Jim Rubart Trilogy

by James L. Rubart

  By the time he reached the sand, the winds had picked up even more, but the rain was dying into a fine mist that swirled, then settled softly on his face.

  He waited a few minutes to catch his second wind and watch the chaotic pattern of the roaring waves in Smuggler’s Cove. He smiled. He felt alive. And alone. Surprisingly there had been no other cars in the parking lot, and he’d seen no one on the hike down except for a squirrel that screamed at him when he sat on a log to rest.

  Securing his hood, Micah watched a mixture of sand, water, and foam swirl around his ankles. The waves moved slightly north to south, so he planned to paddle out to the north end of the bay and work his way back in, letting the waves push him to the center of the cove.

  Nice plan.

  He sliced through the first attack of surf as if it was whipped cream, and a rhythm built in his arms and paddle, but Micah struggled with the second set of waves. They were stronger and fought to push his craft sideways. But he pushed through as his breaths deepened and his eyes went steely.

  The rain picked up again, and the winds were in concert. The soft kiss of the earlier mist became stinging needles on his face and forearms. But he was caught now in a web of determination, and he ignored the distractions.

  The final set of breakers loomed, and the salesperson’s words blistered his mind. “Just don’t want people to be caught off guard.”

  Part of Micah wanted to make the intelligent decision, but a louder voice drew him deeper into the sea. He ached to recapture a life of living on the edge, with high risk and high reward. Like when he’d started RimSoft. He’d tasted it in the skydiving room, yes. But this wasn’t an alternate reality God had taken him into. This was here, now, in vivid living color. He wanted it. Needed it. It flicked at the edges of his heart and stirred something inside larger than himself.

  A wave raced down. Above him. On top of him. Not one of the benign four-foot swells he had imagined, but the eight-foot wall he’d seen from shore but ignored. Micah strained to turn his kayak directly into it but was a few precious degrees off. Just a fraction, but it was enough, and the full weight of the water crashed down on him.

  He sucked in a breath just before the ocean surged against his nose and mouth, pushing for a way in. Then a kaleidoscope of tumbling, shoving, and pulling as the wave ripped him from his kayak and shoved him to the bottom of the ocean.

  Five seconds felt like fifty. He searched for sunlight—his only clue as to which way was up. The most powerful part of the wave moved over the top of him, and Micah fought to surface.

  He was running out of air.

  He broke the water ceiling and gasped.

  Another wave broke, and he was plunged under the torrent again, somersaulting to the bottom where his foot ripped across a jagged rock. The thought of sharks leaped into his mind, then instantly took a backseat to simply surviving long enough to take another breath.

  He surfaced again and swam hard toward shore. His hope was to keep breathing long enough to reach the smaller waves and bodysurf them to the beach.

  Micah went under again but with less intensity. Hope rose.

  He was going to make it.

  Except for the rocks.

  A jagged cliff lined the south side of the bay, and the wave pattern pushed him toward it, much faster than he’d anticipated from shore.

  The beach was only fifty yards ahead, but the rocky crest was only ten yards away, the waves still five-foot swells—quite capable of depositing him wherever they liked. He’d been caught in an unrelenting progression that would end in bone quickly meeting rock.

  Panic grabbed his gut, the mental battle now as fierce as the physical one. If he panicked, he’d have little chance of surviving. A voice screamed, Give up!

  “No!” he raged back. “Lord, hel—!” Micah cried out, but the words were smothered as another wave shoved him under and closer to the rocks.

  Suddenly the miraculous struck. The next wave drove him north instead of south. On his right a slick, jagged, black rock slipped by his face, inches away. It didn’t make sense. Then another wave pushed him north, away from the cliff and into shore. Peace washed over Micah more powerful than any of the waves that had vowed to take his life. From deep inside a different Voice said, Look up.

  At the back edge of the beach, just in front of the tree line, stood a figure in an olive raincoat. Micah couldn’t make out the face within the shadows of its hood. He couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. The moment he looked, the person turned and strode into the trees. Micah’s view was swallowed by another black wall of water, and he was once more pushed toward shore.

  After that he remembered nothing.

  Micah’s eyes opened to the trees at the edge of the beach outlining the dark gray sky. Small eddies of seawater swirled around the side of his hood, but the waves were a world away now. The question of who was on the beach spun through his mind as he pushed up to his hands and knees, waited a moment, then sat back on his heels.

  He knew there was a connection between the person he’d seen and his rescue. Without the hooded figure, he had little doubt his life would have ended on the bottom of the ocean floor.

  He struggled to one knee, then stood and eased over to the spot where the person had been, hoping to make out a shoe print in the sand, a clue to the identity of the spectral observer of his near death. The sand was soft from the rain, and a clear impression of a boot or tennis shoe should have been easy to spot. But there wasn’t even the hint of a footprint.

  ||||||||

  Less than a mile north of Ecola Creek a cape jutted into the ocean blocking the way to Crescent Beach except at extremely low tide, so the route wasn’t heavily traveled.

