Originally published at Ignatian Spirituality
One morning several years ago, I came downstairs to discover a disconcertingly large puddle in the middle of our kitchen. The errant water sat still and far apart from any of the usual suspects: the dishwasher, the fridge, and the sink. No appliance or forgotten faucet seemed to be at fault, and so I quit looking around and instead looked up.
My eyes fell upon a huge bubble of paint, soggy and sinking. The water had come from the ceiling. But the mystery only deepened. There was no plumbing on that side of the house, and there was a second floor. The night before had been stormy, true, but a hole in the roof should’ve caused a water issue in the guest bedroom, the room directly above the bulging bubble of waterlogged paint.
We popped the bubble and cleaned the floor and repaired the wall as best we could. Days passed as we tried to decipher the issue, and finally a contractor visited our home to provide an estimate on repairs.
“You know your siding is gone,” he said, bustling in from the cold outdoors. He pulled his coat tighter, straightened his hat, and tapped a pencil to his clipboard. “A
