I have a preacher friend who delivered a baby. Yes—delivered a baby. Some ministers get called to preach revivals. Some get called to chair committees. Rev. Kathy Howell? She gets called to the maternity ward parking lot in Jennings, Louisiana.

Kathy was visiting her mom in the hospital and had been waiting with her all morning. Since her mom couldn’t eat before her test, Kathy said, “Mama, I’m going to walk across the street to Wendy’s and get a burger. I’ll be right back.” That’s already a holy act—leaving a hungry mama to go get a single, solitary burger.

So off she goes, walking across the parking lot in her clerical garb. Yes, even we Methodist ministers have the shirt with the backwards collar. We don’t get many perks in ministry, but we do get one fashion statement that says, “I am available for baptisms, blessings, and—apparently—obstetrics.”

She was wearing her Roman collar when a man jumped out of his car with the look of someone who had just realized babies don’t wait for paperwork. He yelled, “How do I get to the emergency room entrance—my wife is having a baby!”

Kathy walked over, looked in the car, and sure enough, that baby was clocking out of the womb early.

Now, I like to think of myself as available to offer care and comfort to those in extremis. But let me be clear: no call of God would have me climbing into the front seat with a woman about to pop out a baby. I’m more of a “boil some water and rip some sheets” kind of helper. You know—19th century frontier medicine. Very safe. Very sanitary.

Imagine the poor woman in the passenger seat. She looked at Kathy—this unexpected, collar wearing, Wendy’s seeking angel—and said, “My husband and I prayed the whole way here that God would take care of us… but I was not expecting His answer to be you.”

And she did not say it with confidence. It was more like, “Lord, is this… is this really what we’re doing today?”

Kathy patted her hand and said, “You’re going to be okay. God’s got you.” And apparently God said, “Yes, and I’ve also got a Methodist minister with a nursing degree and a half eaten burger waiting across the street.”

By the time the husband came back with the wheelchair and the nurse, he was a father. Right there in the front seat of a car in the hospital parking lot in Jennings, Louisiana, Reverend Kathy Howell delivered a baby. That is a great day’s work for a minister. Most of us are thrilled if we can find the right page in the hymnal.

Now, how dare God answer a heartfelt prayer for medical attention with a Methodist minister. Honestly. God should do a better job of answering prayers. Don’t we all feel that way sometimes? We pray for help, and God sends… well… us. Or someone who looks suspiciously like they were on their way to Wendy’s.
The hospital even let her sign the birth certificate because she delivered the baby. And she signed it:
“Reverend Katherine Howell, R.N.”

Turns out, before she was a Methodist minister, Kathy Howell ran the emergency room at East Jefferson Hospital in Metairie. So, I suppose God answered that prayer exactly the way it needed to be answered.
Which is just like God—always sending help, always showing up, and occasionally doing it in a Roman collar with a Frosty waiting across the street.