One Sunday, in the small Baptist church of my childhood, it was Youth Sunday. This was a day when the youth of the church ran the service, including music, offering, sermon, invitation, everything. Being one of the only teenagers attending the church at the time, I drew the short stick of delivering the message. I still remember standing behind that big wooden pulpit, shaking as I turned the pages in my Bible and nervously read scriptures. I had prepared for days (which was a long time for my short attention span). I thought I had at least 45 minutes of content, and might even go longer than that if I wasn’t careful. As it turns out, I talked so fast I was done in less than 10 minutes. Not that anyone cared. It just got us all out early for lunch.

After the service, I was approached by crazy band-aid lady. I don’t remember her real name. I just remember she had a Marge Simpson beehive on her head, a Joan Rivers look to her face, wild jittery eyes that seemed to be scratching to get out of their sockets and a permanently secured band-aid on her right cheek. It was kind of like a basketball player who has to wear one of those masks for a broken nose but then keeps it on even after his nose is healed because he’s gotten accustomed to playing with it and/or is scared to take it off. That’s how she wore that band-aid. For at least two years, it was there every Sunday that I was.

Anyway, crazy band-aid lady approached me, following the fastest Baptist sermon in the denomination’s history. She was very deliberate as she made her way to me. She stopped inches from my face and told me what a wonderful message it was. That I was blessed with talent. And then she told me, “God wants you to share His message. You are meant to be in ministry.” I felt like some creepy fortune-teller was providing me with a free reading.

Now, crazy band-aid lady had an equally odd hubby who had a greased back head full of black hair. He had attached a chapel to the side of their house ,aimed toward Heaven. I believe he hosted “get togethers” from time to time for praise and worship. Not sure there is anything wrong with that, but at the time it was something that weirded me out.  He was standing two feet behind her nodding as she told me to suit up and preach, watching on intently as if I was going to agree with her and sign up for seminary on the spot.  “Um, ok.” I remember thinking, staring at her band-aid and wanting to pull it off her face, just to see if there was any skin left beneath it. In any event, I quickly dismissed what she had told me and got the heck out of that church before someone asked me to do it again for the evening service.

I hadn’t thought about crazy band-aid lady’s prophecy for quite some time, but lately she’s on my mind a lot. I’ve replayed that scene in my mind countless times. It just keeps rushing back to me, over and over again. I have no idea what that means, and I’m a little too scared to ask. I’m pretty sure I was never intended to be a pastor. But something about that day holds relevance, so possibly there’s a truth in there somewhere about what it is I’m supposed to do next. I’ve started to pray and ask God what He’s trying to tell me. Stay tuned.