Painful Providence

Today I was reminded of a truly horrible time in my life. Sometimes, when you are in a situation, you don't realize how hard it really is. Today when talking about it, I almost hurt to describe the details.

While I was a freshmen at Baylor, I decided on a whim to rush Kappa Sigma. I soon learned that you don't decide to rush on a whim. This was my first problem. Guys that knew anything had been establishing themselves in the appropriate social networks all semester. I had no chance. However, in the end, the rejection of getting cut was nothing compared to my experience at The Smoker.

I cannot remember my thought processes when I decided to go. To be sure, I was unsure. I hadn't smoked anything, ever. I knew it was just guys trying to be cool, so I didn't think much of it, but I didn't plan on smoking. In the end, I did smoke, though it was not what I would have expected. I know I did have some reservation. The previous night I had been at a rush party with an out-of-town high school friend. I had decided so late to go I couldn't get a date at Baylor. Granted I was absolutely stricken with fear the few times I did call a girl. How I overcame the waves of rejection, I do not know. Nonetheless, I put on my black suit and drove my '68 Mustang down to the river.

The Smoker was at the Brazos Queen, an old steamship converted into a restaurant. I entered, and to my shock, the room was full to the brim with blazers and khaki's smoking cigarettes, cigars, cloves, and pipes. I did my best to push back my anxiety as I pushed through the crowd desperately looking for someone I knew. I finally found someone from my home-town, but he seemed only marginally interested in drawing me into the conversation. He had earlier told me that he wished he'd known I wanted to rush, and he could have done more. Apparently he had more to do for guys who had planned ahead.

Thankfully, there were some nice guys I had met the night before who drew me into a conversation or two, but for the most part I was stuck butting my way into conversations where I had to introduce myself. And, to my dismay, each little conversation group seemed to dismantle every three seconds. I was constantly forced to press against the limits of my social fear of being a nuisance in the worst possible situation.

My lowest point was perhaps my "smoke". I was foundering as usual with a group of members and rush candidates when someone alerted me that my suit coat was smoking because the heater that was blazing on my back. I don't think I could have felt much lower. There I was in my cheap polyester suit among the sea of classy wool navy blazers. I was way in over my head. The near-catching fire of my suit almost kept me under. I thought about leaving, but my dogged overdeveloped sense of duty made me stay to the end.

I was relieved when we were gathered to listen to some announcements and listen to the band. This was when I encountered the final signal that I did not belong. The band began to play Sweet Home Alabama, and the crowd broke out in song. I did not recall ever hearing the song. I'd like to say that I laughed to myself and accepted that I had been and in all likelihood was on a different path that most of these guys. Instead, I mouthed the words as best I could.

The rest of the night is a haze. The next days two very sincere acquaintances knocked on my door to let me know I was not invited to the next round. I hated to hear it, and it was painful to see the guys I liked have to undertake such a difficult task. I am sure they thought it would crush me, but I felt a mixture of disappointment and relief.

The best thing that came out of the whole experience was that my date with the high school friend ended up being the rekindling of a relationship that would end up in a blissful marriage. Sometimes God's strange providence is hard to understand.