Special Note: We had an exhausting wonderful time with the little girls last night, though I don’t think we could have fit one more third grader in our office.  I’ll post an update, complete with pictures, later today.  Our big sleepover for 300 middle school girls is tonight.  I think that last sentence is about as obvious as I can get when offering a plea for prayer.

Today’s Friday’s Face is none other than Miss Cate T.  Interesting fact about Cate: after she had been a part of Starlite for 1.5 years, we accidentally discovered that we’re related.  Wild, huh?  You’re gonna love her.

‘lo Cate.

Buenos dias, Amy Beth.  That means good day.

Are you excited about being today’s Friday’s Face?

Si.  That means yes.

I am aware of what “si” means, Cate.  Guess what?

Que?  I’m guessing you’ve caught on by now.

I love you even if you do make fun of me.

That is pretty stinkin’ hilarious because we’ve barely even started and I’ve already made fun of your Spanish skills. 

Does the fact that I can’t spell metamorphosis without the help of spellcheck make you think less of me?

If I remember correctly, you spelled it m-e-t-a-m-h-o-r-p-h-o-s-i-s at the Barrel that day, but no, it didn’t make me think less of you.  It only confirmed what was there to begin with.

I am going to pretend like you didn’t just insult my intelligence once again.  I’ve got a question for you, Miss High and Mighty.  Is there any word you can’t spell?

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.  I used spellcheck to assist me on that one.

Whatever.  Moving on: please state your “job” title in Starlite.

Her Royal Highness Queen Cate Elizabeth: Director of Special Events and Special Functions.  Now, everyone should bow.

Ignoring that last part.  So, this titles means you do what exactly?

I look pretty, answer questions from the public, promote my kingdom and direct dramas.

How long have you been with us?

Two years.

What other real jobs have you had in life?

I’ve legally sold drugs for four years now at a local pharmacy.  And, I’ve assisted Dr. Freake (yes, Freake) in hellbender (yes, hellbender) research.

Remember that time I made you come on stage and talk to a bunch of middle schoolers without first telling you that I was going to call you up there?

“Remember that time” would imply that it happened once.  READERS: do not let her cheerful little facade fool you.  This happened twice — and I performed beautifully at both, thank you.

Were you mad at me?

Well, my dear, I did not want to use naughty words in front of all those little faces.  So, I said to myself “Self, you can be angry later.  But for now, we gots ta get these kids saved!”

Um, Cate?  Have you ever noticed that you’re kinda country?

You know me so well.

Describe your perfect guy.

Irresistible!  Tall, dark and mysterious — but with an outgoing personaility.  Hot as fire on the outside and on the inside, too.  He’ll need to speak at least one other language other than English, be caught up on current events, love politics, traveling, international affairs, Israel, things that are just plain weird.  He will need to be protective, mean sometimes (I need it) and love me more than I love him (impossible, but I would like to think that).  And, a Christian.

Well, then.  Wow.  Changing subjects: if you could only have one flavor of ice cream for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Baskin Robbins’ Chocolate and Peanut Butter.

Cate, love?  I think you’re swell.

Thank you… love.  You are too!

Oh, I know what you were thinking interlings. 

“What more can there be for her to say about her like / love life?”

Oh, I am so aware of your ways my little interlings.

I, however, am proving you incorrect as I will be including a list of what I should have said to myself while the following incident was taking place.  There is quite a bit I would have liked to have said to myself during this period of life known as the freshman year of college but that will have to wait until another post.

By all accounts (okay, at least by my first college roommate’s accounts), I was not a typical college freshman.  I wasn’t concerned about petty things such as frivolous relationships and late-night trips to Wal-Mart.  I had different things on my mind, things that were MUCH more important.

You know, like whether they were going to serve grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch in the cafeteria again that week.  Interlings, these were the issues that shaped my formative college years.

Everything changed for me one fateful night when I walked in (late, of course) to my new Thursday night class — or, more accurately, when HE walked through the door.

