Where the ceiling meets the wall

It was 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon, the day before Memorial Day, when I received the call. We drove furiously to get there. I was not prepared for what I was about to walk in and witness. A friend of mine had arrived ahead of me. As I pushed my way through the door of my parent’s house our eyes met and I knew.

We then rushed to the hospital and were quickly ushered to that dreaded small, dark, uninviting room where I was met by a man dressed in a suit and tie, clutching a Bible. This gentleman spoke gently as he prayed with us and tried to offer comfort. My heart was empty. I had no words.  I had nothing to say to God. 

We were escorted into his room where they had been working on him for an hour. They would stabilize him momentarily, just enough to give us hope. He would then code again and we would be rushed back to the small room to wait. This happened so many times it was difficult to recall just how many.

The more we were sent out of his room, we found ourselves losing hope. None of us could utter even a sound. Perhaps we were in shock. This was not how our day was supposed to go. As we sat there in silence with heavy hearts and the feeling of uncertainty, I found myself looking at the place where the ceiling meets the wall. As I stared intently at that one spot, I realized that I had not even gone to the Lord once in prayer. It was staring in that one spot that I finally met Jesus and was able to talk to Him. However, I found myself struggling for words to say. Then, in that still small voice, Jesus told me not to worry. I knew at that moment that my church was praying for me. He encouraged me to go back to the room and spend those last few moments with my dad. 

As we returned to his room we were hopeful that he had been stabilized once again. But that was not the case. We were told there was nothing more they could do for him. We had to make the most painful decision of our life. We had to let my daddy go. Huddled together at his bedside, my mother, my brother, and myself, weeping, nodded at the doctor to take him off of the vent. 

At 6:03pm my precious daddy’s heart quit beating. I would no longer receive birthday calls early in the morning just so he could be the first one to wish me a happy birthday. I would no longer hear him play his guitar or sing. I would never hear him call me that nickname that embarrassed me so much. No more holidays together. No more memories to make. 

I began to weep bitterly. Through the tears, my eyes went to the place where the ceiling meets the wall once again. I felt an overwhelming calmness, a peace that surpasses all understanding. I thanked God for giving us an extra ten years with my dad. I thanked him for letting me have a loving, earthly father for 35 years. I thanked him for allowing my children to have precious memories of their “PaDaddy.”

Elijah found his place to meet God in 1 Kings 19:11-12, “Then He said, “Go out, and stand on the mountain before the LORD.” And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.” 

I found my place to meet Jesus where the ceiling meets the wall. Have you found where you meet Jesus yet?  It could be a quiet room in your home. It could be driving to work while alone in your car. The most important thing you can do is to encounter Jesus. Jesus loves you. He died for you. He wants to meet with you. When I get nervous, anxious, or sad you may find me seemingly staring off in the distance. I’m just meeting Jesus where the ceiling meets the wall. 

Kasey Spradlin is the wife of Harold Spradlin, pastor at Argo First Baptist Church.