Desert dust swirls around me as I walk down the dirt road that leads away from the skyscrapers behind me.

​

Being stationed on an American Army base in the Middle East isn’t exactly everyone’s dream of deployment. But after being called in to lead a joint special ops mission with the US Air Force base on the outskirts of Dubai… well, there’s more life here than on my base in Qatar, for one thing. Delaying on the paperwork recounting operation details is another thing entirely.

​

For now — at the insistence of the soldier I rescued, actually — I’m on my way to a gathering of missionaries for some kind of Bible study. The break sounds nice.

​

A few more miles down the road, and a brick wall comes into view off to my left. I approach the building, a three-story wooden house. A gate in the wall stands partially ajar, visible even in the rapidly-settling dusk.

​

Just as I push on the gate, something barely shifts behind me. Deeply ingrained instincts have me reaching for my rifle as I turn, then remember I don’t have weapons on me — I’m not even in uniform — but I still tense, staring into the shadows.

​

A figure sits against the wall, staring out at the road.

​

He turned to face me a moment ago. That’s what startled me. Now he’s pretending that he doesn’t see me.

​

I glance toward the house, where lights flicker from the windows, then back at the man, and decide to try Arabic. “Are you going inside?”

​

He straightens, looking at me like he noticed me for the first time. His eyes are wide, but he clears his throat, then shrugs. “Are… you going in?”

​

I study him for a long moment, fingering my belt, though there’s still not any weapon on it. The man shifts under my gaze, moving a little out from the shadows, and I realize he’s younger than I first assumed.

​

When he finally looks me in the eyes, it clicks. 

​

One of the men we fought against in the special ops mission to bring our soldier home. And I’d thought I’d taken them all out.

​

I take a step back, holding his gaze. “You look familiar.”

​

He stiffens, glances over his shoulder like he wants to run, then looks back at me. “You do too.”

​

“Where did you come from?” I take a step toward him, and he moves back, eyes wide.

​

“Please, I… I came here in peace. To get away from all of — of that. Because I was led here.”

​

“Led here.” I let an edge of sarcasm come out in the word. “Or someone gave you the coordinates and you—”

​

The young man whirls around, taking long strides toward the road — and a voice inside stops me from finishing my sentence.

​

Just as he reaches the road, I catch up to him. “Hey, wait. Please.” Trying to soften my voice, without much luck. He’s quickened his pace, and I don’t want to run after him down the street and tackle him in order to have a conversation, which is what I suddenly have the urge to do.

​

Thankfully at the end of the brick wall, he pauses, casting one glance over his shoulder at me.

​

I keep a careful distance and ease a faint, gentle smile onto my face that I still don’t feel internally. Still, I have my orders.

“I am sorry for misjudging you.” I’m still talking in Arabic. “I didn’t give you a chance to answer. That was my fault.”

​

He studies me, with those wide brown eyes I remember so well from the night of the soldier’s rescue, and finally nods. “I… shouldn’t have run. Not when I came… came here.” He looks like he wants to bite back the words, but I hold up my hand in what is hopefully a reassuring gesture.

​

“It’s all right. Tell me your side.”

​

He fingers the edge of his jacket, glancing down the road. “I was following a dove here. And then the dove vanished when I reached the base.”

​

“Do you know where you are?”

​

He nods again. “It’s where the missionaries live. I’ve heard of them.”

​

I watch his face for a long moment, then glance toward the house. There’s no anger in his eyes, but he could still very well be hiding it. Just the same, should I let them know he’s here? I haven’t even met them all before.

​

I let out my breath along with an are You sure You want me to do this? prayer, study the man once more, then sit down with my back to the wall.

​

The man watches me, then slowly takes a step back. After a minute, he sits back down where he was earlier, several feet down the wall from me.

​

“I don’t think I got your name,” I offer finally.

“Rajab. You?”

​

I open my mouth to answer “Landon” — what I’d normally give for security reasons — and what comes out is, “Cory.”

​

“It’s… good to meet you.”

​

“You too.”

​

Silence hangs between us, interspersed with the occasional Arabic called out from the house across the street. Finally the man — Rajab — clears his throat. “You… you were the one who got Donovan out. Weren’t you?”

