Ceiling musings.

This past Sunday was a lovely morning - I appreciated and enjoyed the perspective Pastor Kyle took on Joseph's story in his sermon, and over lunch had the privilege of hearing the story of what God has been doing in Mun Joo's life.  She was someone new Sarah Min had met on the church bus that morning, and it was really nice talking with her.

I decided to have a very restful afternoon when I got home to our apartment.  It was quiet after Katy came back from church and went to sleep.  For the past week I was playing Christmas music almost nonstop, but for that afternoon I thought it would be nice to do some low-key things I really enjoy doing, such as reading or playing guitar.

I pulled out the fair-trade quilt I had asked my aunt for last Christmas and brought my laptop with my current reading, Banker to the Poor:  Micro-lending and the battle against world poverty by Muhammad Yunus, to our really comfortable sofa in the living room.

After feeling very productive and relaxed for reading a few chapters, I got very sleepy and did something I haven't done in a long time:  I decided to take a short nap.

Soon after I set my alarm and had fallen asleep on the couch, I woke up to some kind of scratching noise.  I opened my eyes and started sitting up to figure out where the noise was coming from because it sounded so close by.  I looked straight across the room at the front door because it sounded like someone was just outside the door, taping or posting some kind of paper on it.

I was curious as to who it was or what they were doing to our door, but the longer I listened, the less convinced I was that someone was there.  At that moment, I looked up and noticed that a huge chunk of the ceiling paint had started hanging down, with a rip that was slowly moving across the width of the ceiling.

I'm not sure if it was because I had just woken up from a nap or not, but I just stared at the rip, somehow trying to reassure my brain that that's exactly what was happening.  I think I was a little caught off guard but also didn't really know what to do.

It felt like I must've been in some kind of tv show or movie where the viewers are watching, yelling at the screen, "Why are you just sitting there?!  Get out of the way!  Do something!"  But I wasn't listening because I was in some kind of daze, somewhere in between the fact that I knew what was happening but couldn't really do anything to stop it so all I could do was watch.

Suddenly the rip finished tearing across the ceiling and a good chunk of the paint crumbled to the ground below, taking down a couple of plants with it and leaving a mess behind.

It was weird.  Here I was, staring at the ceiling for what felt like forever, fully aware that the paint was ripping and yet I was still shocked when it all came down.  You could hear my shock amidst the silence.  What a weird response.

It was a loud crash.  I half expected Katy to pop open her door and come see what all the commotion was about, but she didn't.  I sat there for a good few minutes, thinking about what I should do before I got up, examined the mess, and then went to wake Katy up to tell her what happened.

After Katy gave me our landlord's number and I left a message for our landlord, I carefully cleaned up the mess.

Later on that night after Sarah came home she opted not to watch a movie in the living room because there was still more that looked like it was ready to come down, and last night when Lauren Kirst and I decided to watch a movie there, Sarah suggested we open a couple of umbrellas and hold them over our heads while we watched, just in case something else fell down.  Her suggestion reminded me of a scene from Gilmore Girls and made me smile :]

Tonight is another tranquil evening.  I ventured back into the living room with my fair-trade quilt, Muhammad Yunus, and a hot cup of creamy, cinnamon and peppermint hot chocolate.  I lit some candles but opted to leave the Christmas music off - to fight the common fear of silence, conquer the fragility of stillness, and bask in the joy of God's presence and the soothing process of unpacking some of my thoughts.  I'm sitting in the same corner of the couch I sat in just a day ago, staring instead at a partial ceiling exposed to its bare plaster-y flesh in this cold, cold apartment.

The more I stare at the ceiling in this silence, the more it looks like a metaphor of life.

So far, there is one thought and feeling I've accumulated from this gentle evening: realizing how much you miss someone is common but recognizing that it stems from a desire to enjoy their company with you and not from a desire to avoid being lonely - well, it just warms my heart.

Unless that's just the hot chocolate speaking.