How to make a lasting impression on a church congregation

I used to tell stories about me going back to university as an untraditional student.  

I always had entertaining tales about the young students saying and doing what I would label as stupid and crazy. One day, while I was regaling a tale to my Mom’s half-sister, she asked me to speak at her church. Her husband was pastor to a small country church and they were currently looking for a speaker for the next Sunday evening program. 

She asked me to speak to their congregation about going back to university and how it had affected my life. My speech was supposed to encourage people in the small church to continue their education if that was their desire. 

My daughter and I (she was around four years old at the time) got all dressed up for my speech. I was wearing a beautiful peach-colored dress with a full skirt. The top part of the dress looked like a shirt and had pearl buttons going down its front with a small collar, I wore heels and stockings and matching jewelry. My hair was on point too. I had taken extra care in deciding what I and my daughter was to wear. I had to look extra nice because this was a church that was led by my Mom’s half-sister’s husband. I was looking good and so was my sweet daughter. 

I don’t exactly remember what the church looked like but I know there was nothing outstanding about it. It was a normal country church. Like most country churches I’m familiar with it was an old building in need of repair that rested on a plot of land that consisted of grass and dirt. The church didn’t sit next to anything but a bunch of trees and bushes and probably wild animals hidden inside those trees and bushes. The cars parked on the grass and dirt next to the church. It was a small, proud church.  

After parking and exiting the car I noticed an unusually large number of wasps flying around outside and near the church. I didn’t think much about it because it was summer and hot and after all, we were in the country. I assumed those little warriors wouldn’t be inside the church. 

I remember walking into the church and feeling the floor dip a little. I saw the proud old pews that had seen better days lined up neatly and orderly as if they were saying, we may be old, but we are proud. The interior was as old as the exterior, but it was clean and well kept. 

I saw wasps flying around inside the building too. But I figured if services could be held in it every Sunday it was safe. 

As a matter of fact, the people sitting on the pews were acting as if they didn’t even see those pesky wasps flying around and in front of them. 

I took my seat on the pew in front of the pulpit and waited to be introduced as their esteemed guest speaker for the afternoon service. 

After being introduced by the pastor I climbed the few steps to the pulpit. I shared my unique university experiences with the congregation. I spoke eloquently. I shared with the sparse crowd my plans to get my undergraduate degree, master’s degree, and Ph.D. I told them it would take at least ten years to complete my plan because I wanted to get my degrees without stopping for any breaks. I told them how I had come to love the field of education and how I planned on helping those less fortunate going through the system. Throughout my speech, I covertly eyed several wasps flying around the room and near the pulpit. Still, I kept talking, it was amazing!!!

Right after I ended my speech and after the applause, but before I stepped off the pulpit, I felt what can only be described as a syringe full of hot, boiling lava fire being stabbed into my inner thigh. It started out very subtle. It was so subtle at first I didn’t realize I had been stung by one of the wasps flying around. I kept my eyes on the wasps flying near me but I didn’t see that one perverted wasp flying under my skirt. I’m not sure how long it took, but I’m going to guess it took about 0.00001 seconds for my brain to acknowledge the fire and pain that was running through my inner thigh. It hurt like HELL on FIRE!! 

When I realized what had happened, I can only describe the pain like this: 

I’ve burned my hand on a stove, I’ve sat on a line of ants and was bitten by several of those ants (I was a stupid child), I’ve fallen tummy first on a solid marble floor and was rendered unable to move (or breath) for a few minutes AND I’ve had a baby. 

None of those descriptions come close to what the sting of this wasp felt like. I can only imagine what hot molten boiling lava feels like if it were ever shot into a body through a syringe, and this was, in my opinion, what my thigh felt like. I could feel the burn of the boiling lava crawling up inside my thigh. If I had been stung by more than one perverted wasp I imagine I would have literally caught on fire. The pain was (in a few words), excruciating, agonizing, intense, and stabbing.

Now, this is where it gets tricky. Here I am, a professional, beautiful, and almost educated woman with a syringe full of hot, boiling, lava fire running up and through my thigh. 

What does a professional, beautiful almost educated speaker on a pulpit do when that happens? I’ll tell you what I did:

First: I forgot all the manners and southern upbringing I was taught. I yelled so loudly I’m surprised the church walls themselves didn’t crumble and dissolve on themselves. I was later told the congregation thought I was reacting to what they thought was the result of me 'catching the Holy Spirit.'

Second:  I tossed that flowing skirt over my head while I was yelling and dancing around. I guess I was trying to stomp the pain out of my thigh. I thank God I was wearing underwear because all my business was exposed to the entire small congregation of the church.  

Third: While I was flashing the churchgoers, my four-year-old daughter ran onto the pulpit crying from sheer fright at seeing her mother flip out. I wanted to comfort my baby and tried to while some of the congregation ran on stage to see what was going on with me.  Other churchgoers remained seated on the pews with looks of (I’m sure) shock and astonishment on their faces. I can’t be sure though, because I was pretty much in my world. I had to get the fire out of my thigh. 

I don’t remember how the episode ended, but as life goes, eventually things calmed down. 

My daughter doesn’t remember that day (thank goodness) and I remember what I just recanted. I found out later the church was infested with nests (yes, plural) of wasps in its walls. I suppose me being stung by one was sort of an initiation into the church and public speaking. 

It was at that moment that I quit. Unless you count teaching library classes, that was the first and last time I have ever spoken to a crowd about anything. 

You may laugh now.