He was everything a good freshman girl could want.  Smart, funny and seemingly mature beyond his years.  I wasn’t the only one taking notice of him; at least thirty other pairs of female eyes followed his progress down the stairs to the front of our lecture hall.  Suddenly, I just knew he was The One — he was obviously going to sit on the front row of the class.  Because he was that smart and wonderful and did I mention cute?

In the midst of swooning right out of my seat, I noticed he didn’t take a seat on the front row.  For some reason, he was walking to the front of the room, right up to where the podium waited.

You guessed it.  Hello, Professor Hotness.

Now, if I had of been well-versed in unrequited love, I would have walked right out of that classroom and headed to the nearest drop / add office to switch professors pronto.  I think we all know that there is nothing — NOTHING — more debilitating than spending 1.5 hours each Thursday night wondering if this will be the magical night when your professor asks you out for a conversation about the Industrial Revolution over coffee at Starbucks.

Oh, I kid because my dreams never came true.

Week after week I continued down the slippery path that was honestly paved with good intentions.  After all, I knew that fate had brought us together the night I got close enough to verify the absence of a wedding ring on his finger.  Each week, after telling my roommate about how he had stared-me-down-during-his-lecture-and-I-stared-right-back-willing-him-to-fall-in-love-with-me-and-oh-my-goodness-what-if-he-DOES, I maturely assured her that I was well aware that nothing would happen between us.  I was his student, for goodness sakes.  But each week, while planning out my schedule, I couldn’t help but draw a few more pink hearts around the small box on my calendar that indicated our final exam day.

When I wasn’t busy practicing writing “Amy Beth Hotness” or the more formal “Mrs. Doctor Hotness” on the inside cover of my notebook, I used our class time to do something even more valuable: I planned out exactly how he would tell me he was infatuated with me.  My favorite scenario involved me going by his office to pick up my graded final exam to find a message in red at the end of my essay telling me that he simply couldn’t live without me.  We would briefly date and then marry in a simple yet sweet autumn ceremony in the amphitheater at the college where we first met.  As the weeks faded into months, we would sit near the fire while he wrote in-depth lectures about the rise of Europe as I warmed up a piece of apple pie for him with a dollop of vanilla ice cream molded into the shape of a heart.

Oh, young… innocent… stupid infatuation.  And yet, the lessons you taught me are too invaluable to not share with the interlings.  Interlings who will, I assume, understand that the rehashing of my broken love story leaves me fit only to use the list format.  However, to spice it up a bit, I present a list of “What I Would Tell my Ridiculous Freshman Self.”

Let us commence:

1. When developing a crush on your professor, it is important to attempt to choose one whose class you will actually pass.  And yes, there is a very good chance you might not pass his class.

2. While attempting to pass his class, make sure you actually pay attention.  I’m not saying that you have to completely change your personality, but for goodness sakes, take some notes, girl!  There will be plenty of time to write your initials with his later on.

3. Your plan of lingering after class in hopes of striking up some intellectual conversation with him that will result in your eventual engagement to him?  Turn around, sister: there’s a line already forming behind you.

4. Three years from now, once you have realized that not only is he not into you (you’re a student of his for crying out loud!), it will be time for you to go on your school-sponsored trip to Italy for three weeks.  He will be one of the teacher sponsors of the trip.  You will spend all three weeks red with shame.

5. While on this trip, you will sit beside him at an opera.  This does not mean he has or is falling for you.  Rip that page out of your diary because your roommates will discover it later on and will tease you unmercifully.

6. Don’t be so hard on yourself.  Everyone has got to have a crush on a teacher at some point in their lives. 

Then again, most don’t let it turn into a mild obsession like you did.  Maybe you should get some help for your freshman self.

Love,

Yourself, several years later

To say that it is a madhouse in the Starlite office at this very moment would be quite the understatement.

