Bivocational, Brokenhearted Theology, California, Church, Family, Ministry, Ramblings, Two Many Things

The Sky Is Falling

Seriously, the sky is falling.  Or, at least, tiles from our ceiling are falling.  That is kind of like the sky.

A week ago, a section of our dining room ceiling began to sag worse than Jinco Jeans in the 90s.  We called our landlord, who verified three or four times that this was not caused by a water buildup.  Apparently, since there was little danger of water bursting forth from the ceiling throughout our house, this was not an immediate problem and could wait until the landlord gets back from vacation so he can assess what needs to happen before calling in someone to fix it.

Exactly one week later, and half of our dining room ceiling is now exposed to an ancient layer of thin wooden slats and the attic-that-is-not-really-a-useful-attic.  Having half of the ceiling exposed really is not too bad, as it is a nice change of pace from the bland white ceiling tiles that adorn the other half of our ceiling.  Also, the cobwebs dangling from the ceiling are also a classy touch, although a bit out of season as Halloween is still several months away.  The best part is definitely the stack of tiles that are now sitting in the corner of our dining room – probably about forty of them so far.  Okay, so that is not the best part.  The best part is the rubble that falls when the old crusty ceiling tiles fall from the ceiling to the hardwood floor and splinter pieces of wood everywhere.  And dust.  Lots of dust..  That is why that giant blue tarp is covering our table and the piano, and why our bookshelves are covered in our extra queen sized bed sheets.

It is the first time I have ever lived in an excavation site, rubble and all, before.  Kind of cool, actually.

The whole situation is a rather good illustration, though, for how life feels at the moment.  Things are happening all around me – deadlines, expectations, transitions, etc. – and there is not all that much I can do about it.  Sometimes tiles fall and shatter, and I have to sweep up the pieces.  Sometimes they fall and land in one piece, and I place them in a corner in a neat little stack until I can get someone to help me take care of the pile.

For me, it is a reminder that I am not in control.  A reminder that life happens, each day, all around me with very little concern for whether I would prefer time to move slower, relationships to be easier, job duties to go smoother, et cetera.

The good news is that I am not alone in picking up the pieces.

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