​

“Do you recognize me?”

​

“Your voice. I… I was in the canyon that night. I heard you. Coming with your men, after Donovan was picked up.”

That part of the operation is the last thing I want to relive right now. I nod, running through a list of other questions in my mind.

 

“Did you stand guard over Donovan?” The American Army captain we rescued.

​

“I fed him, often. They wouldn’t let me guard him.”

​

They actually fed him? I guess for him to survive for a year… I nod to Rajab. No more questions come at the moment, and I glance toward the gate. Dusk has settled over the street, but it’s at least half an hour till the study starts.

​

How would they feel if I did bring him inside? I haven’t even met —

​

Something shifts in my peripheral, and I whirl on Rajab. He flinches, but I see a question in his eyes. “What are you wondering?”

​

He rubs his jacket between his fingers, staring down at it. For the first time I notice the ragged edges and how thin the fabric looks.

“Did you know Donovan before?”

​

That was not the question I was expecting. The fact that he’s asking so much about Donovan… “No, I didn’t.”

​

“Then… why did you come for him?”

​

I shrug. “It was my duty.”

​

“To risk your life for someone else?”

​

“That’s what Jesus did for me.”

​

Rajab stares for a long moment. “You — you believe too?”

​

I have no idea where that line came from, honestly — except truth. I nod. “Do you?”

​

“I…” he rubs the back of his neck. “All I know is that I saw — saw his faith. Times he should have… not been able to get up another day, and yet someone came and helped him.”

​

I wait, but he doesn’t add anything else to that, just looks toward the mission house beyond the brick wall.

​

He could be putting on an act — there’s always that possibility.

​

But frankly, I can’t deny what I’ve seen in Donovan either. It isn’t every day when you’re called to rescue a man who’s been MIA for a year and find him clinging to life, and faith, where there shouldn’t be any. And if Rajab — probably an outcast from the group, if the others wouldn’t let him stand guard — saw that…

​

I can’t hold him back from the truth.

​

My watch beeps softly, signaling the hour change, and I stand. After a moment, I let out my breath, then walk over to Rajab and hold out a hand to help him up.

​

He takes the hand up, then steps back, staring at me.

​

I tilt my head toward the gate. “I’m going inside for a study. You’re welcome to join me.”

​

“Do you think…?”

​

“I’ll tell them you’re with me.”

​

He nods and scampers over to walk next to me as I push the gate open and head up toward the front door of the house.

Him walking next to me brings back snippets of long-ago memories, but I let them drift away for now.

​

I can sense the peace around us, though. Like a heavy blanket… something I haven’t felt in who knows how long.

I glance at Rajab as we reach the door, then, without knowing why, I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffens under the touch, then meets my gaze.

​

I smile at him, and his shoulders relax a little. I hold his gaze for several seconds, then knock on the door.

​

A few seconds later, it swings open, and warm light floods the steps around us.

​

I nod to Rajab, then together, we both enter the mission house.

