Rooms - James L. Rubart [84]
He took his coffee out onto his veranda along with the envelope containing letter number twelve. He could see the shimmering waters of Puget Sound. When he sat, the building directly across the street blocked his view.
“C’mon, Archie.” He needed something solid, some light for his future from the archives of Archie’s past. He gritted his teeth and opened the letter.
September 2, 1991
Dear Micah,
As you are aware, Jesus says we must make the decision to give up our lives. However, as you are no doubt discovering, this is easier to execute in theory than in reality, is it not?
Your old life is crumbling out from underneath you, and there is no hope or promise of anything else to fill its place.
I am sorry. I wish I could tell you this journey you’re on will come out perfectly in the end. But it usually does not. This is most often due to the propensity inside each of us to imagine different definitions of perfect than the Father defines for us.
Also, bear in mind this is a process. A process you have the ability to slow down or speed up by your choices.
I am praying you choose wisely,
Archie
Micah sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he stared at a billboard below advertising a new exhibit at Seattle’s Art Museum.
Archie’s letter slid from his hand and fluttered to the floor. That was it! That was the connection. It had been in front of him the whole time.
Twenty minutes later his BMW was chewing up the miles back to Cannon Beach.
The painting in his house at Cannon Beach was the key.
CHAPTER 31
The gravel groaned as Micah pulled into his driveway Wednesday afternoon and stomped on the brakes. He didn’t bother to shut the car door as he marched toward the house, and he ignored the stinging rain pelting his face. His mind was fixed on one thing: get to the painting.
When he flung open the door to the painting room and strode in, he saw the changes immediately. The small cliff was now fully developed, and the home sitting on it was starting to take shape. The gold and russet hues of the beach were now flawlessly intertwined with each other, and the last touches on the sun were finished.
As Micah took it in, he realized his revelation that morning was right. How simple. How obvious. When a piece of Seattle falls apart, the painting gets closer to completion. Two worlds. Like a scale adding weight on one side making the other side go up.
Micah desperately wanted to see the finished painting. He was more than drawn to it; he felt like part of him was contained in the painting. But how much did he have to lose of Seattle before this vision was complete?
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“You there?” Micah said as he strode into the voice room.
“I’m always here,” the voice said.
“What is going on? Any clue? I gotta get some perspective on this.”
“I think we should talk to Rick.”
“Why? Would he say anything different from what he’s said before? ‘Stick it out. Stay strong. God is in this.’ ”
“God is in this, Micah.”
“I know. All I’m saying is Rick will just spout some line about God being in control and He knows what He’s doing. I’d like some concrete, hard-core answers.”
“But then where does hope and faith enter into the equation? Romans says if we see what we’re hoping for it’s not hope. But if we eagerly await it—”
“The problem is not that I went from the penthouse to the eighth floor,” shouted Micah.
“Really? What is the problem?”
“That I have no idea where it’s going to stop.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I don’t know.” Micah took two steps left, spun 180 degrees, then took two steps right.
“Then we need to start using logic,” the voice said.
“Like?”
“It’s obvious that if something significant happens here, then something significant happens back in Seattle. We gain something here; we lose something there.”
Micah nodded and kept pacing.
“So if we want to stop the happenings back home, we have to stop what’s going