Rooms - James L. Rubart [74]
“All right!” He pulled his hands off the door, as if they were smeared with rubber cement.
“The door doesn’t open from this side. You must let Me in.”
Micah reached for the door and froze. Images of the anger about to lash out at him flooded his mind, the disgust and disdain that would be hurled his way. The crushing disappointment in His eyes. Micah dreaded the discipline he knew must come. The thoughts bounced around like a pinball as he steeled himself, closed his eyes, and wrenched open the door.
The Lord burst into the room and strode for the back wall without even looking at Micah. Before reaching it, He drew a sword that radiated light like the mirrors of a thousand lighthouses. He brought it down on the stack of DVDs along the back wall so fast Micah couldn’t follow the arc. Light exploded as the sword struck and the DVDs vanished, revealing a door. It was shackled with thick iron chains, each link dense and rough. Six ancient-looking bars across the door guarded it from entry.
The Lord’s eyes sparked as He turned and winked at Micah. He raised His sword and brought it down like a flash of lightning. The iron bars, the chains, the locks, all shuddered. As the second blow fell, faint lines formed in the bars and the chains. At the third strike of the sword, another flash of light exploded, and the iron bars and chains shattered. A pungent odor accompanied their destruction, but it faded, and the fragrance of pine needles filled the room.
“Ready?” The Lord motioned toward the open door.
Micah dropped his head. “I am so ashamed . . . the shows . . . I’m so sorry. I just . . .”
“I don’t care about the shows, Micah. I care about your heart.”
He stared in bewilderment. “But those shows—”
“Are garbage.”
Micah waited for the rebuke to come. But it didn’t.
“They are full of death,” the Lord said. “To your heart, your soul, your mind. But do you need Me to tell you that? The critical issue is why you watched them, not what they contain.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I desire truth in your innermost being, Micah. There are broken places to fix. Because there is lack of truth there and a choice you must make.”
“Yes, but—”
“We must go in.” The Lord motioned again to the open door.
Fear surged out of the room. “What’s in there?” Micah took a step backward.
“Come and see.”
“I can’t.” He stared at the opening. He was certain facing it meant massive pain.
“You can.”
Only a dream. This was only a dream.
Micah stepped through the dim opening, the Lord beside him. They stood in a hallway at least fifty-feet long. A movie screen covered the far end. As they walked toward it, the screen flickered to life.
A young woman lay in a hospital bed, her ivory arms wrapped around a newborn. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Perfect,” the man said.
The woman laughed as she looked down at the pink face buried in the blue cotton blanket. “You’ll be more in love with him than me before the week is over.”
“I’ll love this Micah kid crazy fierce, but I’ll never love him more than I love you. Not a chance.” The man ran his forefinger over the woman’s cheek. “Never more than you.”
“So what should we have next?” the woman said. “Another boy, or should we have a girl this time?”
“Do we get to choose?”
“Sure.” The woman handed the baby to the man who rocked it gently.
The scene faded as another one filled the screen.
A little boy tried to climb a Douglas fir tree in a backyard drenched in sunshine. His father sat in a white-and-green striped chair, strawberry lemonade in one hand, the day’s newspaper in the other.
“Daddy, Daddy!”
“Hmm?” came from behind the paper.
“Do you think I can do it?”
The paper snapped down. “Do what?”
“Climb it! Climb the tree!”
The father folded the paper and tossed it to the ground. “Not only do I know you can do it; I know you will do it. But we need something first.” His dad picked up the camera sitting next to the chair. “We need to document this moment, don’t you think?” His dad winked and held the camera up to his eye. “Ready!”
The boy strained for a branch just out of