 

~~~

 

After the study that night, I’m heading for the door when a hand tugs on my shirtsleeve. I spin around, facing an Arab man in a red-checkered headscarf. Nasir was his name, I think.

​

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

​

I glance over my shoulder. Rajab stands in the entryway, blinking in the warm light of the house. He still fidgets with the hem of his jacket, his gaze flicking back and forth across the room.

​

“Excuse me.” An American man in a button-down steps past us, then walks over to Rajab and holds out a steaming mug of what must be coffee to him, speaking to him in Arabic.

​

Nasir watches them for a moment, then glances at me. I sigh and step into the kitchen after him. “What’s going on?”

​

He studies me for a moment, fingering the end of his headscarf. “Was he the one outside the base earlier this afternoon?”

​

“Yes. He was there when I came early for the study.”

​

Another nod. I’m still waiting for the question that’s written on his face, though I can guess at it.

​

Then Nasir asks, “Do you know who he is?”

​

“A little.” I shrug. “I’m willing to vouch for him. I think… he probably needs a place for the night.”

​

“It seems that he will need more than that.”

​

“Probably.”

​

“Are you willing to work with us to provide that?”

​

I blink. “What?”

​

A faint smile tugs on Nasir’s face. “You heard me.”

​

“Maybe I misunderstood you. I’m just… making sure he’s got accommodations for the night. If you have connections to work out something long-term, great.”

​

“Cory.” It’s still weird to hear people use my first name. “I asked if you are ready for this.”

​

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re asking me.” No, I’m pretty sure, but I’m hoping it’s not that.

​

“I believe you were led to him for a purpose. He needs the strength and support you can provide. And your faith.”

​

I stare at Nasir, then take a step back. He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to meet his gaze.

I clear my throat and glance away. He stays there, steady.

​

“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” I manage finally.

​

“I think you know.”

​

“You want me to… disciple him somehow? Or… listen—” I pull away from him— “I don’t even know how much longer I’ll be in the Dubai area. Once they finalize the report I submitted, I’m back to my base in Qatar. And shouldn’t he have someone more permanent or… I don’t know.” Why this is bringing up all of that I don’t know, or at least don’t want to think about.

​

Nasir watches me for a moment, still with that smile. “I think… I think that part of you is willing.”

​

“Can you tell?”

​

“I think so.” Nasir rubs the end of his headscarf. “Why did you let him come inside to the study with you?”

​

“He needed somewhere to go?”

​

“Even when you knew the truth about him?”

​

I let out my breath. “I… saw something, I guess. He just said—” I glance across the room toward the kitchen table, where Rajab is sipping something from a mug, talking to the American man. “He said he saw the man who helped Donovan up on the days he couldn’t stand. And, I mean, I’ve talked with Donovan and… it’s pretty clear that was… well, not a man… and if he’s seeing that kind of thing —” I point at Rajab— “what am I supposed to say?”

​

Nasir studies me for a minute, then puts a hand on his shoulder. “Will you let Him lead you?”

​

“I…” what can I say, no?

​

I’ve committed my life to this. For better or for worse.

​

I shift and turn back to Nasir. “I told you, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here—”

​

“For however long you are here. Because… I think somehow, you have revealed a taste of the love of God to him.” With a nod to Rajab.

​

The love of God?

​

I glance at Rajab sitting at the table, then Nasir. 

​

He pats my shoulder, then walks past me toward the staircase across from the kitchen. “Think about it. For now, I’m sure Maryam has coffee to send with you on your way.”

​

“Right here.” A young woman with dark black curls who seems to materialize from nowhere — probably just from around the corner — holds out a mug to me.

​

I manage a smile. “You don’t have to—”

​

“You look like you need it,” Nasir calls before he disappears up the stairs.

 

The woman — she must be Maryam — smiles. “You can return the mug when you come for the study next week.”

​

The scent of coffee drifts up to me, and I let out my breath over the mug, then nod and thank her.

​

She shows me to the door and closes it behind me, leaving me standing out under the stars in the courtyard of the mission base, and steam drifting from the mug into the sky above me.

​

What am I doing, God?

​

~~~

 

A week later, I stare at the gate that leads to the mission base for a long moment, swinging the bag back and forth between my hands, before pushing the gate open and walking up the path toward the door.

​

It swings open again just as I raise my hand to knock, and Nasir greets me with a smile, then a nod inside. “Come in.”

​

“He’s still here?”

​

Another nod. Nasir didn’t explain much over the phone, just that it had worked out for Rajab to stay at the base longer.

​

A figure turns from the kitchen window as I enter, and the light that spreads across Rajab’s face isn’t just from the sun. He takes a step toward me, then gives a quick smile. “Cory. You came.”

​

“Of course I did.” I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat and gesture to the plate in his hand. “What’s that?”

​

“It’s—” but a slightly warm plate is slid into my empty hand before Rajab can finish the sentence. I glance up at Maryam, the same woman who gave me coffee after the study last week, then at the coffee cake on the plate.

​

“Leftover from the other day.” She smiles. “You get fed when you come here.”

​

All that’s left on Rajab’s plate is crumbs, if that says anything. I thank her, then turn to Rajab. “Do you want to walk after you finish?”

