An Unexpected Appointment with My 25-Year-Old Pastor Self
I arrive at the restaurant minutes early, settling into a booth where I’m served a plate of Thai curry chicken wings. The whole place is lively, filled with the scent of spice and the background noise of sports commentary on tv and laughter. I take a sip of my drink, glancing at the door just as my 25-year-old self rushes in, slightly late, as expected.
He’s dressed sharply, clearly trying to impress. He moves with the kind of energy that demands attention, fist bumping the waiter like they’re old friends before sliding into the seat across from me.
25-Year-Old Me: (grinning) You’re looking good for fifty. Though I was expecting you to be a little more… I don’t know… larger than life.
Older Me: (chuckling) And I was expecting you to be on time.
He smirks, brushing it off, and picks up a chicken wing, inspecting it before taking a bite. I watch as he sizes me up, searching for signs of success, measuring whether I turned out to be the man he hopes to be.
25-Year-Old Me: So, let’s get to it. Did we make it? Am I a big-time pastor? Mega church? International conference speaker?
His eyes are bright with expectation, but beneath the confidence, I see it, that flicker of insecurity, the quiet fear of not living up to expectations.
Older Me: We get a bit of a taste of that, yes. But then we found something better.
25-Year-Old Me: (raising an eyebrow) What do you mean?
Older Me: I mean, your definition of success is going to change. Right now, you think success is about being the one on stage, the charismatic leader everyone follows. But the most rewarding thing you’ll do in ministry won’t be in how brightly you shine but in how well you help others shine.
He frowns, stirring his drink, skeptical. I know what he’s afraid of, fading into the background, becoming irrelevant, not being somebody.
25-Year-Old Me: So, you’re saying I won’t be successful?
Older Me: I’m saying that the greatest joy, the real reward, will come when you become a Jethro to other people’s Moses. The true measure of our ministry will be in the ministry leaders we invest in, the pastors we help find joy in their calling. That’s when you’ll know you truly succeeded.
He shakes his head, frustrated.
25-Year-Old Me: Man… I don’t know. I don’t want to fade into obscurity. I’ve always dreamed of being somebody. I want to make an impact, you know?
Older Me: You will. But listen… there’s something you don’t realize yet that I need you to know. Right now, you’re overworking yourself to earn God’s approval, like He’s holding out on you. But you should know that you already have it. He already loves you, and you are already highly favored. You don’t need to prove anything to Him, or to anyone else.
For a brief second, I see something shift in his expression, but he masks it quickly with another smirk.
25-Year-Old Me: Yeah, yeah. I know God loves me. But still… don’t I need to show the world what I can do?
Older Me: Let me ask you something, do you remember that dream God gave you earlier this year? The one about Zach?
His face changes. I can tell he remembers. He dreamt of himself mentoring a young pastor, pouring into him, helping him grow. And in that dream, Zach became an incredible and prominent leader while he stood in the background, watching, proud but unseen.
Older Me: You were upset about that dream, weren’t you?
25-Year-Old Me: (quietly) Yeah. You know why though. I really wanted to be the one up front.
Older Me: Sure, I get it. But what if I told you that on the day you stand before Jesus Christ, that is the moment He’s going to celebrate the most? Imagine it, Jesus turns to the people in heaven and says, ‘If Pastor Segun invested in your life and helped you become who you were meant to be, stand up.’
He looks at me, his expression shifting as the weight of that image settles in.
Older Me: And when you look around, you won’t see just a handful of people. You’ll see hundreds, maybe thousands, pastors, leaders, people whose lives were changed because you chose to invest in them instead of chasing your own fame. And at that moment, you’ll realize… you didn’t just win. You won in a way that echoes into eternity.
He stares at me, his bravado finally cracking. He swallows hard, looking down at the plate of chicken wings. Then, after a long silence, he finally speaks, softer this time.
25-Year-Old Me: …That would be worth it.
Older Me: It is worth it, Shegz. And it’s the greatest legacy you’ll ever leave.
He exhales, shaking his head with a small chuckle.
25-Year-Old Me: Man, I didn’t expect such a good sermon over chicken wings.
Older Me: (grinning) Well, I’ve had 25 years to prepare this sermon, and You were always the audience.
We both laugh, and for the first time since he walked in, I see something shift in him, not a complete surrender, not yet. But a seed planted. A new way of thinking. A different definition of success in ministry beginning to take root. And that’s enough for now.
As he takes another bite, I recognize something else, the quiet beginning of his transformation into the leader he is meant to be.
The beginning of older me.
