The construction on our apartment is supposed to end today.  To that end, I am sitting here typing as a guy stands on a ladder a few feet away from me, painting over the infamous holes.  It’s a little awkward, this forced proximity to a stranger as he does his work and I do mine, but I’ll get over it.  The light at the end of the tunnel is getting closer.

But last week, when we were in the thick of it, life was one disruption after another.  Since our kitchen was more storage-oriented than functional, I decided to pick up breakfast on the way to work.  And because of the food-fest that my California trip turned out to be, I decided that breakfast would be a banana.  Then I looked into my New York-ravaged wallet and saw that I would have to make a choice:  coffee or banana, but not both.  I think you know where this is going.  I can survive for a few hours without food, but morning caffeine is non-negotiable.  I thought about considering this poverty-inflicted starvation a form of fasting but decided against it–I’m pretty sure fasting is meant to be a choice if it’s sincere.  With that silver lining disposed of, I grabbed my coffee from George and trudged to work as A Poor Person Who Can’t Afford a Banana.  Top of the morning to you, New York.

Then I got to NYU and was informed by my eighty-five-year-old friend that someone had dropped off food the day before…and there were LEFTOVERS!  A true rarity in our department, where food is immediately sniffed out and ravaged by anyone happening to pass by.  (Note:  anyone often happens to be me.)  I checked out the bagels and passed because no New Yorker with any dignity would accept a day-old bagel.  Then my eyes landed upon a golden beacon in my wilderness of hunger: an unopened bag of pretzels.  Salty and delicious and, most of all, FRESH.  So I ripped that bitch open and went to town.  Then I hid the bag on a shelf.

Once upon a biblical time, Elijah was waiting for God to show up.  A powerful wind blew by and Elijah looked for God, but he wasn’t in the wind.  Then an earthquake shook the earth but no God there either.  Next, a fire blazed and Elijah thought for sure this was God’s entrance, but no dice.  Then, from inside a cave, Elijah heard a whisper and went out to see what was going on.  And there was God.  I love it how he’ll show up anywhere, but especially where we least expect.  Like in a bag of pretzels.

And then there are the times when he shows up in the earth, wind, and fire.

The BF and I decided to join one of the new Bible study groups that has been formed as part of our church’s new growth campaign (www.renew.redeemer.com).  A bit of background:  thanks to the Presbyterian church’s long-standing missions work in Korea, we have a huge Asian contingent.  HUGE.  And the BF and I joked to each other that we’d probably be the only non-Asians in attendance among the group of fifteen.  We joked because we were certain that such a fluke would never really occur.  And then we showed up last Thursday night at 8 pm to a room full of our Asian brothers and sisters.

So no real surprise there.  We hung out for a couple of hours, doing the praise God thing, and made some small talk at the end of the night with the leader of the group, who was seated beside me.  During our conversation she whispered something to a nearby friend.  A few seconds later I watched as the friend brought her a wheelchair and she climbed into it.  Since I was mid-sentence, I struggled to maintain a lack of reaction to this development (which the BF later referred to in Liz Lemon-style as a TWIST!).  But I noticed immediately how I was already thinking of this girl differently.  As both a weaker and stronger person than before.  Then I thought about how the proper functioning of my legs (eyes, ears, brain) gives me the luxury of seeing God in a bag of pretzels while some people have to walk with him through fire just to get across the street.

And the holes continue to be patched…