WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: The Rain Doesn't Care

Proverbs 22:2 - "Rich and poor have this in common: The Lord is the Maker of them all."

     I awoke to the dreaded sound of raindrops thumping on the roof above me and on the patio just outside of my bedroom window that July morning in 1999. I had feared the forecast might actually be accurate for a change when the weatherman predicted it would be a soggy Monday. What the weatherman and God should have realized is that I had monumental, important things to accomplish on that day and there was no room on the agenda for showers or thunderstorms.
     It was the first day of my summer baseball camp. I was the director of the largest baseball camp in Greenwood County, SC at the time and nearly a hundred boys aged 6 to 15 were counting on me to have everything under control- including the weather. Parents were equally as eager for a well deserved summer break as their kids would be under my care from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.
     So rain was not allowed. The questions of where to send the kids if it rained and what to do with them inside even if we did find a place to go weighed heavily on my mind. All these kids and their families were counting on me and I had no clue how I was going to make it all work if it rained. I left to go to the field early that morning certain that my burden was heavier than anyone else's that day.
     At about that same time, Trey was waking up to get ready for his first day of baseball camp. He had been looking forward to this moment for weeks. He was ecstatic when he was told by his elementary teacher that a gentleman in town was going to pay his way to camp. Other seven-year-olds would be there and he could adjust to the fact that he would probably be the only black child at camp. It didn't matter. He was going to get to play baseball.
     I was told Trey came from an extremely rough home situation, so baseball camp was a way out of the house for a few hours. He had come to associate his house with sadness and neglect. He wasn't sure but he didn't think his house qualified as a home. Homes were built on love, he had read, and he was pretty sure his wasn't . . .

     The rain decided not to completely open up on those of us below on that first day at camp. But it did spit occasionally in a manner that reminded all of us that it could become a downpour at any moment. Fortunately the fun went on as scheduled despite the soft rain and by mid-morning, I was pleased to see three fields of eager little baseball players with all the energy of a nuclear reactor in full swing.
     Then I glanced over at Trey's group. It had seemed to be going well earlier but at that point I noticed Trey was off by himself near the fence not participating in the game. I walked over to him and could tell immediately he was crying softly. I asked him what was wrong but Trey was a very soft-spoken, quiet child who was obviously shy around adults and children alike- so he didn't volunteer an answer.
     I was informed by a coach nearby that he had been grazed by a thrown ball and was sitting out for a moment to get himself back together. But I knew better. This child was hurting on the inside and I knew it. I knelt down beside him and gradually convinced him to return to the action. Immediately upon his return he missed a ball he could have caught and began to cry again. Soon thereafter he was tagged out on a play and the tears began to flow yet again as he pretended the tag had hurt him when the "out" call was the true culprit.
     I walked over to Trey and asked him if he would like to come and sit down with me for a while. He seemed to indicate by his body language that he would like to do that even though he didn't answer. We walked over to a bench away from the action but in a location where we could see all the activities on each of the three fields.
     I tried to jump-start some small talk with Trey but it just wasn't happening. I began to think about the things Trey's elementary teacher had told me about his home life and suddenly my heart was heavier than both of my rain-soaked shoes.
     The dampness had taken what should have been a perfectly wonderful July day and made it miserable and unseasonably cold. I gently put my arm around this small child and pulled him closer to me. We sat quietly. I was warmed by his body's touch against mine. There was nothing for me to say to this child anymore except "You're okay now, Trey, I've got you." But I knew that his little heart realized that our relationship was temporary. We couldn't stay huddled together like this forever. It would only last as long as the rain fell.
     It began to rain a little harder and we huddled even closer to share in each other's warmth. I couldn't help but think at that moment how odd it seemed that we were bonded as one in this special way despite how different our lives were. The rain didn't seem to care about our differences. It fell on us both equally and indiscriminately.
     I wondered what Trey's life would be like when camp ended that day. I wondered what Trey's life would be like when he grew up. I wondered if he had been worried about the rain when he woke up that morning. I wondered how long it had been since he had been held close. I wondered if he could say for certain that anyone loved him. I wondered if he had any reason to be optimistic about his chances in life. I wondered if he was upset because he was the only black kid at camp. I wondered if he was upset because the other kids were better than him at baseball. I wondered if he realized our lives were not headed in the same direction once camp ended and his road would have bumps the likes of which I would never have to negotiate. I wondered why life wasn't fair.
     The rain increased from a sprinkle to a steady drizzle. We huddled even closer together to share warmth. Our opposite colored skin touched in places.  Interestingly, we were warmest at those points where our skin touched. We were worlds apart in many ways but bonded together by our mutual need for each other for warmth and comfort during those moments. I chose not to attempt to engage in any more small talk. The sound of the rain seemed more appropriate. We sat silently together.
     And the rain continued to fall.