Sometimes God lifts you up from a humiliating experience.
And sometimes he reminds you that you might be a little too big for your britches.
Here's the story of two walks.
The first occurred in high school.
The boys bathroom had an ancient iron closer to keep the door from slamming shut.
The elevated closing device featured a receptacle filled with grease.
The receptacle was about the size of a can of evaporated milk and it kept the mechanism self-lubricating.
The bottom of the receptacle popped open one morning as I exited the washroom.
Emptying the oily greenish black substance onto my head.
It was as if a big turkey left a splat of dark gobbler poop on my head.
It slowly oozed down my forehead.
My homeroom teacher stifled a giggle and told me to go home to clean up.
Calls to my parents went unanswered so I began to walk the almost 2 miles home.
The looks I got.
Folks stared at the jarring sight of what must've appeared to be a slowly melting zombie.
Scary sophomore gooped up with molasses.
Many laughed out loud.
My own version of the Bataan Death March on that steamy day in early June.
I was completely humiliated.
The worst walk of my life.
I'm never forget it.
Fast forward many years.
This same beloved alma mater, the place where that horrific stroll began, invited me to return as an adult.
They are holding a high school Hall of Fame ceremony.
And I am one of the inductees.
I rise early.
I'll savor this moment of glory.
Parking a block away from the school so I can enjoy a walk going to the building.
This walk will contrast with the greasy stroll away from that structure that defined embarrassment for an awkward young man many years ago.
On this day, I'm not a nerd.
I'm a big shot.
I've stepped in something.
A huge smeary smelly pile of it.
With my head in the clouds, I didn't pay attention to my steps.
My dress shoes had fido feces in every crevice.
The fancy indentations that make wingtips so popular are now filled with putty.
Six inductees sat up on the stage that day.
Five of them tried to inconspicuously slide their chairs away from the man of stench.
I wasn't famous.
I was fume-ous.
A couple of ladies appeared ready to throw up.
They were grateful when I skipped the reception.
One long ago.
One just a few years ago.
Both reminding me that I'm not all that after all.
And both making me laugh when I think of them.
There's an old saying that says if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.
In my case, all I have to do is take a walk.
After all, what's a little goop or a little poop between friends?
Meet you out front.
Watch your step.