Here is what is happening as I write:

1.  There are two girls sitting in my office calling 300 middle school girls to remind them about the lock-in.  We’ll make 400 more calls tomorrow and around 350 – 450 on Friday, depending on time.  We need more than two phone lines, I do believe.  Wondering why they’re stationed in my office?  See items 2 – 6.

2. The front room of our house is currently occupied by six college students who are practicing our drama for this Friday night.  I can’t tell you details (yet) but I can tell you that it involves God, Satan and TWO engagement ring.  Oh yes ma’am it does.

3. The room directly across from my office is currently occupied with 300 heart shaped dessert cakes; 48 pink Gerber daisies that will be used for table arrangements; more conversation heart candy pieces than I ever want to see again; spool upon spool of pink ribbon; plenty of tablecloths; a whole lot of two-liters; etc.  To put it bluntly, it looks like St. Valentine has thrown up all over that office.

I’m very sorry for the visual that was just created for you by that last line.

4. The other room on our main level is currently occupied by even more V-Day supplies and two very sad puppies.  They are not enjoying being kept in their playpen while everyone else works late into the night has fun.  They are making their displeasure known via rather loud barking.

5. In the lower floor of our house, also known as the basement, we have a couple people going through our files to find some papers we need for the lock-in.  I don’t think they’re enjoying Starlite right now.

6. In the top floor of our office (obviously, you are now catching on that our office has three floors), there are 8 college students preparing an impressive dance routine to a song medley that includes both “It’s Raining Men” and “Umbrella.”  I can hear their thumps right over my office.  It really helps me concentrate, you know.

We’ve got a lot on our plates for the next 72 hours.  Kicking off the PR stuff at our new elementary school tomorrow morning at 7 a.m.; all of our regular middle school programs tomorrow afternoon; 60 elementary school girls arriving at 5:30 p.m. tomorrow and drama / dance rehearsals throughout it all. 

Then, on Friday, we begin the set-up for our massive sleepover that will take place that night.  You can only imagine the logistics that are involved with planning a sleepover for 300 wild middle school girls.  I would describe them for you, but I think I might start pulling my hair out.

Speaking of which, right about now is usually when the stress starts really hitting us all.  We’ve been praying for an extra measure of grace these last few days and I think it has finally shown up.  Before getting started on everything tonight, we had an impromptu volunteer-wide dance party to “Dancing Queen.” 

Okay, the boys didn’t exactly join in but we dedicated our performance to them and they seemed happy.

Last night, I happened to come back to the office when our high school girls were arriving for their dessert Bible study.  Some of them have been with us since they were in middle school.  I don’t get to see them a lot, so we had some catching up to do.  I was shown pictures of prom dresses, told stories of bad dates and listened to them talk about filling out college applications.  The excitement level in the office was pretty high, to say the least.

And that’s what I want to remember over the next 72 hours.  When things start to get stressful, I want to remind myself that one day the little elementary school girls who we’re fixing pink punch for tomorrow will one day show me pictures of their prom dresses.  And just like I will “ooh” and “ahh” over their pigtails tomorrow night, I will hopefully get to do the same ten years from now as they show me how they want to fix their hair for that special prom night.  I want to remember what they looked like on Valentine’s Day of ’08.

When I start to tell our volunteer team that we are never, ever, EVER doing another sleepover again (this will happen at least 4 times over the next few hours), I want to remember what it feels like to watch them laugh and get manicures and just be innocent for a few hours.  I want to remember that it is worth it.

Every late night at the office.

Every dollar spent on another roll of ribbon.

Every tear cried in frustration because we just aren’t sure how to pull it together.

It will all be so, so worth it.  In fact, I think it already is.

Oh no.  Just heard a rather large thump above my head.  Very concerned.  Wanted to write some more mushy stuff; for now, going to make sure no one has lost a limb. 

Interlings.  My sweet, sweet interlings.

Quiet your precious little mouths.  Yes, I can hear you all the way over here in Hickville, USA. 

