I was about 14 when John Peterson prophesied over me. Peterson was a soft-spoken, itinerant American youth leader. He was slight of frame, middle-aged, a decent musician and a prophet, I guess. I was a Manitoba farm kid dabbling in the charismatic—partly intrigued, partly drawn to the passion of my evangelical city peers, and partly uncomfortable. My friend’s parents would take us to spirited church events from time to time.