A great Ceiling was coming down upon us.
Our Minister lived on the penthouse of Newland Towers, closest to God, but had to move out of there when the Ceiling met his A/C unit. My Mom was the first to offer him our home. She would always say that I should live as if the Minister lived in our house, and she finally made that happen. She treated him like he was traveling Jesus.
I was kicked out of my room. I didn’t mind sleeping on the couch, but I didn’t like the thought of the Minister judging me in my own room. I put up more Metallica posters.
The Minister kept talking about the Rapture over dinner.
“As long as we have lived faithfully unto the Lord, He will take us. On the other side of that Ceiling, there is the Kingdom of God.”
“But is that enough,” my Dad asked.“My friend Peter goes to church every Sunday, but he is a very sinful man.”
The Minister held his glass of wine between his fingers and answered, “as long as he confesses his sins before the End, he will be saved.”
Mom kept going in and out of the kitchen for small things, and didn’t finish her chicken.
A few days later, the Ceiling came so low that we sat in a circle on the carpet and the Minister asked each of us to say a prayer. We held hands.
I said, “Dear Lord, thank you for sending the Minister into my room.”
Dad said, “Dear Lord, I would really like to see the World Series Championship next week.”
Mom didn’t say anything, so I shook her hand a little. Then she said, really slowly, “Dear Lord, I remember the time I was in Atlantic City in 1982, and the man named Stephan that I met on the beach. He said such sweet things about me. Dear Lord, I hope I will see him up there.”