For the first time in my life, I had been picked! A kid my age, and with my experience, never imagined being picked. Every time before, the last one picked for anything was always me. Out on the street with sticks and a ball, the boys would pick teams. And who was the last one to be picked? Baseball seasons, last one picked for a team? This became the norm for the youngest, smallest, skinny kid with little athletic abilities. After a while, trying out for a team seamed the furthest thing from my mind. After all, there were individual sports. Or so I thought.
Until the realization came to me that the last one across the finish line was actually the last one picked. Swimming went well until I was the first one off the team for being the slowest swimmer. Then there was the same result at track and the last attempt when I tried my lack of talent at the gymnastics. I finally got the picture.
And that is when I was picked. Now, I have to admit that I was the last one picked but there were still others not picked at all. We were having a school play. A big production. It was Burkholder Drive Middle Schools production of “The Mikado.” And I had been picked. Unlike today where there would be a camcorder churning away forever the historic even, all that is left are some dim off coloured photos, the gestetnered program of those nights and the memories.
It had been a triumph of sorts for a thirteen-year-old. I can still remember the words of the song I sang. Yes, I sang in public and people didn’t leave. We excitedly shouted, “Let’s do it again.” But stopped when we saw the tired look of the two teachers, who had given up so much time to work with a ragamuffin group of wannabe.
It was time to call it a night. Reluctantly, one by one, each of us washed off the makeup, changed out of our costumes for the last time and gathered up our things. We all thought we had finally won.
As the night wound down, there was only one thing left to do. Turn out the lights and say goodnight. The gym was bright and empty. The seats that only moments before had been filled with parents and students, now sat empty waiting to be stowed away. I volunteered to jump up on the stage, go behind the curtain and throw the switch. Still excited, I jumped back down off the stage and started to run in the dark toward the dim exit sign.
Then it happened. Just getting up a head of steam I was laid low by an errant chorus bench. One of those oak benches that don’t move when you push them took me out. It was a reality check where I went from a great high to deep low. As I stumbled out of the gym I told the teacher I was fine and faked that I would be all right.
Monday morning, with a fresh bandage on my leg, I arriving at school and went straight to the gym to see what had caused my down fall. There it was. It was the only thing in the room, out of place. For some unknown reason I pushed it back into place and went off to class. Today, as I sit here running my fingers over the damage of that night, I feel the indentation of skin and the chipped bone in my leg. Doing so always reminds me of the bible verse I learned back them, “So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!” We stand firm in Christ. We think we have arrived and all is well. But one thing, one small thing brings us down. I don’t know if God intended it this way. But I do know, that when it happens, (not if it happens) we have to go back to where it happened and make things right. And that means going back to the light, which is Him and make things right. The wonderful thing is, He feels our pain and dries our tears, picks us up and sends us on. Been there?
Something to think about.