  But Micah and Rick rose early enough on Tuesday to get around the point with only half an inch of water swimming up to kiss their running shoes. It had been almost a week since they’d talked, which was unusual, so a combination run and conversation was an excellent way to start the day.

  The deep scrape on his foot Micah had gotten during his kayaking ordeal still stung but not enough to keep him from this run. It was good to be with the mechanic.

  Micah glanced at Rick as they fell into an easy rhythm beside each other. He still didn’t know how to describe the man. A little too young to be a father figure; a little too old to be the wise big brother. Maybe he was simply a mentor.

  Micah had had business mentors before, who had helped further his and their own careers as RimSoft grew. But his relationship with Rick was different. The taste of ulterior motive never flitted around the edges of their friendship. Rick never seemed to want anything from Micah, yet Rick pushed him, drove him, forced him to look at his life in ways he’d never considered.

  He couldn’t see what Rick got out of the relationship and didn’t think about it too deeply. Micah didn’t want the illusion to be shattered that, for the first time in his life, someone knew about his money and success but couldn’t care less how either might benefit him.

  They jogged around the point, and Crescent Beach opened up in front of them. It looked as if no one had stepped on it in months. With the old trail from Ecola Park above washed out, the only other way to access the beach was a much steeper and longer path from the parking lot above, which many people didn’t realize existed. So their indentations in the sand were possibly the first of early fall.

  Micah challenged Rick with a smile, and they broke into a dead sprint across the sand. Even with the difference in ages, Rick wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  Seventy yards down the beach, Micah glanced back. Rick pounded down the beach just three paces back. After about 150 yards Micah’s lungs won out over his mind, and he staggered to a stop. He bent over, hands on knees to catch his breath. Rick did the same not far behind him, both of them laughing between gasps for more air.

  After their heart rates retur
ned to normal, they found a log, long battered by the wind and waves into a functional seat, and sat down.

  “You think about death?” Micah said after a few minutes of watching two otters joust in the water.

  “Yep.”

  “Yes? That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Micah knew he was teasing and waited for the mirth to burst out of Rick’s mouth.

  “What do you want to know?” Rick said after his laughter subsided.

  “I went kayaking a couple days ago.” Micah paused as the emotion of the event swelled inside. “Nearly drowned. I was stupid. Thought I knew what I was doing. Wrong.”

  Rick's eyes drilled into Micah’s, but he didn’t comment. Micah thought he didn’t understand.

  “I’m not saying I got in a little trouble out there. I’m saying I truly came within a breath of dying.”

  “What were you thinking as you were about to be smashed against the rocks?”

  “I felt like an alarm went off and I was finally awake after years of sleep. I haven’t felt that alive in years. As crazy as this sounds, even though a big part of me was scared out of my mind, another part of me loved it.”

  “On the edge of life.”

  “Exactly.” Micah picked up a handful of sand and let it slide over his fingers. “Ready for the weird part?”

  “Sure. After you tell me about the normal parts of almost dying.”

  The comment lightened the moment just enough.

  “At the point I knew I was going to bite it, the waves tossed me against the current. Makes no sense. Then I look up and someone’s standing on the beach. Two seconds later? Gone.” Micah glanced at Rick before continuing. His face showed no expression.

  “The thought riveted itself in my mind that this person standing on the beach and the waves saving me were connected. But after I get to shore, when I look for tracks, nothing’s there. So was the person a ghost? A hallucination?”

  “Was the sand too hard to take a footprint?”

  “It took mine. In the same spot I saw the person standing.” Micah pulled a long sliver of wood off the log he and Rick sat on and pushed it into the sand at his feet.

  “Your conclusion?”

  “He wasn’t there physically.”

  “You mean it was all in your mind?” Rick said.

  “No, and that’s where it gets strange. I saw someone. No question. But maybe what I saw was a vision. Maybe whoever it was, he doesn’t exist on a physical plane.”

  “Or he didn’t think you’d see him. Forgot to leave footprints.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Could have been an angel.” Rick stood and stretched his hamstrings.

  Micah chuckled but Rick didn’t join him. He glanced at his friend to see if he was joking. He wasn’t.

  “You’re serious,” Micah said.

  “Get sappy, pop-culture angels out of your mind. I’m talking about the fierce warriors you find in the Bible.”

  “Warriors?” Micah stood and joined Rick in stretching his legs.

  “Read Daniel 10 or 2 Chronicles 32. Angels are intense creatures with battle on their minds. God gave them incredible powers, and they continually wield that power on Earth.” Rick began stretching his back. “The Bible tells of angels taking on human form and people not knowing it. So I think it’s possible what you saw on that beach was an angel, sent the instant you called out to God. Was it God, a weird current, or an angel? Don’t know, but it’s worth considering all possibilities.”

  Micah stared at the sand crystals at his feet and thought back to the times over the past four and a half months he had called out to God and how the answers had come. Could Rick be right? Angels? Micah couldn’t get his mind around it.

  “So let’s pretend for a moment it was an angel,” Micah said. “Why did it only come after I called out to God? Why not act before?”

