The Squeaky Floor

The sound always bothered me.
I could tell you the exact places where the sound would be loudest.
Unfortunately, they were places we walked all the time.
They were places that had the most traffic in our kitchen.

Squeaks in the floor were the problem.
Some were near the sink and the counter where I usually prepare meals.
Some were in front of the refrigerator, in the path that led to the laundry room.
Some were around the large farm table.

The worst squeak of all was in front of the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room.
It was so loud.
I know it was loud because that is where I stood to teach Bible study in my home.
It was right where I placed the music stand that I used as a podium of sorts for my notes.

Every time I shifted my weight, the squeak would announce itself.
If I dropped a bookmark from my Bible and moved to retrieve it, the squeak would happen.
Every time someone walked into the dining room, the squeak would protest.
It was annoying and relentless, despite my husband’s attempts to fix it.

He had tried a few times before, but the repair would only be temporary.
He found something he thought would work in one of his searches.
Something about fastening a bracket to the joist and drilling angled screws into it somehow.
Where the joist and plywood under the floor met, there the angled screw would go.

Oh, but to find that exact spot was the challenge.
To find the place where the plywood sub-floor moved was the key.
My husband got blue painter’s tape from his workshop.
We walked around the kitchen finding all the obnoxious squeaks.

If only there had been a hidden camera.
If only people could see us walking in a shuffling way until we found the exact spots.
Upon finding them, my husband put blue tape on the floor.
I felt like I was looking at a treasure map with numerous “X marks the spot” on the floor.

After a squeak was located, I was to stand on the tape and shift my weight back and forth.
That movement allowed my husband to see where the plywood was moving.
He could see it only after he moved the insulation away.
How long do you think this will take us? I asked him.

I felt like a child in the car asking, Are we there yet?
Oh, it will only be about an hour, he answered.
Somehow, I didn’t believe his estimate was correct.
So we began.

We spoke loudly to each other, in order to be heard.
He was in the basement.
I was upstairs in the kitchen.
Shift your weight…okay stop…step away.

This was all being communicated between floors somehow.
We heard each other every time.
However, I wasn’t ready for the drill.
I didn’t realize that I had to stand on the spot while he drilled from the basement.

I heard the drill before I felt the vibration.
I never asked if my foot would be safe.
I imagined the angled screw being drilled through the plywood and directly into my foot.
I asked my husband about it when he came upstairs to check on the progress.

He laughed, not at me as much as at himself for never considering I would be afraid.
He knew what he was doing.
I was just a participant, though far away from the action.
I had to trust him and his ability to fix things.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1)

I had to trust that my husband knew my foot was above the spot where he was working.
I had to trust that he knew how far to drill.
I thought of a small child jumping into a swimming pool.
The child has to trust that the arms of the person in the water would indeed be there.

I thought of sitting in a chair.
That simple act is an act of faith, since you must trust that the chair is there and will hold you.
I thought of the morning and the trust that our Creator God will indeed cause the sun to rise.
I thought of our heartbeat and our breaths and the trust that we have in Him who sustains us.

We have faith in things we hope for, but cannot see.
That is what faith truly is.
I had faith in my husband’s ability to fix the squeaks in the floor without drilling into my foot.
I couldn’t see him down in the basement but I knew he was there.

The squeaks are gone.
The process that was to take an hour, took two-and-a-half hours.
I cringed in the beginning, every time the drill went into the plywood.
But I had to trust the one who knew what he was doing.

I have to trust the One who knows what He is doing.
Unseen, yet ever present.
Faith is certainty, even when we can’t see the evidence.
Especially then.