The bell rang to bring the school day to a close, and the children packed up their backpacks and headed for their buses. Marseille hoped most, if not all, would be greeted by their moms at home with cookies and hugs. She hoped these little dear ones were still enjoying the simple innocent pleasures of childhood, despite the sad news that just kept on coming from the Middle East. Couldn’t they be shielded from it for a while longer?
Getting into her pale-blue VW bug, she paused before heading to the homestead her father had bought on Sauvie Island, situated in the middle of the Columbia River about ten miles northwest of downtown Portland. She tried to thank God for the events of the last weeks. She thanked him that she had gotten to see David one last time after all those years, thanked him for the chance to make some things clear that had been left unsaid. She thanked him for the opportunity to serve the Shirazi family in a time of great sorrow and for the shared secret she now kept with David’s dad. She thanked the Lord that Lexi had known love, had known Jesus, had enjoyed a beautiful wedding, and had seen her dream of visiting the Holy Land fulfilled. Now she was seeing Jesus face-to-face, and this was another reason to thank him.
Marseille started the VW and connected her iPhone to the car’s stereo system.
She sang along for a few minutes and resonated with the lyrics, straight from Psalm 103: “Bless the Lord, O my soul.” The song spoke of worshiping God from morning till evening, and as she sang, she offered her own sacrifice of praise, feeling it change everything in her heart, making it possible to hope, if not to smile. She was grateful that God was teaching her how to face the shock of searing losses by relying on him. She didn’t know how people outside of Christ could keep going.
She drove onto the main street of her little town, contemplating dinner. Should she pick up Thai food or some Italian? But she quickly dismissed the thought. She’d been eating cereal for the past few nights and still had no stomach for much else.
The fog hugging the streets and lampposts made the shops seem snuggled in for the evening, and she looked forward to one more night in her own bed before she got on another plane. Coming around the corner to the quiet neighborhood where she’d lived with her dad and grandmother, she took in the front porches and the toys the kids had left along the sidewalk. It was a nice place to come home to. But her train of thought ended there as she saw a man sitting on the front porch of her house.
She almost lost control of the car and slammed into the garage door as she turned into the driveway. It wasn’t possible — it wasn’t possible at all. But there he was. David Shirazi was smiling at her from her front steps. He was bundled in a warm coat and hat. His arm looked like it was in a cast, and his face was covered in scars. But he was there, waiting for her. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to open her door, but it was okay because he was walking over to her car to open it for her. She looked through the rapidly fogging window, and suddenly the door was open and she was in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and began to sob, and he held her as though his life depended on it.
She wasn’t alone in her tears. David seemed only slightly embarrassed by his, and they steadied each other as they walked up the steps to the house quietly and got out of the cold and into the warmth of the old-fashioned front room. She didn’t want to speak and break the moment, so she just sat down on the couch and expected him to sit beside her. But he didn’t sit. He lowered himself to his knee, not without a slight wince of pain but with a big smile. He took a small, carved wooden box from his coat pocket and cleared his throat, thick with emotion.
“Marseille Harper, by God’s grace — his amazing grace alone — I have survived all that has happened in the past few days and weeks. I believe I know why God gave me a second chance at life. To come here and be with you. And I am here now to tell you that I have loved you since I learned to love at all. I want you to know — I need you to know — that I can only love you because the love of Jesus Christ now lives in me. I am his child. I’ve given my life to him, and he’s changing me day by day. And I believe he has given me the honor of serving you for the rest of our lives, if you will have me. I love you so much. Marseille, will you marry me?”
She couldn’t believe her ears, and yet at the same time it seemed exactly right, as if her heavenly Father had written the most beautiful and miraculous story for her, and David was reading right from the script. And then she knew that was exactly what was happening. The author and perfecter of her faith had created a glorious scene, and this was her cue to walk onstage and answer with all her heart.
“Yes, David, yes — I love you, and I am yours.”
The rest of the evening was like a dream. David told her about racing toward Damascus when the bomb detonated. He told her about losing control of the car in the blinding flash, though he thanked God they weren’t close enough to be affected in any other way. He described crashing down the hillside and the death of one of his two teammates in the crash. He explained how he and his one surviving colleague had somehow made it back up the ridge to the highway, despite their many injuries. Eventually they had acquired a car and driven to a remote place where they could be picked up by American special forces and taken back to the United States.
As they talked, she made a pot of coffee while David built a roaring fire in the fireplace. Marseille kept asking questions, and David told as much of the story as he was able. She sat amazed to hear how Najjar Malik had come to Christ and how he’d wanted to defect from the Iranian regime. He briefly told her of his role in helping Najjar and his family get out of Iran and come to the U.S. She was delighted by the story of how Najjar had escaped the custody of his CIA handlers and how God had used him to preach the gospel to millions in Iran and the Muslim world. Now, David said, Najjar had been returned to the care of the Agency but also reunited with his family.
Then she marveled as David explained how an old, blind friend had opened David’s eyes to the truth about Jesus.
David explained how he’d called his father immediately upon escaping from Syria and how Jack Zalinsky had helped him get to Syracuse to see his father within twenty-four hours of being extracted from the war zone before being treated for his injuries. He described what it meant to him to give his father a bear hug and to be in the warmth and safety of his own childhood home. Though he and his father had spoken first of David’s mom, the memorial service, and the well-being of David’s brothers, the conversation had quickly turned to Marseille. David was deeply moved by the sacrificial love that his father said she had shown the family, how she had stayed and served. He was stunned but thrilled that in God’s providence he had allowed Marseille to know his secrets and to be proud of him. And when he had left Syracuse early Friday morning to fly to Portland, he had carried with him not only his father’s joyful blessing but his mother’s diamond engagement ring as well.
Though David’s face had several deep gashes that had been stitched up, and though he suffered from multiple dark bruises and a compound fracture in one of his strong arms, he was sitting before her truly and completely alive. They now shared the greatest Love, and through him they could share a lifetime of loving each other.
Marseille had so many more questions. She wished she could hear every detail about his life since they had been together so briefly in Syracuse. She wondered what life lay before them, what would come next. But instead of asking questions, she simply laid her head on David’s chest. She looked at the engagement ring on her finger and said right out loud, “Bless the Lord, O my soul.”