Is there anything more mischievous and wonderful than water balloons? We just recently had a 4th of July picnic at our church, and we broke up into teams and basically played dodge 'water balloon' ball. Water balloons, and dare I say, water in general brings out the child (aka: immaturity) in all of us. Naturally some of the younger guys (at least younger than I am) attempted to continue the water atrocities long after the games were over, and of course it got out of hand, cell phones and innocent bystanders got wet; and 'horseplay' suddenly became an 'incident'. But rather than 'preach' on self-control or forgiveness, and 'out' the perpetrators, I'd rather use myself as the bad example for this object lesson. Because many years ago an incident that started out somewhat innocently definitely ballooned out of control. It happens to be one of my most favorite stories from my high school days and it does involve water balloons...at least that's how the whole thing got started.
As I recall there were four of us (junior and senior boys from Putnam City High School). We had begun a long school trip for the summer that involved Washington, D.C., then New York City and ultimately Europe. Of course, one of the guys had brought along several packages of balloons with the idea of creating some havoc on the other side of the ocean. But there was no way we had the discipline (or desire) to wait that long (or to stay out of trouble until then), so we busted out the balloons at our first stop in Washington, D.C.
We were staying on the third floor of a modest motel there at the nation's capital, and that afternoon we'd made several attempts to 'nail' passersby on the street below from our tiny patio that overlooked the street. Up to that point, one rather large, fat gentleman in a blue Ban-Lon shirt had been the highlight of the afternoon. But as the day was drawing to a close, we noticed a man with car trouble, who had parked his car there on the street and popped his hood to see why his car wasn't running properly. Leaving the hood up, he returned to the driver's seat, and began to rev the engine and listen to the motor. As he leaned over the steering wheel and listened more intently, one well-heaved latex projectile landed on that hot carburetor and immediately exploded with enough force to scare the pistons out of the poor guy. No doubt he assumed the engine had exploded (certainly
his heart had blown a gasket). He nearly fell over himself trying to get out of the driver's seat to get a safe distance away from that car. When he finally worked up the courage to give it another go, he spent an hour trying to discern what on earth had happened beneath his hood. Meanwhile, we were watching all this from afar, rolling on the floor laughing our balloons off (ROTFLOBO)! Darkness and hunger brought an end to
that day's festivities. As we ate, we all decided that surely this was the funniest thing we'd ever see. But we were wrong; and early the next day we packed our bags and our balloons, and headed off to the Big Apple.
That next night we checked into an old flophouse hotel in downtown Manhattan. This time we were about twelve floors up, with huge floor length windows out of which to launch. It was a little harder to be discreet...after all, the big open window with the boys jumping up and down and laughing hysterically would have been hard to miss; in reality, just timing the toss out of the window, down a dozen stories, across the street onto fast moving taxis or briskly walking pedestrians proved to be a real challenge, and we were having trouble even drawing enough 'bal-lood' to possibly get 'bal-lamed'! In fact, by the time we felt like we were finally getting the hang of it, we suddenly realized we were out of balloons. So, now what?
Although it was a little riskier, we started filling up cups of water, and attempting to time it, so that as an innocent bystander made their way down the sidewalk, we could disrupt their day with a wet slap on the head (or shoulder). We at least were hoping they would think it was spit or the random act of an insensitive pigeon or even someone emptying mop water out of their apartment window. But alas, those little plastic cups, so abundant there in that hotel room, were having no perceptible effect on the New Yorkers below us. A combination of bad aim, swirling wind, and a minimal amount of moisture was ruining our fun. We tried to ramp it up some, and one cup at a time soon became one in each hand, and ultimately became all four of us trying to dump our cups in unison. Our feeble attempts at escalation had only resulted in the minor annoyance of one or two of the patrons of the nearby drugstore/deli; and although we were a little nervous about being 'found out', we thirsted for more. We had
no concept of 'when to say when' (that little catch phrase hadn't been coined yet). So, now what?