  “Ah, you presume to know more than you do.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re only looking through the eyes of your own experience. Your mind couldn’t contain all the times God or His angels have acted on your behalf when you had no clue He was doing it and you didn’t call out.”

  “You got an example?”

  “I don’t need to come up with one, just point out a few you know yourself.” Rick laughed. “Wake up, boy!”

  “Fine.” Micah glared at Rick. “How ’bout telling me what I already know.”

  Rick’s smile faded. “Has life changed since coming to Cannon Beach? Do you have more freedom? Are you closer to Jesus? Had any powerful experiences? Who got you here in the first place? Did you just up and one day decide, ‘Hey! I think I’ll take a little road trip to Cannon Beach?’” Rick finished stretching and jogged lightly in place.

  Micah’s relationship with God, the healings in his soul, the painting, Sarah, all flashed into his mind. And yes, he was freer than he’d ever imagined possible.

  “Micah,” Rick said softly as he stopped warming up and stood still. “Who guided Archie to write the letters and have the house built? Who set up our friendship or led you to meet a girl in an ice cream shop?”

  Rick sat back down on the log, and they sat for five minutes saying nothing as guys are able to do. Micah was grateful for the time to reflect. The man he’d been when he first set foot in Cannon Beach was gone. He was more alive now than he’d ever been. Yet in some ways it was so far from the world he’d come from, he still felt the foreigner. Not exactly true. Here felt like home, but at the same time the days in Cannon Beach often came at him like an out-of-control freight train, and he couldn’t figure out how to get off the tracks.

  Rick broke the silence with words that went to the heart of Micah’s condition. “The King calls us to a life of risk, adventure, and a continual journey into the unknown. The Bible says the Word is a lamp unto our feet. Not a lamp unto our head or a set of running lights where we can land our aircraft. So take one step at a time. Right now you’re desperately trying to figure out how your journey ends. But you must have faith enough to let it go and let Him unveil it in His timing.”

  “So what do I do while I’m waiting?”

  “Know Him. Grow in intimacy. Follow His voice, and in every decision make the conscious choice to take the narrow path.” Rick got up and walked to the edge of the surf. “Want to do a little wading? We’d better head south unless we want the tide to wash our kneecaps.”

  They made it around the south point of Crescent Beach with only minutes to spare—their feet only slightly moist as they jogged back toward Haystack Rock.

  As they parted, Rick looked back and gave Micah a cryptic smile. “If I were betting, I’d lay pretty good odds your kayaking beach buddy was indeed an angel.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “In time I have no doubt you’ll figure it out for yourself.”

  Rick jogged off, his back to Micah. But Micah could still feel the smile on Rick’s face.

  ||||||||

  The next morning Micah chuckled as he read Archie’s letter because the whole thing was redundant.

  October 13, 1991

  Dear Micah,

  I have prayed for six days over this letter. I am still not convinced it is the time to explain how I have known so much about your present from my vantage point, which from your perspective is the past. However, I will sally forth nonetheless.

  Five years ago I met a genuine angel of heaven.

  He revealed to me that someday you would lead many to freedom through the abilities the Father had bestowed on you, and I was to have a role in making certain those abilities were used for God’s glory and not buried.

  Over the course of a year, this angel revealed to me specifics about your life and instructed me to write them down. I was to then write a serie
s of letters, which of course you now have, and convey to you the things he revealed. Whether you believe in angels or not, hopefully you have found wisdom in these letters and can see they are written with the hand of the Father on them.

  My greatest prayer is wherever you are in your journey, you will continue to trust that God has designed this rather odd relationship between you and me and His plans are never wrong.

  Across time,

  Archie

  For the first time in months, Micah went to bed feeling like a mystery had been solved. Finally! An explanation of how Archie knew the things he did. Micah still wasn’t sure he believed angels were popping up in Cannon Beach and other parts of the world to buddy up with Earth’s mortals, but Rick had made a pretty decent case for their existence. It was the best reason he’d found so far to explain Archie’s letters.

  Angels? If they were real, he’d need them in the morning. Something told him his conference call with Shannon and his RimSoft VPs would be just as rough as his kayak adventure had been.

  CHAPTER 36

  Micah woke Thursday morning with a severe case of RimSoft on the brain. He couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Probably nothing. Just feeling a bit rusty due to lack of day-to-day interaction with the company.

  He made himself steroid-strength coffee and pounded down two cups in six minutes. Being wide awake was essential. His sabbatical had been in effect for three weeks, and today was the day for a phone conference with his VPs to plow through everything needing his immediate decisions. He needed the call to go smoothly. He needed assurance RimSoft was still booting up without bugs. He needed a few days of normal life, please.

  Shannon answered before the second ring. “This is Shannon—”

  “Hey, it’s me. Everyone ready?”

  “Who is this?”

  “In other words, no one’s ready?” Micah chuckled.

  “Who . . is . . . this?” she snapped.

  “What are you doing? It’s Micah.”