WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: The Wrong Kind of Exposure

   From the depths of my bowels originated a primal scream the likes of which no one in or near Sylva, North Carolina had ever witnessed, experienced, or heard tale of. Despite initially doubling over in pain, I quickly realized there was a sizable audience observing my pain and suffering. So I tried to stand upright and act as if nothing had happened as quickly as possible, but to no avail.
     Perhaps an explanation of how I ended up in the aforementioned situation would be appropriate. It happened about 30 years ago when I was working baseball camps during the summer to help make ends meet and gain exposure as a baseball coach. One such camp was a week long deal near Western Carolina University. There were 10 coaches or so and probably around 90-100 kids, ranging in ages 8 to 12.
     The kids were divided into groups based on age and sent to one of three fields at the complex where the event was held. That particular week two other coaches and I were sent to maintain order and teach basic baseball fundamentals to the youngest group of participants. One of those participants was a cute, seemingly sweet little girl with a ponytail hanging out from under her hat. She was the only girl at camp and the camp director had decided to allow her to participate even though she was only six years old and all the other participants were at least eight years of age and maturity.
     So it became my job to keep an eye on little Rachel. Cute though she was, she didn't end up being as sweet as she seemed at first glance. She was a feisty little cuss. She didn't like to follow orders and she most definitely had her own agenda. Rachel was actually a talented little ballplayer but her inability to properly adhere to instructions quickly made her my full-time job.
     The fourth morning of camp Rachel was as belligerent as ever. At one point, as I was standing only a few feet in front of the kids at home plate demonstrating the next drill we would be performing, she took it upon herself to grab a baseball, stand up, and fire a baseball at point blank range directly toward the middle portion of my being. As I said, she was a talented little player so unfortunately for me, her aim was true.
     Rachel's bullet hit me right where the men are separated from the opposite gender. That's when my "wailing heard around the world" and the ensuing doubling over in pain occurred. Knowing there were dozens of people watching the scene unfold, I tried to play it off but it was too late. My scream had registered a 3.6 on the Richter scale and all eyes were now locked in on me.
     Everyone- campers, parents, and coaches- within a two hundred yard radius was horse-laughing. One fellow coach was doubled over in laughter even further than I had been during my initial absorption of the blow. Knowing it would be useless to chastise little Rachel in any form or fashion, I simply laughed along with everyone else . . . while dying on the inside. I couldn't play it off. I had been exposed. There was no hiding it. I had to embrace it.
     I think sometimes in life we try to play things off and pretend they never happened. We seek to minimize our own mistakes and deflect attention to the faults of others. We cover up, conceal, and camouflage our imperfections in an attempt to deceive others into believing we have it all together. Our family portraits and our pictures on Facebook are all neat and happy. But somewhere in there, we have warts- both the physical and the emotional kind.
     The Bible says in Luke 8:17- "Nothing is hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light." We're always exposed to God, yet He loves us anyway-despite our imperfections. And I bet if we give the people we love a chance, they also will love us even when they are allowed a glimpse of those imperfections we desperately try to hide.
     John 3:20 says the light exposes us, much the same way Rowdy Rachel humbled a hot shot young baseball coach on a sunny June morning all those years ago. Everything I had done that week to appear in control, macho, and self-confident- vanished when a yardstick-sized child exposed me for the flawed human I truly was.
     I guess I should be eternally grateful to little Rachel for teaching me a lesson in humility that day. But that's just not possible when I recall how painful and embarrassing that whole ordeal was. Wherever you are Rachel, I hope you're happy. You not only exposed me, you darn near ruined me.