From the NYTimes Magazine

I assumed we had stranded our 4-year-old son Luke in the same spiritually arid place we’d found ourselves in. When my husband went to Iraq for several months, I thought Luke and I were in it together, a suddenly single mom and a nervous boy whose daddy was in a war zone. I was numb with anxiety when I talked to my husband on his satellite phone; yet Luke was chatty and calm. He missed his daddy, but he wasn’t scared. He wanted to see pictures of Dad holding an AK-47. I thought he was just too young to understand.

Then one night Luke and I were watching television, and a story flashed on about a soldier home on leave for his wedding. I tried to switch the channel, but Luke wanted to see, so I let him, thinking, It’s a wedding; it’s fine. But the soldier started talking about how afraid he was of going back, how dangerous it was in Iraq. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luke steeple his fingers and bow his head for a split second. Surprised, I said, ”Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He wouldn’t tell me, but a few minutes later, he did it again. I said, ”You don’t have to tell me, but if you want to, I’m listening.” Finally he confessed, ”I was saying a little prayer for Daddy.”