families will soon be reunited with their loved ones. After a year at war, Kevin Moffett, 38, is scheduled to return home anytime now. His wife couldn't be more relieved. "I prayed with the kids for Kevin every night he was gone," Sabrina says. "They needed to be with their father again. The boys missed having a male figure in their life who could get down with them on the floor and wrestle. My daughter, Kelsey, needed someone she could stay up late with and watch TV. Her dad's the only night owl in the family."

Other families will not experience such relief. Sandy Watson, 57, of Phoenix, Arizona, last saw her son Michael Williams during Christmas of 2002. At that time Michael, 31, no longer seemed to resemble the straying young man who'd experimented with drugs earlier in his life. He'd recently recommitted himself to the Lord. "He was a changed person," Sandy says. "He was getting his life in order."

Michael, a Marine, spent six weeks at sea in early 2003 before arriving in Kuwait that March, just as the war officially broke out. Before joining the Marines, Michael had worked in the flooring business. He spent his free time as a soldier collecting scrap wood for the base of his tent. "His unit joked they had the only tents in Kuwait with wood floors," Sandy says.

In March, Michael's unit entered Iraq from the south and worked to secure bridges over the Euphrates River. Then on March 23, enemy forces ambushed Michael's regiment. "They were caught between two bridges," Sandy says. "They were trying to fight their way back out."

Michael was killed when a rocket-propelled grenade hit his vehicle and exploded. He died instantly. A total of 18 men in his unit perished that day—the same day that Army Private Jessica Lynch was taken as a prisoner of war. "It was a pretty destructive day," Sandy says.

The hardest part was waiting for Michael's death to be officially confirmed. The remaining members of his unit had to flee the sight of the attack and returned three days later to recover the bodies, which were identified through DNA tests.

"It was devastating to get verbal confirmation," Sandy says. "But it wasn't like we were blindsided. I think God prepares you for it. I was having dreams the night before of someone coming to our door. I could have sworn I heard someone knocking. Through prayer we were given the peace to accept whatever happened."

Sandy says she prays that other families who still have loved ones deployed will experience similar peace.

Suddenly alone
Susan Hickman is one of many U.S. military wives still waiting for her husband to return home from Iraq. But her and her husband Bill's situation as empty-nesters separated by war in their golden years catches some people by surprise, especially when they realize Bill left behind seven grandchildren to go to war.

Bill, 56, and Susan, 55, have tried to make the best out of their situation, but it hasn't been easy. "This is supposed to be our season of life to spend time together," Susan says. "But now I'm alone. There are decisions that I now have to make by myself. And I'm not used to that. Bill and I have spent more than half of our lives together. We enjoy each other's company. I think that's what I miss most—his daily companionship. I'm grieving the loss of things we used to do together."

The separation also has been hard for Bill. "His seventh grandchild—and namesake—was born while Bill's been gone," Susan says. "We often don't realize this, but there are a number of grandparents serving alongside our young people in the war."

Bill, a member of the Missouri Army National Guard, served as a Marine in the Philippines earlier in his life. For the past 10 years, he worked for a limousine company. Recently, he'd retired and made plans for yet another job—becoming a real estate appraiser. Then his 203rd Engineer Battalion was called up.

For two months Bill prepared for war. Then on May 23, 2003—a day after his 35th wedding anniversary—he left for Iraq. His battalion's mission has been to restore roads, schools, and other public facilities throughout the country.

"When his battalion of 650 men and women first arrived in Iraq, they had nothing," Susan, a social worker in Marshfield, Missouri, recalls. "They had to build a base camp from the ground up. It took them four days just to get the tents set up. In the meantime, they slept under the stars. They had no showers. Their clothes were just sticking to them."

Once Bill became settled, Susan started sending him packages and gifts, including a toaster oven and a bread machine. "My husband loves to cook and does most of the cooking at home," she says. "In fact, that's one thing the grandkids miss most—Papa Bill's meatballs and his blueberry pancakes. So I sent him the bread machine and some chocolate dessert bread mix. He now has a bakery in Baghdad," she jokes. "Every Sunday he makes four loaves."

Not being able to consistently connect and encourage each other emotionally has been one of the hardest aspects of the war to endure, Susan says. "It's very hard to comfort your loved one from afar. I can't hug Bill or touch him. I have to depend on the Holy Spirit, Who isn't bound by distance or time, to comfort him. I pray for Bill because I want God's best for him."

Susan says praying Scriptures over Bill has given her comfort and deepened her faith. "One verse that I love is Matthew 19:26: Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.'

"Men can't guarantee Bill's safety," Susan says. "But with the Lord, everything is possible."

She also likes Isaiah 32:18: My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest. "I pray that for my husband and his tentmates," says Susan. "Sometimes it's hard for them to sleep when it's cold at night."

Bill initially was scheduled to return home in January, but his assignment was extended until the end of May. Susan says she's cautious about her optimism of seeing Bill this summer. She knows nothing is certain in times of war. "Until my husband is standing in the kitchen and plants a real kiss on my lips, I won't believe he's home," she says.

Facing uncertainty
Opposite of the Hickmans' experience is what newlyweds Seth and Courtney Cole of Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, encountered just five weeks after tying the knot in 2002. Seth, 26, a pilot for the Army's 101st Airborne Division, was sent to Afghanistan for Operation Enduring Freedom shortly after the terrorist attacks of September 11. He spent almost eight months in Afghanistan, returned home for three weeks, and then was assigned to the Middle East for Operation Iraqi Freedom.

	"I've had to reassure myself that God knows what's going to happen. He's bigger than this war."—Courtney Cole

"In the first year and a half of our marriage, we spent a total of three months together," Courtney, 23, says. "I really haven't felt married most of the time. I have a giant king-size bed I sleep in by myself. Sometimes you can't dwell on it because it just makes you sad.