​

“After you finish.” He gestures at my plate with a smile and sets his empty one on the counter. Already he seems so different from the man I met outside the mission base last week. The gentle light in his eyes, the spring in his step — none of it was here when I left a week ago.

​

I shove the cake down in a few bites, then set the plate next to his and head for the door, holding the bag behind my back.

​

“One minute.” Rajab dashes up the stairs, footsteps echoing through the house. About a minute later, he comes half-tumbling back down the staircase with something draped over one arm. He holds it out to me, and I recognize the folded fabric of the sweatshirt I gave him during the study last week. 

​

“You can keep it.” I nod toward him. “It fits you better anyway.”

​

A question flashes through his eyes, then he nods and shrugs it on over his long-sleeve button-down shirt. One of the missionaries here must have given it to him.

​

But he’s so happy to be here, I don’t want to spoil it with any of my comments. 

​

As we head for the entryway, Nasir materializes out of nowhere like usual and touches my shoulder. “Be careful.”

​

“Careful for what?”

​

Rajab glances at me, but Nasir just shakes his head and looks toward the door. I take that as a good cue to leave and motion for Rajab to follow.

​

Out in the mid-afternoon sunlight, we follow the stone path to the gate, then stand on the edge of the road for a minute. A breeze whisks up dusk, and Rajab pulls the sweatshirt around himself more tightly.

​

Some deep instinct swells inside that wants to reach over and put a hand on his shoulder. Judgment in the moment says he’s not ready for that yet.

​

“Which way?” I ask, pointing at the road.

​

He looks both ways, then points left, out into the desert. 

​

If we were to get ambushed anywhere, it’d be more likely to happen that direction.

​

Why am I thinking about getting ambushed?

​

Nasir told me more of Rajab’s story… that he’d been traded to his family’s creditors and forced to work as a slave for the men who’d been holding Donovan prisoner. No wonder he knew how to hide so well.

​

As far as I know, all of the men who would have threatened him have been taken care of… but there’s always a chance.

If I were him I’d be terrified, being out here. He’s walking face-forward like he’s found a new life. He moves silently, quieter than anyone I went through basic training with, but still has that eagerness of what’s coming.

​

About that. I clear my throat, and Rajab glances at me as I ask, “What’s it been like staying here?”

​

“Good. Amazing.”

​

“Amazing.” I echo the word with a smile. “Why do you like it there?”

​

We walk for a little ways before he answers. “It reminds me of a home. That’s something I have missed.” He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, then kicks a clod of dirt on the road instead. It tumbles a few feet before rolling off the road into a patch of sand.

​

I glance at him. “Do you want to ask something?”

​

Rajab forces a smile, then nods. Still, he doesn’t speak, just keeps walking — then suddenly blurts, “Cory, do you know Isa?”

​

Isa. Jesus. It takes a moment for the word to register — I stop for a moment, then remember what we’re doing and catch up to him. “Yes. Yeah, I do.”

​

“What’s… what’s that like?”

​

“Amazing.”

​

He meets my gaze for a moment, then scuffs at the road again with his shoe. “Does He… ever send you dreams?”

​

I close my eyes. All too clearly, sometimes. “Yes. Sometimes.”

​

“And how do you know what He wants from you?”

​

I smile a little. “I… guess I don’t, always. He makes it clear when it’s the right time.”

​

Rajab nods, lips pursed. A lizard skitters across the road in front of us.

​

After a few minutes, Rajab says, “But in the dreams. You know what He wants you to do?”

​

“Sometimes it’s not always about doing something. I think it’s… Him being there with me right then. Whatever’s going on.”

​

Another nod. I watch him as we walk, then decide to do the follow-up. “Have you had dreams?”

​

He turns to me, eyes bright. “Every night since I have come to the base. I — I feel so safe and I do not want them to stop… but if I do not do what He’s asking, I’m afraid they will.”

​

“I don’t think it works like that.” Instinct again, urging me to put a hand on his shoulder, but I don’t yet. “They’re a gift from Him just like everything else.”

​

Rajab nods slowly. His forehead furrows, and he starts to walk again.

​

A little further down the road, something in the brush catches my eye. I glance from whatever glinted in the shrub to Rajab, but he didn’t seem to have noticed.

