Exposure: When the Creator Pulls Back the Curtain How Fake Smiles Fade and True Hearts Shine

Exposure: When the Creator Pulls Back the Curtain How Fake Smiles Fade and True Hearts Shine

Written by Kateb Shunnar

Everybody who grins in your face ain’t clapping for your soul. Some folks clap like cymbals in church, loud enough to shake the rafters, but in their hearts, they’re plotting how to trip you on the church steps right after the benediction, and the Creator, in His infinite wisdom, didn’t make us blind to that kind of 

foolishness forever He’s got a way of peeling back masks, exposing the counterfeits, and making sure the poison doesn’t seep into your destiny. Now, that’s a hard pill to swallow because nobody likes to hear that the person hugging you tight might have butter knives hidden in their Sunday coat, but it’s the truth, and sometimes the truth shows up not like a whisper but like thunder rolling through the valley, shaking every pretense until it crumbles. My grandmother Celestine used to  say, “Baby, when somebody smiles too much, check your pockets. If they ain’t taken nothing yet, they’re thinking’ about it,” and she said it with that half-smirk that meant she wasn’t joking but she wasn’t mad either. It was wisdom soaked in humor, fried up crispy like catfish on a Saturday night. You laugh at it, then later realize she told the whole gospel truth in one sentence. See, the Creator is the master of exposure not the kind you get from nosy neighbors who talk louder than cicadas in 

the summer, but divine exposure, the kind that reveals what’s really lurking in the shadows, because not everyone who starts with you is meant to finish with you. Some folks were only assigned to the porch of your life, not the living room, and heaven forbid you let them into the kitchen, Lord knows they’ll season your soup with envy.

Let me tell you a story passed down in whispers, carried in the heart like a hymn: down in a small southern town, one where  the moss hung from the trees like secrets too heavy to let go, there lived a man named Silas “Shiny Shoes” McGraw, famous for two things his shoes that gleamed so bright they could blind you if the sun hit just right, and his smile that could charm the horns off a Billy goat. Folks said he never had a bad day, never frowned, never let anybody see him sweat, but here’s the thing: Silas wasn’t smiling out of joy; he’d perfected the art of hiding his envy. He’d watch the farmers bring in their harvest,  families gathering in front of their homes, and he’d smile that wide, polite smile, sharp as barbed wire on the inside. One summer, a widow named Miss Lottie inherited land rumored to sit atop a hidden spring, and Silas came around, flashing his grin, offering to “help” her manage it. She took him at his word, and sure enough, when she finally trusted him, Silas tried to swindle her out of her land. But the twist? The spring was real, but it wasn’t water it was sulfur, stinking, bubbling sulfur  that ruined everything it touched. When Silas tried to sell the land to the highest bidder, the spring burst forth right in the middle of town square, splashing up like judgment day itself. His shiny shoes melted, his grin fell away, and the town finally saw the snake under all that polish. Moral? You can shine your shoes all you want, but if your heart’s muddy, eventually the mud’s going to show. That’s how exposure works. It’s not always quick; sometimes it simmers, waits for the right season, but  when it happens baby, it happens, and when the Creator pulls back the curtain, even the brightest grin can’t cover the rot beneath.

 Now imagine standing in a room packed with people family, friends, coworkers, even church folk all eyes on you because you’ve just been blessed with something the Creator tucked in your lap: maybe a new calling, a breakthrough you prayed for, or that long-awaited yes after a thousand no’s. You’re glowing,  not from your own shine, but because the Creator lit you like a lamp in the dark, and suddenly, the air shifts. Not the kind of shift you feel when someone opens the door and lets in a breeze, but a shift deep in your bones. The room gets quieter, though nobody stopped talking, and then like a scene out of Revelation, you start to notice some smiles ain’t lining up with the eyes. One cousin’s clap lingers just a little too long, like she’s beating the devil back instead of celebrating you.

That friend who “always had your back” is scrolling on their phone, pretending they didn’t hear your good news. And then comes the dramatic pause the Creator’s spotlight swinging through the crowd, revealing hearts like an X-ray machine at the airport. Masks start slipping, laughter turns brittle, and for a moment it feels like the walls are closing in because you realize: you’re not surrounded by support. You’re in the middle of a masquerade ball where everybody dressed up as “friend” but underneath, half of  them are plotting your downfall. It stings, doesn’t it? You want to scream, “Why invite yourself into my life if all you brought was poison?” But here’s where suspense turns into revelation: that whole scene, as dramatic and unsettling as it felt, wasn’t meant to destroy you it was staged by the Creator to free you, because elevation demands revelation, and you can’t go higher carrying folks who only clap when you’re crawling.

 Celestine once told me, “People  are like biscuits some rise, some fall flat, and some look golden but are raw in the middle,” and she wasn’t wrong. Fake folks are just like half-baked biscuits pretty on the outside but chew long enough and you’ll break a tooth. And Lord, haven’t we all been there? You ever notice how the ones who holler “I’m so happy for you!” are the same ones who develop mysterious back problems when it’s time to help you move into your blessing? They can’t lift a chair, but they can lift gossip real  quick. Ain’t that something? Sometimes you got to laugh at the nonsense, like when somebody who hasn’t called in months suddenly remembers your number right after you post a picture holding car keys or standing in front of a new house. Oh, now they love you again? People are so strange i tell you . They loved the idea of you struggling because your struggle made them feel taller, and the minute the Creator lifts you, they shrink back like vampires at sunrise. Rejection stings like a wasp on a summer  picnic, but it’s often the Creator’s way of saying, “No, child, not them. I see what you can’t.” When folks walk out, let them. Don’t go chasing somebody who was only ever meant to be a chapter when you’re trying to write the whole book. Celestine used to hum while stirring her greens, “Better an empty porch than a crowded room full of liars,” and she’d laugh right after, but there was always a tear tucked in that laugh. We confuse loss with punishment, but most times it’s mercy. That job you didn’t get? Probably would’ve drained you dry. That relationship that crumbled? Could’ve wrecked your soul. That friend who turned cold? They couldn’t survive the altitude of where the Creator was taking you anyway. Think of rejection as heaven’s “keep out” sign. It doesn’t feel good, but it keeps termites from eating your foundation. And the more I live, the more I realize: rejection was often the greatest blessing dressed in disguise.

Now I ain’t saying every fake person deserves a front-row seat  in your downfall drama. Sometimes the best clapback is silence not the cold silence of bitterness, but the holy silence of peace. When the Creator shows you somebody’s mask slipping, don’t tape it back on for them. Let it fall. Let them trip on it if they must. You don’t need to argue, prove your worth, or throw hands in the parking lot, though Lord knows the thought crosses the mind.

Just nod, smile, and keep walking. Because here’s the final truth: the higher the Creator lifts you, the fewer people can  breathe where you’re going. Fake folks don’t have the lungs for your altitude. And when they fall away, don’t mourn. Laugh a little, cry if you must, but most of all, thank the Creator, because every time He exposes a pretender, He makes more room for the real ones the ones who’ll clap for you even when your light outshines their own. So don’t be scared of exposure. Don’t dread rejection. It’s not punishment. It’s protection. It’s the Creator pulling back the curtain and saying, “Now you see, child. Now you know. And now you’re free.”