Irene Hannon - Rainbow's End

And if she couldn’t explain her behavior to herself, how in the world was she going to explain it to Deb?

The place was a pigsty.

Hot color crept up Jill’s neck to her cheeks as she surveyed the cluttered, dirty cabin where Keith had spent last night. The dust was deep enough to write in, bits of debris clung to the woven rugs, and the thick grime on the windows was as effective as shades in diffusing the sunlight. On top of all that, the whole place smelled musty, half of the lightbulbs were burned out and cobwebs had staked a claim on the corners of the ceiling.

Yet her unexpected visitor not only wanted to pay to stay here, he considered it a bargain!

Well, Jill knew better. The place was more suited to its current role as a storage shed than to human habitation. Of course, at one time it had been much more livable. Jill had spent the first six months of her stay here while she rehabbed the decrepit main house. But since moving out, she’d done little to maintain the interior. Now that she had a paying guest, however, she needed to make up for lost time.

Unsure how long Keith would be gone, Jill went into high gear. She dusted, vacuumed, mopped, scoured the kitchen and bathroom, stripped the bed and remade it with clean sheets and washed all the windows. Then she gathered up the baskets on the counter, carried the boxes of kitchen odds and ends outside, and collected her art supplies, wedging them into her car for a trip across the field to the house. As a final touch, she put a vase of fresh wildflowers in the center of the small oak dining table, propping a note beside it that directed Keith to the refrigerator.

Finished, she stepped back to assess the results of her two hours of intensive labor. The windows sparkled, the polished surface of the table glistened, every bit of dust and debris had been vanquished, the bathroom and kitchen were spick-and-span, and the light fixtures gleamed. With a satisfied nod, she packed up her supplies and headed home.

As she crossed the field, she couldn’t help but wonder what her temporary tenant would think about the transformation in his accommodations. She hoped he’d be pleased. After all, if he was willing to pay for the privilege of occupying her modest cabin, the least she could do was give it a thorough cleaning. Of course, if he was like a lot of men, he wouldn’t notice the care she’d taken to make him feel welcome.

But already Jill was getting the distinct feeling that Keith Michaels wasn’t like a lot of men.

Not even close.

For a fleeting second, Keith wasn’t sure he was in the right cabin.

As he stepped across the threshold, arms laden with grocery bags and laundry, he came to an abrupt stop. The cabin was immaculate. Every vestige of grime and neglect had been removed. The place was so clean is almost glowed.

Stunned, Keith did a slow inventory. Crisp curtains hung at the spotless windows. When he dropped the laundry onto the couch, no dust cloud engulfed him. A peek into the bedroom revealed a neatly made bed, with decorative pillows fluffed against the headboard. The bathroom floor looked clean enough to eat off, and the kitchen was pristine.

Completing his circuit in the dining alcove, he spotted the flowers and note. Reaching for the single sheet of paper, he scanned the simple message, which was written in a flowing, graceful script.

“Sorry for the mess you found when you arrived. Hope the homemade soup in the fridge helps make up for it!”

Somehow, the fact that Jill had scoured the place didn’t surprise him. But the soup was an added—and touching—bonus. With an eagerness he couldn’t have suppressed if he tried, he returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Sure enough, a large container stood in the otherwise empty interior. Lifting the lid, he inhaled. Ambrosia! Memories of better times, of home and comfort and love, washed over him in a cleansing wave, and for a second it was like a taste of heaven.

Though the impression was fleeting, it was a balm to Keith’s ravaged soul. That brief glimpse of happiness, of joy and contentment and rightness, was the first such moment he’d had since his world began to fall apart. And if he could have one such moment, perhaps others would follow, he realized, his spirits notching up another peg.

Odd. Just when his hope was running on fumes, it had been given a boost by his reluctant landlady. A woman who had suffered her own trauma, who had lost a man Keith assumed she loved, who had suffered a terrible injury, and who now lived alone with her memories, secluded in this beautiful but remote place. A woman who had chosen a solitary life, but had nevertheless reached out to him in his need. Her unselfish kindness touched him in a way nothing else had for two years.

A long time ago, Keith would have paused to thank the Lord for leading him to this place when his soul most needed replenishing. And maybe, somehow, the Lord’s hand was in this. But he wasn’t sure. About that…and about so many of the things he’d once believed with such fervor and absolute conviction. That uncertainty was, in fact, the root cause of his problem.

But what did God expect, after the crippling blow life had dealt him? He’d tried to remain upright in the torrent that raged around and within him, but in the end he’d lost his balance and fallen. And kept falling, until he was sucked so far down into the swirling vortex, so shrouded in darkness, that he wondered whether he would ever find his way out. God knew, he’d tried! But without his faith to sustain him, the quest had been futile. Where once he’d found strength and courage and fortitude in his beliefs, there was now a black void.

Part of him still yearned to turn to God, to plead for help. But God had been deaf to all his entreaties, refusing to answer even a man who had dedicated his life to spreading His good news, to gathering His flock. The bitterness already on Keith’s tongue had grown more acrid as the silence lengthened, distancing him further from the One who had once guided his every step. The chasm had deepened, widened. Until now, Keith felt as isolated spiritually as Jill was geographically.

Yet deep in the recesses of his heart, he wanted to believe. Wanted to trust once more in the Lord’s goodness. To put his life in God’s hands, as he’d often counseled others to do. To rely with confidence on the Lord’s guiding presence even when the powers of darkness loomed and threatened. Without that trust, without that belief, he was floundering, seeking answers where none were to be found. But how did he reconnect? How did he find his way back to the Source, to the spring of life that had once refreshed his parched soul?

For the past year he’d been seeking the truth, searching for answers, looking for release. But nowhere in his travels had he found these elusive quarries. Nor had he come close to finding a hint of the infinite peace bestowed only by God.

Until he’d come here.

As he’d walked across the tranquil meadow this morning, Keith had attributed his heightened sense of hope to the place itself. And there was something special about this rocky piece of land, with its soaring mountains and verdant forests and shimmering, crystalline seas. But it wasn’t just the place.

It was also the woman.

Despite their brief acquaintance, Keith had already been touched by Jill in ways he couldn’t begin to articulate. Though marred by tragedy, and sensitive about her scars, she had a serenity about her that he envied. As if she’d made her peace with the horrendous injury that had forever changed the way the world looked at her. And considering her reclusive lifestyle, the kindness and generosity she’d shown to a stranger at her door had been remarkable—as well as humbling. She’d asked nothing from him in return for her benevolence. Instead, she’d continued to give, living the golden rule he’d often preached.