“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 reach until the twig underneath his foot snapped, and he spilled onto the concrete patio. Hard. Tiny streaks of scarlet sprang out of both knees.
“Micah!” His dad leaped toward him and yanked a paper towel from his pocket. “Here, let’s take care of that.” He rubbed the boy’s back. “You okay?”
The boy nodded as his dad wiped the blood off his knees.
The scene faded but the screen didn’t go black.
Sounds of hammering rang out before a scene of a boy building a tree house came into focus. The floor was done and one of the walls was in place. A twelve-year-old Micah jumped down from the eight-foot-high floor and walked over to a second wall lying on the grass.
The sun glinted off his father’s pitching wedge as he chipped foam golf balls at a bucket ten yards in front of him.
Micah hoisted the wall and strained to shove it up the side of the tree into his brother’s wanting hands.
As it wobbled, Micah said, “Dad, some help here maybe?”
His father kept chipping as he said, “You get hurt, son, and you’ll have to find your own way to the emergency room. Stupid idea, building that thing. Once again you’ve proven you need a microscope to find anything going on inside that brain of yours.”
As the scene faded to black, Micah’s face went cold. His long-buried pain rushed to the surface as more memories like the one he’d just relived filled his mind. The screen shifted again.
A 1985 Toyota Celica screeched around a corner and sent autumn leaves swirling into the air. The car pulled into the driveway of a modest house too fast, but the man standing with his arms folded didn’t budge as the driver screeched to a halt, then popped out of the car.
“Hey, Dad, I got it. Whaddya think?”
“How much did you pay, son?”
“Seventeen hundred. He asked for $1,950 so I think I got a pretty good deal. And, man, does this thing move!”
“No, son, $1,575, maybe even $1,625 would have been a fine price. But $1,700 for this car is overpriced. I studied the blue book value and local ads and that is the truth.”
“But it’s my first—”
“Son, you made a stupid mistake. Again. But not much harm done. You’ll have other chances.”
The scene faded and lit up with a new scene for the fifth time.
On-screen rain blanketed a stadium filled with blue and red umbrellas. Athletes huddled in small bunches around the track, white towels over their heads. Small numbers pulled sweat suits off or on, getting ready for their race or having just finished.
Around the far corner of the track came nine runners: the three in front synchronized stride for stride, the rest scattered in behind. Two of the leaders started their kick at the same time. The third waited an instant longer. Micah knew who would win: the one who started his kick last. It was himself, at the Washington state high school track finals, in the eight hundred meters. The finish would be excruciatingly close. They went to the photo in the end to be sure. But he had won. State title in the eight hundred meters.
Dread hit him like a sledgehammer. He knew what came next. The scene shifted, and he watched himself walk into his childhood home, Mick bouncing out from the kitchen with a big grin on his face. “Hey, bro. Not bad. You smoked ’em all.”
After giving Mick a high-five, Micah turned to his father.
His dad sat in his twenty-five-year-old beige Barcalounger with no shred of emotion on his face.
“I had it today, didn’t I, Dad?”
“It was good, yes. However since the state record remains unbroken, it is apparent that you did not have quite enough. Might even describe that as losing.”
Part of him regretted what happened next. Part didn’t. His eyes watered as he gave his dad the finger and stormed into his bedroom. It was the day he vowed to leave home as soon as possible and never look back.
Micah collapsed to his knees. The dam burst and pain poured out of him.
The Lord knelt beside him, strong arms pulling him in tight. “Let it out, all of it.”
Wracking sobs spilled over as the grief hit Micah full force.
“What have you longed to hear since the day your mom died, Micah?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you know. I’ve had you live the wounds again for a reason.”
“He took care of us after mom died. We always had a roof over our heads and food on the table, and he even bought me things I didn’t need.”
“What did you need to hear?”
“He was always home from work by 5:30; he bought me decent clothes; he—”
“What did you need to hear?”