​

I slow my pace, letting Rajab walk ahead of me a bit. The glint has disappeared from the bush.

​

My pulse quickens out of habit. Keeping one eye on Rajab and the other on the bush, I keep heading down the road. Then Rajab stops, tilting his head, almost like he’s listening. 

​

I catch up to him in a few steps and try to keep my voice steady. “What’s going on?”

​

“I thought I heard something.”

​

“There’s not a lot out here.”

​

He looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

​

Then something snaps behind us, and I whirl at the same instant he does.

​

A shadow darts across the road and slips behind a boulder, and this time I catch the flash of sunlight on the object more clearly before it vanishes with the figure — a long knife.

​

Rajab catches his breath. I take a step in front of him, but he moves back up next to me.

​

Keeping my gaze on the boulder, I speak in a low voice. “Keep walking down the road. I have your back. We’re not going to encourage a confrontation.”

​

Rajab doesn’t move. After a moment, I risk a half-second glance at him, just enough to see him shake his head.

No sound comes from behind the boulder, but that doesn’t mean the stranger has left us alone.

​

Rajab fingers the edge of his jacket, then digs in the pocket of it — I turn to him, what is he thinking if that’s a knife —

​

Someone slams into me and the dirt road slams me in the face, though my arms catch most of the impact thanks to my training. I roll over to jump back to my feet, but… Rajab’s standing over me? More like in front of me, facing the side of the road where the boulder is.

​

A figure stands in front of the boulder, the afternoon sun shining directly on him and making his face impossible to make out.

Rajab’s hand shakes, but he’s not holding a knife. Just clenching something small in his fist. He takes a small step toward the figure and speaks in low Arabic that I can’t make out.

​

I roll away from him and push myself to my feet, but Rajab motions for me to stay back. I take a step toward him anyways, squinting into the sun toward the figure, who holds the knife toward us.

​

“You don’t want to do this.” I put it into Arabic the best I can remember. 

​

The man grunts and turns the knife a few inches toward me.

​

Rajab glares and moves forward, pushing me aside, speaking in rapid Arabic to the man, who answers with a shout. I really do need to brush up on my Arabic. I feel at my waist… and of course I didn’t bring anything useful with me today. Who would, to go for a walk?

​

Rajab’s answering shout makes me straighten. This time I do reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking my head. “Don’t escalate this.”

​

“I will handle it.” His voice shakes, but he steps toward the man.

​

“Rajab, don’t.”

​

“I will handle this, Cory.” The fire flashing in his eyes would be enough to scare anyone off. He walks to the edge of the road and faces the man. This time I can translate at least a bit of the Arabic.

​

“I am not a part of this anymore. I have found something new.”

​

The man grunts and steps toward Rajab. “You will return with us.”

​

“I will not. He’s not even here.”

​

“That does not mean—”

​

“My debt is paid.” Rajab’s fist clenches within the jacket pocket. “Leave.”

​

I step up next to him, and this time, he doesn’t push me away. His shoulders are shaking, but at the same time, I’ve never seen this much confidence in him before.

​

I lock gazes with the stranger as the pieces click in my mind. In my fatigues, at least —

​

Remember I’m here too. A gentle whisper.

​

Right. I stare at the stranger, then put my hand on Rajab’s shoulder. The prayer somehow comes more easily in that moment. Help us.

​

The stranger holds the knife, glancing between the two of us, then slowly takes a step back.

​

I watch him, willing the intensity into my face, until he disappears around the boulder, and faint footsteps recede away from the road.

​

Rajab takes a step back, pulling away from me, his eyes wide as he stares in the direction the figure disappeared.

​

I let out my breath and a gentle thank You, then walk over to stand next to him. “You all right?”

​

He fingers whatever’s in his pocket, shrugging.

​

I stand there with him for a little while, keeping an eye on the surroundings. Just because the stranger disappeared in one direction doesn’t mean he won’t come from another way, or bring reinforcements.

​

As the sun slips across the sky, though, I start to relax a little. After several minutes, I nudge Rajab’s shoulder gently. He turns and looks at me, forcing a smile. His expression is distant, and he stares back down the road the way we came.

