The year is 2001. It is September. I am the children's pastor for First Assembly of God in the rockin' city of Des Moines, IA. It's a Sunday and I will be opening the service for our annual Back to School rally. It will be my first opportunity to talk in front of "the big people". Cause normally I am with the kids in the mornings and just sit in a pew during the evening service. But now, after being a pastor at this church for 8 months, they finally will allow me to open the a service with actual adults making up most of the crowd. Sheesh. What took them so long? I can't imagine why the senior pastor would be nervous about putting ME in front of the congregation. What could possibly go wrong?
Right. Never say that.
I arrive at church a good 45 minutes before the service, just to be sure I won't be late. As I enter the building, I have about 8 plastic lunchboxes precariously perched in one hand and a utility knife in the other. See, I thought it would be cool to take the evening offering in lunchboxes. Cause it's a back to school rally. Get it? It's a clever tie in. And it was my idea, so I instantly liked it.
That explains the lunchboxes- but what about the knife? Well, I thought it would be better to cut a hole in the top of each one rather than pass the lunchboxes open and floppy. Andy, the hip youth pastor sees me as I walk in and asks what I am doing with all the lunchboxes. I decide to allow him a small glimpse into my brilliance and tell him of my intentions. He asks me if I am going to hurt myself with the knife- to which I reply "Probably". Yes, I know, you see where this is headed.
As I am sitting in my office I am discovering that my 100 watt bulb idea is more like a 25 watt. This plastic is tough to cut!! Seriously, did they design these buggers to withstand a nuclear blast? After the big war all that will be left will be cockroaches and these plastic lunchboxes. At least the roaches could use them a houses in the post-apocalyptic world.
I might have said a few choice words if I had not been a pastor at the time. Service is drawing nearer and I still haven't cut a hole in the first stinkin box. But I will not relent. I will see my idea come to fruition! So... I extend the blade all the way out. I am sitting in my chair behind my desk. I am holding the stubborn lunchbox firmly in place with my left hand while I have the blade in a small hole that has taken me 10 minutes to carve in the box. I am cutting in a downwards motion. The blade slips- and I have a lot of force behind it. I plunge the fully extended utility knife into my upper thigh and quickly pull it out again.
There is no pain. I look down at my leg and see that while I cannot cut through plastic, I am successful at cutting my own flesh. For the first 2 seconds my leg does not bleed. It is almost as if it is stunned by the stupidity of it's owner. And then the blood gushes.
Unfortunately, I forgot to pack a survival kit in my office, and I am not sure it is a good idea to be running through the church, bleeding profusely while clutching my leg by my groin area. This is generally frowned upon behavior for children's pastors. Luckily a few of my children were in my secretary's office next door. (yes, I actually had a secretary!) I call the kids and tell them to get their mother. She, for some reason, thinks I am playing a joke on her. Seriously? Would I do that? Ok. Ignore that question. They assure her that I am not kidding and she comes into my office.
I am trying to staunch the flow of blood with kleenex and my pants. Which I have removed. Look, I didn't have any other cloth! She walks in to this sight. Oh, have I mentioned I don't like blood? And church is going to start in about 20 minutes. Being a woman and a mother, she immediately formulates a plan and dispenses advice: "always cut AWAY from your body!!"
Yes. Got it. Thank you Bob Villa.
Fortunately, she found bandages, went to the mall across the street and bought me new pants. I wrapped my leg up nice and tight and stopped the bleeding. And I opened the service. And then we went to the emergency room. The wound took about 5 stitches to close.
About 2 weeks later, or however long it takes stitches to heal, I went to get them removed. As I am sitting there, again with my pants off, the doctor asks my an odd question.
"Do you work out?"
Uh, no.
His hands are 3 inches away from my privatey type area and he apparently admires my physique.
Uh, doc? Did I mention I was a pastor? Did you want to ask Jesus into your heart? And could you fold your hands so as to remove them from my upper thigh? I'll take care of the stitches myself, perhaps my WIFE could remove them....
Oh yeah, I still have the lunchbox.
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