As Micah tried forming the words, a surprising emotion arose: anger. Unbidden. Unexpected. And unstoppable. “I hate him! He destroyed me. He abandoned me! Why was it so impossible
for my dad to love me after she died? Even for a moment? Couldn’t he care about me at all? Would it have killed him to say ‘nice car’? I won state in the eight hundred meters! I beat everybody. But it wasn’t good enough. Listening to him you’d think I’d been tearing the livers out of neighborhood dogs.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Why couldn’t he have loved me just a little?”
“Your success will never answer the question.”
“I just wanted him to say, ‘I’m proud.’ That I have what it takes to be a man.”
“You’ve numbed the pain with TV shows and movies that scintillate and tease, but they’re cotton candy. You’ve hidden your shattered heart behind money and fame.”
The tears kept coming.
“Your heart broke again and again, and you tried to fix the pieces with the salves of the world. But they can only dull the pain; they cannot heal. You have been chained. You’ve hidden your heart in the dark places. But I came to heal the brokenhearted and set the captives free.”
“I’m not worthy of You.”
“That’s a lie from the enemy of your soul.” The Lord smiled. “You are more than a conqueror, and you are worthy because I am inside you. It is time to believe it. I am proud of you, Micah. I am proud.”
The words sank into his heart and grew like seeds shown in time-lapse photography, growing so fast he wondered if he could contain the emotions pushing to burst out. He was a son of God, adopted into His family, Kingdom, and glory. Loved. And forgiven. For all time, all eternity. Astonishing.
The Lord held him tighter. “The treasure of My Kingdom are the hearts of the ones who are Mine. Let it sink in to the innermost parts. Listen. Your heart is the treasure of My Kingdom. And I have done everything to set it free. And I love you with an unfathomable, unquenchable love.”
“Now, it is time to let go of your anger toward your father.” The Lord swung around till He knelt in front of Micah and held out His hands.
“I can’t.”
“You can. You must choose.”
“No.”
“Time to let go of your anger.”
Micah rose to his knees.
“Time to forgive.”
Micah reached out and placed his palms in the Lord’s and opened his heart to the fire that swept through him.
When it was finished, the Lord said, “Now come.”
Micah slowed as they approached the DVD room.
“You have a question?” the Lord said.
“What about the DVDs?”
“Ah yes. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
As he stepped through, Micah stared in amazement. All except seven DVDs were gone. The Lord walked over to the shelf and pulled one off, tossing it to Micah. “That’s a good one.”
Time slowed down and the DVD floated toward him. Braveheart. Micah looked up at the Lord, but He was gone. Micah looked at the DVD again, and it dissolved along with the room.
He woke with a start. His eyes flew open and looked out the window. Daybreak. The dream!
He rolled out of bed and caught his foot on the covers. Yanking his leg free, he dashed toward the hallway from last night. The door was still there. Still shut. But it had changed. The Hebrew inscription was translated.
I will go before you and make the rough places smooth;
I will shatter the doors of bronze and cut through their iron bars.
I will give you the treasures of darkness
And hidden wealth of secret places,
So that you may know that it is I,
The LORD, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name.
(Isaiah 45:2–3)
Micah lifted two fingers to the door and pushed. It glided open without sound. He walked straight for the door at the back of the room. It was gone, no evidence the door or the room behind it had ever been. Movie posters covered the walls, depicting epic battles and tender love stories, and the shelves were filled with the movies promoted on the walls and many more.
The tears came again. Of joy. Of freedom.
The bars had been broken, the treasure of the Kingdom released.
He had to talk to himself about the freedom. Micah let out a whoop and raced toward the room that contained his voice.
CHAPTER 29
As Micah opened the door to the room, the voice spoke. “Hey, buddy, I was hoping you’d come to debrief. That was quite a ride.”
“Unbelievable.”
“From the beginning. All the details.”
“But you know all the details. You, we, were there together.” Micah laughed. “Why hear it again?”
“Because this way I can just soak it in and not have to think about it. And after it’s spoken aloud, we’ll both know it and remember it better.”
So Micah told the story about the door, the dream, the healing of the wounds, the waking up and discovering it was all real. How mountains of chains had been conquered, demolished in his heart.