You’re saying “The fact that she cooked dinner shouldn’t be classified as ‘breaking news.’”

Obviously, we have not met before.  Because all of those people who read the bloggy that are my actual acquaintances, friends and ex-boyfriends in real life?  Those people?

They fainted from the sheer shock of reading my post title.  And I do believe they’re still out cold.

It isn’t that I don’t like to cook.  And, truth be told, it isn’t even that I don’t know how to cook.  Okay, that last part might be stretching it a bit but you get the idea. 

I just don’t have the time.  Plus, cooking for one is about as depressing as spending your Valentine’s Day with 60 elementary school girls.

Not that I’m going to do that in 48 hours I’ve ever experienced something like that.  No sir.  Not me.  I’m fully committed for the next seven Valentine’s Days, actually.  If you’d like to be my V-day date for 2015, I suggest you book quickly.  Space is limited.

Where were we?  Oh, me claiming I know how to cook.

I’m not even sure what really spurred this desire to fix a home cooked meal, especially on one of my busiest weeks of the year.  I knew that I needed to have a very focused workday today and was surprised to find that I had conquered my inbox by 4:30 p.m.  The last time that has happened?

Oh, last never. 

My pristine inbox was obviously a sign that I should actually leave the office by 5 p.m. today.  Of course, it didn’t quite happen but I was out of there by 5:30.  A quick trip to two grocery stores (I was cooking a specific meal by goodness and if you think that the fact that one grocery store was sold out of the spice I needed was gonna stop me, THEN SISTER, YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMIN’) provided my supplies and I was on my way home.

I will spare you the step-by-step details of how I chopped, sliced and diced as this is not Cooking So Fabulous.  Would this post be more appropriately suited for Ministry So Fabulous if I told you that I prayed while cooking?

I hope not, because it would be a lie.  I was actually listening to whatever station my roommate left on the TV.  I do know they mentioned something about creating the largest motorcycle in the world.  But I’m sure whoever plans to ride it could certainly use my prayers.

Overall, dinner was a success if you don’t count the small oil fire.  Mom, if you’re reading (which I know you’re not because you have no idea how to actually find this blog without me giving you step-by-step instructions that begin with “turn on your computer by pressing the big round button”), please note the emphasis on small.  No Amy Beth’s nor any small puppies were harmed in said fire. 

At least this time.

With less than 48 hours left until V-Day, I am concerned that we may not have enough time to address all of my like / love life disasters. 

So, being the efficient ministry leader that I am (please tell me you laughed out loud at that as hard as I just did), I present five ex-boyfriends in one post.  Please note that I dated these five young gentlemen at various times throughout my college years and certainly not all at one time.  What kind of girl do you take me for?

Brace yourself.  It is gonna be one bumpy ride.

Ex-Boyfriend # 1: Pete the Pirate

Now, I think it is pretty obvious to all of us what brought me and Petey together: our love of dark eyeliner.  We spend out time together smudging each other’s eyeliner in order to make us look even more pirate-y.  As you can imagine, it was an intense time of bonding.  Sadly, Petey decided that dry land just wasn’t for him and he sailed off one night.  He did, however, leave me some chocolate golden coins that he had stolen found from another ship at sea.  It helped lessen the blow of losing Petey.

Ex-Boyfriend # 2: Howie the Hippo

Oh Howie.  Just looking at that picture of us so young and wild and free makes me want to weep.  We were so happy together, Howie.  Why did you leave me for Helga the Hippo?  Was I not hippo-ish enough for you?  Listen, I tried to hold my breath underwater like you did but I couldn’t last longer than 17 seconds.  I loved you — I truly did, Howie! — but you weren’t worth me losing brain cells due to oxygen starvation.  You just weren’t worth it.  I hope you’ll be happy with Helga. 

Ahem.  Sorry, I just needed to get that off my chest.  Moving on.

