Saturday morning, I left the rice cooker lid shut for the ten minutes it rested

On Saturday morning I woke late and put the rice on first thing. After pressing the cook button, I sat on a chair by the microwave and fiddled with my phone. The rice cooker let out one big hiss of steam, and the display showed “Resting 10 min.”

I'm someone who opens everything. The read receipt on an email I've sent, the tracking page for a package I've ordered, even how much the beans I left soaking have swelled. This time, too, my hand had somehow ended up near the lid handle. The rice seemed done, but I couldn't feel at ease without lifting the lid and seeing it myself. The numbers shrank slowly, nine minutes, eight. Yesterday's dishes sat stacked in the sink, and the chores I had to do began lining up in my head.

The time spent leaving it closed

I turned my eyes away from the lid handle and opened still().

“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted on the earth.”

Psalm 46:10 (WEB)

Right after “Be still” came the word “know.” Inside the cooker, whether I watched or not, the grains went on cooking in the leftover steam. It occurred to me that stillness isn't only time spent doing nothing. Even while I wasn't opening it, the thing hadn't stopped. I took my hand off the lid and put it on my thigh.

For the last five minutes I didn't start on the dishes. I just sat there. Outside the window, a neighbor's child rang a bicycle bell once. When the number hit zero, the cooker announced, “Cooking is complete.” When I opened the lid, steam rushed up and fogged my glasses, and each grain of rice stood on its own. I turned it over from the bottom with the paddle and ate a spoonful. It was a breakfast of only kimchi and a fried egg, but the rice was sweet. I decided to wash the dishes after I had eaten.

Today's breath — Leave one thing you want to open unopened, and breathe out long.