​

“Do you want to go back?” I ask.

​

Another shrug.

​

I watch him for a moment, then head down the road. He follows.

​

As we leave the boulder behind us, I let out my breath. “So he was from the camp.”

​

“You remember?”

​

“His voice, more than the face.” 

​

“He… I…” Rajab trails off. Finally, a little ways down the road, he clears his throat. “I was afraid he would hurt you. He came out here for me. Not you.”

​

“I’m not afraid of him. Well… that’s not important anyway. I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”

​

Rajab stares at me. His eyes look so empty, and it stirs an ache I’ve shoved deep into my heart.

​

After a long moment, I reach out, offering a hug. He steps forward.

​

It feels awkward at first, but I put an arm around him as he lets out a long, shuddering breath.

​

The weight of what could have happened washes over me, and I close my eyes for just a moment.

​

God really did protect us out there.

​

Finally Rajab pulls away and straightens, clearing his throat. “I am sorry.”

​

“Don’t be.” I wait until he turns back, then pull the cloth bag out of the pocket of my uniform jacket. Somehow I remembered to shove it in there earlier before… everything happened. I hold it out to him.

​

He tilts his head, then takes it and unfastens the drawstring. He slides out two leather-bound books, both about the size of his hand, and flips open the cover of the first one.

​

“A journal. I talked with Donovan… he said sometimes that helps.”

​

Rajab looks up, opening his mouth, then closing it and reaching into his pocket instead. He pulls out a stub of a pencil on a chain and holds it out to me.

​

“It’s yours.” I nudge it back to him.

​

“But I…” he stares at the journal again. “You… knew. Somehow.”

​

“God did. I was just the one in the shop.” A bookstore that one of the missionaries ran —he bound the journal himself and engraved the Scripture reference in the bottom corner of the journal, and still insisted I didn’t have to pay for any of it.

​

After a moment, Rajab looks at the other book in his hand. This one already came with the title embossed in the cover, in dark gray Arabic script. I’d recognize it in a heartbeat.

​

Rajab turns to me. “Is it… but how did you… you can just buy them?”

​

I smile. “It’s for you.”

​

“You just… you knew.”

​

“Do you want to follow Him?” I have no idea where that question came from. But God would be the One to have a better plan for this anyway.

​

“I… I am trying to learn.” Rajab touches the script on the cover. “I can have this? Even though I have not — not made a decision for sure?”

​

“I think He’s making the decision. But you can.”

​

Finally, Rajab smiles a little. He stares down the road. The sun settles behind the buildings of the city, rays casting alternating light and shadow that brings a glow over the desert around us.

​

“You think He is making the decision?” Rajab asks.

​

“He’s sent you the dreams. Back there… that was Him.”

​

A nod. “I want to follow. But… He has not told me what to do.”

​

The words hang in the air for a moment. Somehow, in everything I did with smuggling Bibles in Qatar… never made me expect a moment like this. This real.

​

I’m not worthy of this. And yet somehow, here I am.

​

“May I?” I reach for the Bible, and Rajab hands it to me. The crisp pages flutter in the breeze that picks up around us. I show him verses I grew up on, and with each one, the light on his face only grows. Finally I close the Bible and hand it back to him. 

​

Rajab stares at it, then at me. “Is that it?”

​

“What?”

​

“All I have to do.”

​

“It’s not about doing things, really. More like a journey.”

​

He stares between the Bible and the journal. “Can I write about it in here?”

​

“It’s yours.”

​

Rajab smiles, and this time it seems less forced than earlier. “I’d like to. If you’re all right with it.”

​

“Rajab, it’s yours.”

​

“But… you’ll be here?”

​

“As long as I can be.” I pause. “He’ll be with you forever. Even if you have to face—” I gesture back down the road—“that again.

”

Rajab follows my hand with his gaze, then nods slowly. “I want that. All of it.”

​

“He’ll give it to you. Just like the dreams.” I turn and start down the road toward the mission base, and Rajab follows. 

​

The prayer that fills the dusk around us as we walk might not have all the pre-planned words and steps of a salvation prayer, but in its own way, it carries meaning that there isn’t quite words for.

​