Ex-Boyfriend # 3: Gary the Greenery

I met Gary at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville one winter day.  Starlite’s leadership team was on a trip and we had stopped at the hotel for lunch and gawking.  While I was having my sandwich, I kept noticing Gary checking me out.  A few quick glances told me all I needed to know: this greenery was lookin’ good.  After I finished lunch, I went up to talk to him but he seemed kind of shy.  We obviously weren’t making any headway, so I decided to just plant one on him.  He was stunned at my bravado and quickly informed me that he couldn’t be with a girl who kisses just any greenery that she laid eyes on.  I tried to convince Gary to give me a second chance, but he wouldn’t listen.  Let this be a lesson, oh young Starliters.  Let this be a lesson, indeed.

Ex-Boyfriend # 4: Gerald the Gorilla

You know how every girl says she wants a guy that will hold her in his arms?  Well, I got all that and more when I met Gerald.  He was so strong and buff… but his ego was just totally out of whack.  We’d be having a conversation and then suddenly he would feel the need to beat his chest with his fists.  I’d just sit there and wait until Gerald had calmed down and was ready to resume our conversation.  After a few weeks of this, I just couldn’t take it anymore and told him that his ego had come between us.  But the truth was that I was secretly jealous of his incredibly voluminous hair.  I mean, dude didn’t even have to use velcro rollers to achieve the look you see pictured above!  My jealousy eventually overcame me and I had to kiss him goodbye. 

Ex-Boyfriend # 5: Chuckie the Cheese

Oh, sweet Chuckie.  Just seeing this picture of us together brings tears to my eyes.  We shared such a special time of our lives together.  I first met Chuckie met when I was two years old; I had finally mastered potty training and was rewarded with a trip to a little place we called Showbiz.  There, waiting on the stage, was Chuckie.  While I have no defined memories of our time spent together when I was two, I can only imagine that we hit it off immediately.  When I returned many years later at the ripe age of 21, it was obvious that the flame of our love was still burning strong.  We spent one glorious afternoon together playing skee-ball and other broken down games.  When we ran out of tokens, we took our tickets to the counter and Chuckie said he’d like to get something special for me.  He redeemed our tickets for the prettiest plastic ring I’d ever seen.  He slipped it on my finger and asked me to wait for him… wait for him to finish his on-stage set, of course.  He had a song to sing and he was running late.  As I watched him scurry away, I realized that if I married Chuckie, I’d spend the rest of my life watching him on a stage surrounded by screaming little girls.  I didn’t want to share my man with anyone, much less fanatical little girls.  So, I did what I knew in my heart was right: I left that plastic ring on the counter and quietly slipped out the door to my car. 

And there you have it interlings.  You’ve seen them all — from the good (Chuckie, obviously) to the very, very bad (hi Petey!).  I have no secrets to hide from you, no remorse that will remain hidden. 

And, apparently no shame at posting five very horrible pictures of me on the world wide web.  Anything for you, interlings, anything at all.

You’re welcome.

We return to our regularly scheduled programming; also known as “Boring Stories About my Like / Love Life.”

Perhaps my first true “like” was a boy who when henceforth be referred to as Woshua (name slightly changed to protect him from the embarrassment of still knowing me appearing on Ministry So Fab).

Young Woshua was everything this starry-eyed seventh grader was hoping for: smart, cute (I wasn’t allowed to say “hot” back then) and — perhaps most importantly — my best friend’s brother.

Yep.  I pick ‘em well.

Actually, if memory serves me correctly, it was Woshua who asked ME out — not the other way around.  Where did we go out you ask?  Why, nowhere of course.  We were far too young to drive much less be allowed out on our own.  So, our “dates” took place at family cookouts, holiday parties and — of course — Wednesday night youth group. 

Needless to say, things were very serious between me and Woshua.  Very, very serious.

And then, in a move that can still not be explained, I called the whole thing off.  What can I say?  I was young and wild and free.  Or I just wanted to date another guy in the youth group.  You say tomato, I say tomat-oh.