NYC is known for its cast of characters. They have long been the subject of jokes, monologues and stories made famous by comedians, late-night talk-show hosts and sit-coms, from the taxi-drivers to the street walkers, from the pigeons to the rats. We had watched in amazement the hustle and bustle of the streets, and had actually noticed three different 'ladies of the evening', each on their own street corner, each one confronting/addressing/admonishing those with whom they came in contact. Throughout the afternoon, we had been casually observing to see if any of them would make a love connection for the evening. One gent appeared to have entered into negotiations with one lady, but he subsequently had walked off, gone around the corner, checked his wallet, and thought better of it. The unfortunate thing from our perspective, was that although their three respective corners were within sight of our hotel room, they were nowhere near close enough to assault (especially without even so much as a single balloon at our disposal). We voiced aloud that maybe one of them would cross over to the empty corner nearest us, and therefore have to cross beneath our window. Or better yet, perhaps they would escort a 'client' to our hotel, and on their way cross near enough for us to get a shot off. Just in case, we decided three or four ounces per cup wasn't going to have the impact we needed (I mean if we truly wanted to make a statement). We didn't have a mop bucket (no maids were in site) but we did have a nice, big metal trashcan in the bathroom. It was way too big, however, to fit underneath any of the faucets (even the one in the bathtub); so ounce by ounce, cup by cup, we painstakingly worked to fill that bad boy up. Then we collectively dragged and carried it over to the window, precariously balanced it on the sill and tried to be ready to lock and load if by some chance we had the opportunity to single out one of the 'singles'.
We nervously watched...and waited.
Suddenly the planets aligned. Like a puppet on a string, one 'lady' crossed the street and began talking to her competition/counterpart on the other corner. We had no idea what the conversation was about; perhaps there was a sale on hair spray at the drugstore, or a buy one/get one deal at the cosmetic counter for heavy eyeliner and black mascara. It had to be something 'special', because it also attracted the interest of the third 'pro', and she strolled down the street to join in on the conversation. Now remember, these weren't your MTV video hip-hop/rap starlet wannabes masquerading as ladies of the night. This was 1972 and these three were vintage Baretta/Starsky and Hutch white girls of the streets with big Amy Winehouse (r.i.p.) beehive hair-dos, wearing layers of make-up to cover up the layers of living they had experienced. This was way before Madonna had made it fashionable to wear underwear in public, so all three 'professionals' were outfitted in lady of the 'evening dresses'; the original dress for success from the original profession. These girls had definitely spent some time getting ready for their night out, and it was just a matter of time before some working class moth was going to be attracted to the flame.
Whatever they were discussing, the net result was a change of venue. Apparently, those three corners had dried up, and they were looking for greener (wetter) pastures. They were about to find them. Like one big mass of female humanity, they all three suddenly turned and began to walk, side by side, down the sidewalk that ran directly below our hotel window. We were absolutely giddy. We had hoped for one...but we were about to get the who' hat trick, as all three made their way toward the drugstore, in the direct path of our air to surface missile. Despite our big boy bravado, we momentarily just stood there, all hands on can, hesitant to pull the trigger; first looking at the street below, then at the huge can of water, and then at each other. Should we? Dare we? We'll be sorry! Wait! No, don't wait! Do it?? Yes, do it!! Now? Now??
Yes, now!!! And with a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through our bodies, in unison we flipped that old rusty trashcan topsy turvey towards the street, spewing gallons and gallons of water into the air and stood there mesmerized as it headed straight down to the sidewalk below. It seemed like slow motion as the giant blanket of water floated to and fro, parallel to the side of the building, a huge wet umbrella passing floor after floor, going window by window on its way to infamy. Those three women continued their stroll down the walk, oblivious to their fate. In fact, for just a split second they literally disappeared beneath a massive sheet of water. But then suddenly,
BOOM! Like a miniature monsoon they were engulfed in a cascade of water; and we could see them freeze in their tracks as the hairspray was instantly removed from their bouffants, and they went from high and dry to soaking wet; from sultry to saturated. In an instant, (and I mean with the speed of sound) we heard Halloween-like shrieks and shrills bouncing off the pavement, ascending twelve flights and piercing the stillness of that hotel room (and the surrounding city block). They were stunned and they were loud! We immediately felt that same sinking feeling you got when you were a kid after hearing the shatter of fine china or the crash of Grandma's big decorator lamp in the corner and you realized, "Oops. We screwed up! What were we THINKING?" So, now what?