After he finished, the voice stayed silent for a long time. When it spoke, it was just above a murmur, the tone tentative. “I have a thought. Something I think we should consider.”
Micah was taken off guard. He expected excitement, joy, even laughter as they celebrated together. Instead he sensed discouragement and even a hint of desperation in the voice.
“We must be exceedingly careful with these ‘healing-the-wounds’ experiences we had in the Wildcat room and the one last night. Who knows when it might happen again,” the voice said.
“Why wouldn’t we want it to continue till we’re set free of every chain?”
“Maybe we should; maybe we shouldn’t. We have certainly slipped over into an area graciously described as the unknown. An area of confusion and speculation. And even possible deception.”
“What are you talking about? There’s no confusion.” Micah made tiny, involuntary shakes of his head. “I’m freer and more in love with Jesus than I’ve ever been.”
“There are all kinds of dreams, Micah. Most of the time dreams are the subconscious trying to make sense of the conscious world. It’s usually simply the brain processing the events of the day. And sometimes it can even be a dark area where the enemy is trying to deceive us.”
“You’re saying these experiences are deception? No way. God spoke through dreams and used dreams in the Bible—”
“Yes, absolutely true, and I’m not discounting it. But over the thousands of years in which the Bible was written, how many times did God talk to people in dreams? Eight? Nine times? And each time they were major events. I’m not saying God can’t talk to us in dreams. It’s possible even in this day and age. But isn’t it presumptuous to say He spoke to us in a dream when there’s really no proof? Taking dreams at face value without really examining them is inviting a potentially deadly ruse from the enemy.”
“Hold on.” Micah stepped forward. “The day before, I can’t get into the room. Now I can and everything has changed inside. Drastically. You’re saying that’s not genuine?”
“Do you hear what you just said, Micah? The room changed drastically in the dream. You hadn’t been inside it before the dream. The reality is the room has always been the same. The only difference is that before you weren’t able to get in. Now you are. Just because it changed in the dream doesn’t mean it changed for real.”
“But the change inside me is real.”
“I’m not saying there’s been no change. I think our mind did a wonderful thing for us by telling us a story as we slept. But we have to examine what happened in light of the Bible and not in light of our emotions.”
“You’re saying my emotions aren’t valid?” Micah said. “That they aren’t evidence things have changed inside my heart?”
“God is not a God of touchy-feely pop psychology but a God of truth and moral action. We are to be outward focused,
not inward focused. This preoccupation with self and self-freedom that has crept into the church is dangerous. The story of life is not about you; it’s about God. And any time we focus our energies on anything other than the advancement of the Kingdom, we advance the kingdom of the enemy.”
Micah sat stunned. What he had gone through in the movie room was without question the most powerful spiritual experience of his life, and his own inner voice was questioning if it was from God.
“So you’re saying freedom is not worth pursuing? That Jesus didn’t come to bind up the broken hearts and set the captives free?”
“Freedom is most worthy of pursuing. But we don’t attain freedom by turning inward and focusing on fixing ourselves and trying to feel good inside. It comes from reaching outside ourselves to those who do not yet know the Father. When Isaiah says set the captives free, I seriously doubt it means we are to be freed of any and all the tiny hurts from our childhood. We are new creatures; the old has passed away. That is the truth we must cling to and stand on.”
Micah threw back his head as a tiny moan of laughter escaped his lips.
“We must leave those hurts behind and press on to the upward call. Not muddle around in the past. As the Bible says, I am no longer a child so I put away the childish things. Setting the captives free means we can be free of sin and the devil, and we are free from having to spend eternity apart from God. Amen and amen.”
“Rick says—”
“We both agree that Rick is kind and often wise. But he is a mere man. He doesn’t have all the answers any more than any man does. His opinions are interesting and sometimes true. But the real answers are always in the Word of God. Show me in the Bible where we go into our past and heal personal wounds and, my gosh, let’s do it more and more. I don’t think you’ll find it because it’s not there.”
Jim Rubart Trilogy Page 19
