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March 15, 2004—Iraq: Traffic. It was Carrie McDonnall's worst nightmare. She and her fellow relief and development workers—a five-person team including her husband of almost two years, David—were anxious to get out of downtown Mosul and back into the safe zone in Kurdish-held territory before nightfall. All around their vehicle, stuck at a busy intersection, people milled about on sidewalks. Suddenly, Carrie felt something sting her. "Ow!" she yelled. A split second later, she heard the gunfire, realized they were under attack, then passed out.

Carrie and David met in Bethlehem's West Bank on New Year's Day 2000, at a gathering of young people working as missionaries in and around the Middle East. Their paths continued to cross over the following months during which Carrie worked at a foster home for Arab children in Israel and David traveled around the Middle East on short-term assignments. An e-mail conversation ensued, and by the fall of 2001, both were back in the States studying at a seminary in Texas, where they fell in love.

They married in June 2002 and celebrated their first anniversary while leading a short-term mission trip into the newly liberated Iraq. It was during that trip that a team leader from a Christian organization (nameless due to ongoing safety concerns in the region) first presented Carrie and David with the idea of working in Iraq long term. Saddam Hussein's overthrow presented new opportunities for teams to go into the country on relief and development missions, but they needed people on the ground to coordinate their efforts.

The couple returned home to fast and pray about the possibility. "We wanted to be back in the Middle East," Carrie says, "but Iraq was very unstable. Still, the call on our lives was so clear. We knew we were supposed to go."

Four months later—with the emotional support of their families and the financial support of a conglomeration of churches—the two made their home in northern Iraq and soon were busy with a constant flow of volunteer teams, distribution projects, and local outreach efforts. David came home one day to find the living room full of scraps of paper and ink after Carrie and two other relief workers spent the day teaching widows how to stamp and make greeting cards to generate income.

"Arab women are beautiful—but very straightforward," says Carrie. "They'll invade your personal space without hesitation. But it's their hospitality I love—if you talk for five minutes, they invite you in for tea, and you're their friend for life."

Within the context of these relationships, Carrie looked for opportunities to share her faith. "It's like living anywhere. You ask the Holy Spirit to lead you in what to say and do," says Carrie. "We wanted our love for Christ to overflow into our neighbors' lives."

But even as they established relationships and a sense of normalcy, the sounds of war were always present. David joked, "You might be in Iraq if … you've ever had a prayer meeting interrupted by gunfire." Saddam Hussein's capture was a cause for celebration, but it soon became clear insurgent activity was intensifying.

On the morning of March 15, 2004—four months after they'd moved to the country—David and Carrie worked with three veteran missionaries, Larry and Jean Elliott and Karen Watson, to assess the needs at an isolated camp of internal refugees. The missionaries left that afternoon in order to get back to Kurdish-held territory by nightfall. But on that fateful afternoon, six gunmen fired on their truck. Shrapnel ricocheted off the floors and walls of the bullet-riddled vehicle, leaving in its wake bloodied bodies and shattered glass. Larry was dead; David was unconscious at the wheel; Jean's dead body slumped against Carrie; Karen struggled to breathe.

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May/June 2006, Vol. 28, No. 3, Page 44

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