There was no running for the dust pan or fumbling for the super glue! This was not going to be swept under the rug or pieced back together. We immediately ducked back into our room, flipped every light off, double-locked and chained the door, then cowered in the shadows, all the while listening to the commotion below. Finally, one of us dared to sneak a quick peek. A crowd had gathered and they were ALL looking up, pointing fingers, and searching for retribution. We were afraid to move. We literally feared for our lives. Could they tell from which window the attack originated? What if someone dared to knock on our door? We wondered if the throng of people below would ever give up without a sacrificial lamb. After all, this was America and justice needed to be served! We huddled together praying we wouldn't hear the
NYPD Blue bull horn calling for us to put the trashcan down and come out with our hands up. So now what?
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 1 Corinthians 13:11
It's hard not to be childish sometimes. It seems to me, that one of the main attributes we gain (and need to develop) as we get older, is the ability to see the consequences of our actions; to look past the temporary thrill or satisfaction of a deed and ultimately see the ripple effect; how a cup of water here, and a few cups of water there will ultimately overflow into one big honkin' trouble-causing can of chaos (did we perhaps unknowingly event the term 'open up a can'?).
When we venture into a gray area now and then, chances are no harm will befall us. When we speak unkindly of somebody here and there, it may not cause a scene. But that's the short-sided mindset; the mindset of an immature person; the thought pattern of a child. How subtly and easily things balloon out of control! Too often what doesn't hurt us, does hurt others.
Looking at it one way, you could say, "Anything goes. Because of God's immense generosity and grace, we don't have to dissect and scrutinize every action to see if it will pass muster." But the point is not to just get by. We want to live well, but our foremost efforts should be to help others live well. 1 Corinthians 10:23
That's the Apostle Paul writing a letter to the church at Corinth and I think he really got it! All of us will hear that internal voice speak to us, "Should we? Dare we? We'll be sorry! Wait! No, don't wait! Do it?? Yes, do it!! Now? Now??" Our response, based on our own desires, will naturally be, "
Yes,
now!!!" Not until we think about others will our reponses change.
The challenge is in this self-centered world in which we live, there's not much stopping us from doing just about anything we feel like doing. We can speak any way we want. We can eat anything we want. We can show out in any number of ways. We live in a culture where 'doing your own thing' is celebrated! But when we live out of control and without restraint, there are going to be times when we can't hide in a dark corner and get away with it; when someone's day is ruined and you have to deal with the consequences.
Of course, hurting someone is not always an intentional act. Sometimes you look up and realize you've stumbled into a bunch of hurtful old trees; into the Sure Would (but Shouldn't Have) Forest. You got carried away, didn't realize what you were doing, where you were going, but nevertheless, you are there...in the
wrong! Then of course, the conditioned response is to, "
Run!" At that juncture, no matter what our intentions were, things turn out better when we come clean, admit we were wrong, and ask for forgiveness. Simple to write...hard to do.
It sure didn't happen that afternoon in New York City (God was probably our only shot at forgiveness that day; and believe me, He definitely heard from us). We got the entertainment we wanted, unwittingly provided by three consummate 'professionals'; and we're lucky there wasn't a high price to pay. Fortunately, the crowd eventually dissipated. I assume the girls clocked out early and called it a night. I know
we did!! (how's that for gettin' off the 'hook'?!?)
Sorry Mrs. Gump, but life's not really like a box of chocolates. It's like a big bucket of water; and you have the free will and imagination to use it any way that you choose. The possibilities are endless. You can use it to do something as simple and basic as satisfying your thirst or washing your hands; or something more creative and fun like filling up squirt guns or bobbing for apples; it can be the vehicle used to perform something as life-changing as baptism or as life-threatening as waterboarding. Radically different examples, to say the least, but no more radical or different than the lives we can choose to live.
In this story, the lesson to be learned had nothing to do with whether that big old trashcan was half-full or half-empty...only that it was haphazard
(characterized by lack of order or planning; having no forethought concerning the outcome). The moral to
this glass, class, is to think before you play in the water; anticipate that everyone's liable to get wet; and assume that somebody's not going to be happy about it.
So, now what?
Before you run, think Forrest, think!
Back in the day, websites had 'counters' prominently displayed on their home page (along with various flashing and moving web icons that were 'cool' for their time). These counters chronicled each visitor that mysteriously showed up to your site. In fact, if you were the '1000th' visitor, it was a pretty happening website.
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