Rooms - James L. Rubart [132]
She stared at him in astonishment.
Rick and Micah’s first meeting at Hug Point, his breakup with Julie, visiting the doctor about his ankle, almost drowning in his kayak.
She watched herself implore Micah not to go back to Seattle and him say it would be okay.
She remembered. All of it. Every moment they’d spent together. Her head sank into her hands. “I remember.” She turned to Micah. “You and me. I remember.” She moved toward him, tears in her eyes.
He drew her in tight.
The screen vanished, and they stood in a high mountain meadow; Indian paintbrush and Canterbury bellflowers swarmed through the tall grass. But the beauty paled in comparison to the Presence surrounding them.
Sarah buried her head in Micah’s shoulder and rested there, maybe for hours. Maybe years. It was a moment snatched from eternity.
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Micah had closed his eyes the moment Sarah and he embraced inside his heart. He opened them in bed, staring at his ceiling. He whipped off his covers and bolted upright.
It had to be more than a dream!
He pulled on a T-shirt and some sweatpants and raced for the front door. He yanked it open and sprinted down the driveway, ignoring the gravel cutting into his feet.
“No!”
There were no tire tracks where Sarah’s car might have left some. Lunging back into the house, Micah grabbed the phone and called her house, then Osburn’s. No answer at her house, and the girls at Osburn’s hadn’t seen her.
Setting down the phone, he let the sorrow come. He wandered over to the fireplace, sat down in front of it, and closed his eyes. “You are still Lord.”
When Micah opened his eyes minutes later, his gaze rose to the painting, and his breath caught. It had changed one final time. A figure had been added—a woman—walking straight toward his home. He leaped to his feet and sprang out onto his deck to search the beach.
Fifty yards away Sarah strolled toward him, hair flowing in the wind like a river, her radiant smile filling his world.
It wasn’t a dream.
The dream had just begun.
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A few days later Sarah and Micah sauntered among the bleached driftwood scattered along the beach, holding hands, neither of them speaking. The sun eased behind the clouds leaving a russet smear across the sky. They rounded the point just north of Micah’s home to the sound of pounding hammers.
A small house was coming into shape among a small grove of poplar trees. They squinted to see the name on the sign at the edge of the lot that would tell them the name of the builder. It was Hale & Sons Construction Co.
“Oh, my,” Sarah said. “Do you think they’re building—?”
“Yes.” Micah smiled. “I think they are.”
Dear Reader,
Toni Morrison says, “If there’s a book you really want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”
That’s Rooms. I didn’t write it for readers as much I wrote it because I wanted to read Micah Taylor’s story. I needed to read his story. A story of freedom. A story of healing.
I long to step into the freedom that Micah discovers, to live more completely in the divine design and destiny God has created for me, to be victorious over the voices that hold me back from living the full life God intended me to live.
I loved writing Rooms because it’s my story. It’s your story. It’s the story of anyone who wants to step into greater freedom, step into the glory of how God uniquely made him or her, step into the destiny planned for them from before time began.
He is the Great Healer of wounds. He is the Great Restorer of freedom.
If you’d like to explore more ideas together on how to live with freedom, come visit my Web site and blog at www.jimrubart.com.
For freedom’s sake,
James L. Rubart
Discussion Questions
1. What would you describe as the theme of Rooms? Is there more than one?
2. Before coming to Cannon Beach, Micah seemed to have it all—fame, money,