I need to back up many years in order to set the scene for this week’s piece. Very early in my life, I realized, long before I knew the proper word, that I was a klutz. My skinned knees and bruised arms were evidence that I wasn’t designed for climbing trees, walking picket fences, or even stepping over cracks in the sidewalk! (g)

In junior high, I tried out for the basketball team. Nobody worked harder than I did (nor with fewer results). I couldn’t seem to master the fundamentals of passing, dribbling, and shooting. Our coach really liked me (at least that was his story on the fateful day). He said that it was going to be very difficult to get along without my talents, but starting with the next practice, he was going to try. He mercifully directed me to the basement of the high school where I hooked up with our wrestling coach. At last I’d found a sport in which I could succeed if not excel. Strength and determination were far more important than finely tuned coordination.

When I was 14, I remember a wretched week at youth camp. On the first morning, I sat at a long table with maybe ten people on each side. Almost immediately, I turned to talk to someone and knocked over a two gallon picture of orange juice. Yep, I managed to get juice on just about everyone around the table. I pleaded “accident”, but many suggested “deliberate”. Additional KP duty came my way. That was just one of many incidences that marred my otherwise stellar record! (g)

After marriage and the advent of three children, I remember specifically NOT reprimanding them when they knocked over a glass of milk or water. Why? I was very likely to knock something soon thereafter. In fact, I often initiated the klutzy behavior.

Now, let’s fast forward to 1984. I know that’s a lot of years to leave out, but, believe me, I don’t have nearly enough space this week to tell you any more self-incriminating stories. Just paint me “klutzy” in your mind! (g)

Motorcycles had been a major part of my life for seventeen years. On January 24, 1984, I was on my way to work, coming from a small town south of ours. I’d checked on a dresser for one of our daughters, introduced a lady to Jesus, and invited our other daughter to have lunch. (She declined because she had to get to a college class.) As I got back to Sarasota, I turned north on one of our main north-south arteries. Within 100 yards, a French Countess, in this country for less than a day, drove her rental car through a stop sign and smashed into me and my bike. She said she was sorry!

Well, that accident pretty much took out both my knees and put me in Tonka, my first pickup truck. One of the lasting effects of that accident was an inability to walk with grace and aplomb. Couple my inherent klutziness with very weak knees and you’ve got a man who occasionally falls. I try to look for grass on which to fall, but often find none available.

Now, here’s my latest experience. My wife, Pat, purchased a most beauteous “welcome” mat. She place it outside our front door. It really is lovely. Beside it is a sign created by our daughter, Kathleen. It also says “welcome”. We are a welcoming home, eh? (g)

We’ve had several days of fairly high winds. These winds have occasionally blown our “welcome” mat around and doubled it up. Coming in the house was no problem. I’d reach down, straighten out the mat, and go in the door. However, last Friday I came OUT of the door, didn’t notice the messed up mat, caught my toe in the folds, bounced off of Tonka 02, and fell on my knees. I’m sure you’re aware of the fact that a dropped slice of buttered bread will just about always fall butter side down. Of all the parts of my body that could have taken a jarring fall, my knees didn’t qualify! (g)

I don’t know if can explain the pain, but suffice it to say that it hurt whole bunches! Since the fall, I’ve thought of the words of the theme song for an old T.V. show, “Petticoat Junction”. Speaking of the main male character, the words went, “Here’s Uncle Joe, He’s A Movin’ Mighty Slow…At The Junction, Pettycoat Junction.”

Of course, I’d like to think that I wouldn’t have tripped over the mat if my knees had been whole, but inside a little voice whispers, “KLUTZ”.

I’d like YOU to find applications in this story for our real lives and share them with me. They’re there, believe me!

If you’d like to give me your thoughts and ideas, please use the “Leave a Reply” box below!

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