Room Six
This Inn is a one-of-a-kind place. It’s where dreams are kept and where peace is found. It’s where memories are made and relived. It’s where time stands still and your mind finds solace.
It’s nestled right on the banks of the Cape Fear River in a small, beautiful North Carolina town. It only has eight rooms, each with its own charm. Six of the rooms have a semi-private porch divided by some wooden slats that go almost to the ground. The old wooden porch swing is my favorite. Each of the riverside rooms has one. They still use keys for the rooms.
This quaint place is named The Grand Banks Inn.
This time we stayed in room number six for the entire week. Upon arrival, we were greeted by our host who told us, “If you need something, just call me. The keys are on the table in the room.”
We were unloading the car for what seemed like an eternity. I complained as usual, and Lisa just looked at me and smiled. As the event continued, other thoughts began to unpack in my mind. I wondered who was staying in room five or room seven. These are all the things I think about when staying in an inn. I think if you played the song, “Hotel California” by Eagles, it would match the Inn. As the song says, “you can check out, but you can never leave.”
As we were finishing the unloading process, the door to room seven opened, and a younger couple emerged. They looked like they were in their forties. I made eye contact, and I shook hands with my eyes. Only a few people will ever get this. It’s a silent gift that some have. You can have a complete conversation with just your eyes, and we did. It went like this to the both of them, “Hello, how are you? You’re in seven, and we are in six. Good to meet you; we can chat later…then blink.
Well, wouldn’t you know it. I got sick that week and was unable to do anything. So, while Lisa went to walk each day, I sat on the old porch swing and enjoyed that breeze that came off the river from the ocean. I was working on a previous story titled, “Oh Snap.” It’s what I call a dark story, but it has a hopeful ending. As I pressed through it, I realized that room seven was out on their porch. They were extremely quiet, not conversing much.
I mustered up enough strength to get to the swing each day to focus and write the story I was working on. I usually wear headphones and listen to what I call my writing music, but for some reason, I decided to listen to the peaceful sounds of nature. The swing would rock back and forth and back and forth. I had my laptop out, writing what I thought was a masterpiece. I laugh at myself, saying that because each story I write is not for you but for me; it’s a release of emotions that brings healing to me every time. In the back of my mind, I hope these stories will help someone.
Lisa had gone on another long walk about midday. I was in the swing writing and enjoying the sun, and then I heard the door to room seven open and close. I heard the lady talking on the phone. The man was already sitting on the porch. I could see his feet dangling. I couldn’t make out what she was saying other than, “Are you sure? Are you one hundred percent?”
The wind had silence in it, as if I was supposed to hear something. There were no boats, no people, no birds, no nothing, just her saying, “Are you sure?” She told the caller, “Okay.”
There was silence like I’ve never heard. I was still trying to focus on the actual story I was fully involved in. It was so difficult to focus. She then told her husband, “The test results are in, and I am terminal. The cancer has taken a turn, and there is no hope of recovery; I am terminal. I have two weeks to live.” She joined him on the swing, both feet dangling in the sun, barely touching the ground. They pushed back and forth and back and forth.
He got up and walked into the yard by the river, looking up as if he was asking God Himself for help. I could see the distress in his countenance. She joined him with a beautiful hug in the sunlight as to say, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to be ok. They both started to walk back to room seven, and our eyes took yet another handshake. It’s going to be ok, I said. You are going to make it; I promise you that. Never underestimate the power of the eyes, the look, the glance, the stare, the hug, the kiss, and the touch. It’s all real and it brings comfort. They knew what I was saying; they understood. I had overheard a conversation that wasn’t meant for me, but it now involved me.
Later that evening, Lisa and I were swinging on that old porch swing in room six, overlooking the Cape Fear River. I had not told her what I had heard earlier that day, as I was still processing everything. Lisa is a cancer survivor, so this is a very sensitive topic for her. I had finished writing my story and shared it with her. She always gives great insight into my stories, and as we chatted about the story, it led to a very common conversation for us.
We started talking about what we always talk about, things of life. As we stared at the stars in the heavens and the waters all around us, we talked about God; we talked about Jesus and the peace and life He brings to us every day. We talked about the plans He has for us, and the future He has for us. We talked about how His amazing grace brought us from where we were to where we are today. We talked about His saving grace and why we are who we are. This is a regular conversation for us.
I then shared with her what I had heard from room seven. Lisa was so torn; she wanted to go over and pray with them to bring some hope and some type of rescue to them but realized this was their battle. If they needed to include us, then only God would make that happen. We agreed to pray right then and there for them. We prayed out loud on that porch swing outside room six for those in room seven. PLEASE GOD HAVE MERCY ON THEM. MAY YOUR WILL BE DONE. IF THEY DON’T KNOW YOU, THEN LEAD THOSE THAT WILL SHOW THEM THE WAY. AMEN.
With that, we went to bed that evening, not sleeping too much. I was feeling better the next day and got up a bit early. I noticed that room seven was packing up the car and preparing to leave. At the Grand Banks Inn, it’s not unusual to have both the front and back doors open at the same time. As I stood in my doorway with my sweet Lisa by my side, we all shook hands again with our eyes. Saying to them, we love you; it’s going to be okay. We will be here if you need us and, most importantly, we love you!
Not knowing who they were, we often included them in our prayers. A year has passed now, and we are back for our annual vacation time, a celebration of our love and our restoration. I’ll include that in another story.
This year, as it happened, we were staying in room six. We were unloading, and in the back of our minds, we were wondering about room seven. We got all settled in. The sun was bright, and the wind was blowing ever so softly.
I peered over to the porch at room seven and noted it was empty. Then I heard a door close. I rushed back to my place on the porch, sitting on the swing, hoping that room seven was occupied.
A man came out and sat on the swing. I could see his feet moving back and forth. He started talking to someone. I was wondering if it was him and hoping that the doctors were wrong.
I stopped, got up quietly, and walked out into the yard toward the river. A voice came from room seven’s porch. I turned and it was him. He greeted me with a very soft, “Hello.” I returned the greeting. He just stared at me as if to say something and finally said, “You were here last year about this time, right?”
I said, “Yes, we were.” I didn’t act dumb; I knew she didn’t make it.
We made it past the introductions, and he told me the whole story about her cancer, her diagnosis, and the final two weeks of her life. Our eyes engaged, and once again, we communicated in silence. He then said, “I have a letter here for you. She wrote it and sealed it up before she passed, with the hopes of me one day seeing you again to deliver it.”
And the letter read:
Dear Room Six,
I know we only shook hands with our eyes, but I overheard you and your sweet Lisa, as you called her, talking. I heard you talking about this God and this Jesus that brings peace and hope to your souls. I did hear you talking about a life everlasting and a life in this place called heaven. I wanted you to know that in the last two weeks of my life, God has brought some amazing people into my life. They have shared with me this love of Jesus. I overheard you room six, and I am thankful that I did. Thanks to you, room six, my husband now understands and has this same hope.
He knows God’s plan for him is to prosper and not harm him. He knows his future is even brighter with this everlasting love. If you are reading this now, you know I overheard. For that, I am grateful beyond words. See you soon!
Signed,
Room Seven
With that, you never know the power of the spoken word. Choose wisely.
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