"I've had to reassure myself that God knows what's going to happen," she says. "He's bigger than this war. He's the creator of everything. And He's good no matter what. I can claim that belief as my own like never before, because I now know what it's like to accept it amid uncertainty."

Anji Justmann, 34, of Troy, Illinois, says she's come to a similar conclusion. Her husband, Mike, 41, was deployed in August 2003 as a contractor the government hired to install communication systems in Baghdad as part of efforts to restore computer services in Iraq.

Anji says she came to a breaking point a month or so after her husband's departure when things started to fall apart at home. The furnace, dishwasher, and dryer all stopped working at once. "Then my son started acting up," she says. One afternoon, Chris, age 5, destroyed his room and bathroom in what Anji thought was a temper tantrum. "I didn't know it at the time, but he was struggling with a behavior disorder," she says. "I felt like I was losing my mind. In the midst of all that I said, 'God, I can't do this by myself. Help me to see the next step.' And He did. In hindsight, I can see He was there the whole time."

The small steps she began taking to trust God with her difficulties prepared Anji for disturbing news she received in coming weeks: her husband's office building in Baghdad was hit twice by explosives. "The first attack happened on a Sunday while I was at church," she says. "Mike had called and left a message saying he was okay. I knew something must have happened for him to do that, so I called his supervisor. He explained Mike had been on the phone with a coworker when the explosion happened. Mike wasn't injured during either of the attacks. But it helped me realize you can't take anything for granted. I also came to the realization that if I do lose him, God will provide. He is there and He will order my steps."

Searching for closure While many families wait for their loved ones to return, others—like Sandy Watson—continue to face the grim reality of loss. More than 590 U.S. soldiers have died since the war began, including U.S. Army Captain Joshua Byers, 29, a committed Christian who left behind a wife, parents who are Southern Baptist missionaries in Guam, and two younger brothers, Milam and Jared, who are members of the Christian rock band Bleach (which recently announced its breakup).

Jared, 21, the youngest brother, says the tragedy has devastated his family and that they've all received counseling. The moment he learned of his brother's death last July 23 is still painful to recall.

"Kim, Josh's wife, called us about an hour after she found out," Jared says. "I woke up to my brother Milam crying on the phone hysterically. Our mom and dad were already in the middle of an overseas flight back home to visit. The hardest part for me was waiting for five hours until their flight landed to tell them their son was dead. When they saw us in the airport, it was almost like they knew. They broke down. They both crashed to the ground and cried."

Josh's responsibilities in Iraq included gathering intelligence and planning missions for raids. He died while traveling between two military camps when al Qaeda loyalists set off explosives alongside the road where Josh and other soldiers were driving. Noise from the blast was heard at the soldiers' base ten miles away. "A remote detonated bomb went off on the side of road and hit Josh's Hummer, which was in front. It killed him instantly," Jared says.

Josh had been in Iraq less than three months when he died, but during that time he'd already witnessed up close the heartaches of war. He saw a fellow soldier drown inside a tank when the vehicle accidentally slid from a nearby bank into a river. For 30 minutes Josh and his men tried to retrieve the soldier while feeding him oxygen through a hosepipe. Their efforts ended in vain.

Jared says other soldiers have told him of incidents when Josh demonstrated bravery in the face of danger. "He'd see Iraqi kids in minefields who'd been sent out to gather wood. Josh would gather his men and lead the way, tipping over mines just to save a kid's life. He always said, 'I'm not going to waste time out here. The more I do, the closer it feels to when I'm coming home.'"

Josh loved the army but planned on getting out soon. "He wanted to start a family," Jared says. "They were going to start trying when he got home."

Seeing Josh's life end so abruptly sent Jared into a tailspin of depression. Even events that were supposed to be joyful—such as Milam's wedding last winter—have instead been difficult. "Josh was going to be the best man along with me," Jared says. "Instead, a folded American flag sat on a stool in his place."

Josh's death also made his family second guess the war. "We were never against it," Jared says, "but then little questions came up, like 'Are we really doing the right thing?' 'What is this really about?' 'Is it worth all these people dying?' There are days when I wish we'd go about this in a different way. But ultimately I'm proud of our guys for what they're doing."

Josh's parents received comfort when they visited with President Bush after their son's death. Bush met with several families who'd lost loved ones earlier this year in Ft. Carson, Colorado, where Josh had been stationed before his deployment. "The president hugged my parents and said 'I'm sorry.' He just apologized and apologized and asked questions about what happened. It was a big deal for my dad in helping him find closure."

Jared says he's not sure closure will ever completely come for himself. "Losing a brother is almost too much for my mind to bear," he says. "Josh was my hero as a kid. He always wanted to be in the military and went to West Point. I wanted to do it because he did it. Then I saw how hard West Point was and decided it wasn't for me. But Josh was the one I'd call during any sadness I went through in the past. If I was struggling in school or because our family moved around a lot, I'd turn to him. He's the one person I wish I could call right now.

"Josh's death has shaken my relationship with God," Jared says. "But Milam shared a quote by C. S. Lewis with me years ago that I've thought about a lot recently: 'God whispers to us in our pleasures, …. but shouts in our pains.' That's so true to me now. God's become so real and close to me in my pain. I've also realized that if we didn't have struggles, we'd never have to rely on God."

Editor's Note: After this article went to press, we learned that Kevin Moffett, Seth Cole, and Mike Justmann had all returned home safely. Unfortunately, Bill Hickman's orders were extended.

Corrie Cutrer, formerly an assistant editor of Today's Christian Woman, lives near St. Louis.

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