Read Online The Chair by James L. Rubart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James L. Rubart
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and smiled.
“I’m grateful.” She walked over to Mark and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
“And burn it.”
“Don’t worry; you’ll never see it.”
“Thanks, gal pal.”
AT MIDNIGHT, MARK woke, slipped out of bed, and wandered into his study. He glanced at the shelves packed with books from the past five centuries, then wandered over to his black leather chair, sat, and flicked on the lamp sitting on the end table next to the chair. The warm light fell on the small book sitting next to the lamp illuminating its worn brown leather cover. Mark picked it up and ran his finger along its surface.
If this Corin Roscoe truly had The Chair, Mark’s prayers had finally been answered. All the clues he’d collected in the small journal would prove true.
He tried to rein in his hope but after a few minutes let his emotions run.
If it was real and if it truly had the power to heal? His life would never be the same.
Tomorrow. Ben would find Corin’s store tomorrow and start digging. And depending on what he found, Mark would make Corin Roscoe his new best friend.
He stood, went to his desk, woke his MacBook Pro from hibernation, and started surfing. Facebook was quiet. So was Twitter.
He pulled up Sports Illustrated.com and pretended he was interested in the predictions for that weekend’s games, pretended he didn’t care about the banner ad promoting the latest issue of the magazine about to arrive in millions of homes, pretended his mouse clicked on the ad by itself.
Mark glanced at the door to his office and beyond it. No lights. His wife and kids were long asleep.
Just a peek. Just a quick look; that’s all he needed. It was okay; it would be forgiven. He was only doing it to see what the men in his church would be fighting against for the next month or three. He needed to know the enemy so he could battle against it.
Instantly photos of stunningly beautiful women splashed onto his screen adorned in little more than inches of fabric, staring at him with eyes so provocative his pulse spiked.
He clicked through the pictures like popcorn popping. Just a glance. Nothing more. No harm, no foul, no guilt.
It wasn’t wrong. It was just like going to any beach in the world and stopping for a moment to admire what God had created. Just a slice of the Creator’s beauty on display to be admired.
Stop.
The thought rose from his heart into his mind like lightning.
Why?
It was nothing he wouldn’t see on any of the exotic trips he and his wife would take in the next year. Nothing thousands, millions of men weren’t looking at right now on computer screens across the globe.
What if that were your daughter? Would you want men slobbering over her like you’re slobbering over these women?
He wasn’t slobbering.
What if they were daughters of the men you supposedly lead?
The thought ripped through his mind and stabbed at his heart.
But they weren’t his daughter. He thanked God he had sons.
After fifteen minutes he stopped fooling himself, slammed his laptop closed, swore, and slumped back in his chair. It was the last time he’d do it. Never again. Never. But he didn’t believe the lie.
Mark rubbed his face with both hands and rested his elbows on his desk and let out a soft moan. When he sat up again, his wife stood in the door of his den and his heart shifted into double-time. How long had she been there?
“Are you all right?”
Did she know? She couldn’t. There was no reflection for her to see what he’d been looking at, but maybe his face had already betrayed him. “Wow, you startled me.”
“Sorry, I woke up and you weren’t in bed. Are you okay?”
“Fine, just trying to figure out what I’m preaching on this Sunday.” Mark stretched his neck to the right and then the left. “And I’m a little tense.”
“What’s on your heart?”
“What?”
“On your heart, what are you hearing from God?”
Hearing? That he hated himself for not being
“I’m grateful.” She walked over to Mark and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
“And burn it.”
“Don’t worry; you’ll never see it.”
“Thanks, gal pal.”
AT MIDNIGHT, MARK woke, slipped out of bed, and wandered into his study. He glanced at the shelves packed with books from the past five centuries, then wandered over to his black leather chair, sat, and flicked on the lamp sitting on the end table next to the chair. The warm light fell on the small book sitting next to the lamp illuminating its worn brown leather cover. Mark picked it up and ran his finger along its surface.
If this Corin Roscoe truly had The Chair, Mark’s prayers had finally been answered. All the clues he’d collected in the small journal would prove true.
He tried to rein in his hope but after a few minutes let his emotions run.
If it was real and if it truly had the power to heal? His life would never be the same.
Tomorrow. Ben would find Corin’s store tomorrow and start digging. And depending on what he found, Mark would make Corin Roscoe his new best friend.
He stood, went to his desk, woke his MacBook Pro from hibernation, and started surfing. Facebook was quiet. So was Twitter.
He pulled up Sports Illustrated.com and pretended he was interested in the predictions for that weekend’s games, pretended he didn’t care about the banner ad promoting the latest issue of the magazine about to arrive in millions of homes, pretended his mouse clicked on the ad by itself.
Mark glanced at the door to his office and beyond it. No lights. His wife and kids were long asleep.
Just a peek. Just a quick look; that’s all he needed. It was okay; it would be forgiven. He was only doing it to see what the men in his church would be fighting against for the next month or three. He needed to know the enemy so he could battle against it.
Instantly photos of stunningly beautiful women splashed onto his screen adorned in little more than inches of fabric, staring at him with eyes so provocative his pulse spiked.
He clicked through the pictures like popcorn popping. Just a glance. Nothing more. No harm, no foul, no guilt.
It wasn’t wrong. It was just like going to any beach in the world and stopping for a moment to admire what God had created. Just a slice of the Creator’s beauty on display to be admired.
Stop.
The thought rose from his heart into his mind like lightning.
Why?
It was nothing he wouldn’t see on any of the exotic trips he and his wife would take in the next year. Nothing thousands, millions of men weren’t looking at right now on computer screens across the globe.
What if that were your daughter? Would you want men slobbering over her like you’re slobbering over these women?
He wasn’t slobbering.
What if they were daughters of the men you supposedly lead?
The thought ripped through his mind and stabbed at his heart.
But they weren’t his daughter. He thanked God he had sons.
After fifteen minutes he stopped fooling himself, slammed his laptop closed, swore, and slumped back in his chair. It was the last time he’d do it. Never again. Never. But he didn’t believe the lie.
Mark rubbed his face with both hands and rested his elbows on his desk and let out a soft moan. When he sat up again, his wife stood in the door of his den and his heart shifted into double-time. How long had she been there?
“Are you all right?”
Did she know? She couldn’t. There was no reflection for her to see what he’d been looking at, but maybe his face had already betrayed him. “Wow, you startled me.”
“Sorry, I woke up and you weren’t in bed. Are you okay?”
“Fine, just trying to figure out what I’m preaching on this Sunday.” Mark stretched his neck to the right and then the left. “And I’m a little tense.”
“What’s on your heart?”
“What?”
“On your heart, what are you hearing from God?”
Hearing? That he hated himself for not being
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