Page 89 of The Roads We Follow

I jab him in the ribs. “You owe me.”

“Brace yourself: it’s short and depressing.”

“Well, I happen to love writing happy endings, so maybeyoushould braceyourself.”

His chuckle fades into a sigh. “I was hired by the school district shortly after I graduated. I was all blind ambition and ego—certain I could make a difference in a job that has one of the highest turnover rates in education. But after five years, the red tape of dos and don’ts became a noose around my neck, and I saw more paperwork within the four cement walls I sat in every day than people. And I was miserable.”

“I can’t imagine you trapped inside an office every day.” Micah is a goer, a doer.

“That’s pretty close to what my mom said to me, too.”

This turns my head. “What did she say?”

“‘Life’s too short to be questioning what you’re doing with your time every day.’”

Once again, Lynn’s words carve a mark on my heart. “Wow.”

“Exactly. That kind of life advice hits differently coming from a person who is literally signing papers for their hospice care.”

I wait for the sting in my throat to subside before I ask, “What did you do?”

“I stayed up most of that night—I prayed hard, took a walk, read through Philippians, and then prayed some more. And in the morning, I submitted my leave of absence.”

When I say nothing, Micah peers down at me. “Garrett thought I was impulsive and acting out of grief. He was sure I’d regret it.”

“Do you?”

He doesn’t answer me for several strides until we’re standing under the shade of a pine tree. “I regret not knowing if I made an actual difference during the time I had there. But I don’t regret the time I spent with my mom in her final days—even knowing what I know now. Maybe even especially so. And I don’t regret forcing myself to take a long, hard look at my own mental health the way I was paid to do for others nearly sixty hours a week.”

His words push my thoughts back to those difficult months after my dad died. How I sold my little condo outside the bustle of the city to move in with my heartbroken mama. How Adele became an instant CEO, managing everything and everyone in sight, and how Hattie crawled inside herself and rarely left her home. I was so desperate back then for our fractured family to feel whole again. No cost felt too high, no sacrifice too much. Until one day it did. Until the cost felt like it was suffocating me from the inside out. I don’t even know how to relate to the freedom he so freely lives in.

“I think you’re incredibly brave,” I say after a minute.

“How much do I need to pay you to say that in front of my brother when you meet him?”

“I’m serious.” I tug his hand to a stop. “And I’m also absolutely certain you made a difference in your five years at the school. Look at what you’ve done in the short time you’ve been with us.” My eyes mist again. “You have a gift, Micah. And wherever you go, I have no doubt God will use it to help people. It’s who you are.”

His expression softens on me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I pull him forward again. “So tell me what you would do if you could do anything.”

“Anything?” He cranes his neck from left to right, staring up at the hills above us. “This. I’ve always known there’s something healing about being outside in God’s creation. Something that challenges and rewards us in ways sitting inside a therapist’s office can’t compete with. The most life-changing moments I’ve experienced didn’t happen in a classroom or in a counselor’s office. They were usually out on a lake with my dad or driving through the Cascades on a road trip or hiking a new trail with my brother. There’s a divine intimacy in nature that can’t be duplicated. I want to help people find that.”

Despite not having a whole lot of personal experience with outdoor life myself, I trust his conviction and ponder it for the next few minutes.

By the time we reach the brook, we’ve fallen into a companionable quiet, as if this world is one we’ve navigated together forever. But maybe I only feel that way because Micah is at my side and he seems at home in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced myself. He instructs me to tread lightly as we make our way down to a fishing spot that looks like an illustration straight out of a children’s fairy-tale book. It’s maybe ten feet wide with boulders on either side and wildflowers intermixed throughout the bank. I half expect a clan of friendly gnomes to peek out from the forest beyond and invite us to a potluck.

He keeps his voice to a low murmur to keep from scaring the trout that are visible even from several paces away. He told me that his dad’s best fishing advice is to take the time to observe everything you can about your spot before you set up your rod. Apparently,the best fishermen are also the best students of nature. By the looks of it, Micah is near the top of his class.

As Micah studies his surroundings on shore, I study him. I’ve never fished a day in my life, but he’s selling me on it pretty hard, and he hasn’t spoken a single word since he last cast his line. The sky above us is blue, the weather ideal, and I’m suddenly overcome with the kind of peace that stirs my heart to pray.

I’m attuned to the expert way Micah positions his rod. Both his right and left hands have a job to do, and there’s an intricate dance between keeping slack and holding tension. Fishing, I suppose, is a lot like life. No wonder Micah is so skilled at it.

When a trout bumps the fly without biting, Micah eyes me. “You’re probably bored out of your mind. I should have turned back to grab a rod for you, too.”

“I’m happy to observe. It’s fascinating. One day, when I’m back to writing fiction, I might have to draft you into a story.” Heat crawls up my neck as my words replay themselves to my ears. “Notyou, per se, but this.” I gesture to his line in the stream. “The fishing stuff.”

“Ah, yes, it’s the fishing stuff that has you all fascinated and flustered for certain.” His grin is so cocky and absurd it’s laughable, but before I have time to come up with a reply, he says, “I think it’s time for the quiet observer to have a private lesson. You know, for the sake of inspiration.”

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