Actually, I don’t say that at all.  But I think you get the point.

Flash forward many years later when I get the good news that Woshua has found true love in a red-haired beauty named Erin.  I sat on the fifth row at their wedding and more recently had fun shopping for the perfect Christmas gift for their baby boy. 

And, if that wasn’t enough, Erin has turned out to be one of the most delightful people I’ve ever met.  Several people who have found out how Erin and I met have asked if it isn’t a bit awkward to chum around with your first real boyfriend’s wife.  I couldn’t feel more opposite; Erin is the sweetest, most gracious “I’m-not-going-to-make-this-awkward-for-you” girl I have ever met.  When I join their extended family at the holidays, it is definitely Erin that I want to hang out with — not her smelly husband Woshua.

Moral of the story?  Best friends don’t let best friends date their brother. 

Amen.

We interrupt this look into the sad state of my former like / love life to bring you these announcements:

1. We just finalized plans to take our elementary school program, Twinkle, into a FOURTH local school!  The program will begin one week from today.  To give all of you non-Starliters a glimpse at how exciting that is for us, you should know that we went from having it in one school last August to four currently.  I only have three things to say about this: yes, I actually am excited about more little girls; no, I am not going to be leading this program; and… borrowing the classic “mo’ money, mo’ problems” phrase to adapt it to this situation: mo’ little girls, mo’ processed nacho cheese.

2. There was a small Starlite-related emergency on Friday evening that required me to be awake until 4:46 a.m. Saturday morning.  While awake and pondering the fact that one short week from that very moment I would be awake with 300 middle school girls, I felt a little, well, scared.  Am I getting (gasp!) too old to lead large sleepovers all at the ripe age of 23?

Oh, I kid.  It isn’t like I’m gonna actually stay up all night with ‘em.  That’s why we have volunteers.

3. My precious little roommate, Katie, woke up at 3:30 a.m. today and thought that it was 7:30 a.m.  Thinking she was going to be late for her 8 a.m. class, she quickly got ready, grabbed her books and headed out to her car only to find that it was still dark outside.  She then returned to her bed and slept in her clothes for the rest of the night.

I’m not sure why I feel the need to share this story with you other than to have someone to laugh with about it.  Because my roommate?  She was not laughing.

Oh but I was.  I was indeed.

4. My favorite teacher in high school has the funniest little bloggy.  She wrote a sweet entry about what I was like in high school yesterday, and I thought our readersreader (especially our high school girls who read our bloggy) might like to read it.  As a teaser, let me include but one line for you:

“She was so (over the top) bubbly that we all wondered what she was on… and where we could get some.”

Sweeter words have never been spoken.  Go here if you’d like to read more.

That is all.  Oh, except to say that another sad installment of my like / love life will be coming to you later this afternoon.  I’m sure you’ll be boredfrantically watching for it to appear on the bloggy.

Now, for real… that is all. 

With no sleep Valentine’s Day looming on the near horizon, I feel it is appropriate — nay, vital — that we re-cap the disaster that is known as my love life.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I typically see the glass as half-full in most situations.  I am, by nature, an optimist.

But my love life or lack thereof?

Well, let us just say that it is fab-u-less.

Today, interlings, as we begin our look at the sad depths of my like / love life, we will all need to put on our mask and snorkel sets as we will be diving somewhere very, very deep and disturbing.

Boys and girls, we’re going to the bottom of the ball pit at McDonald’s. 

When I was in middle school, a few families from our church had a habit of going to the local McDonald’s after both Wednesday and Sunday night services.  The parents would drink coffee while the kids mature pre-teens playing on the outdoor playground.

Now, while this may seem odd to you (and actually seems quite odd to me now that I’m really thinking about it), we thought it was the most natural thing in the world to do.  I mean, come on — a bunch of pre-teens hanging out in the local McDonald’s ball pit is obviously very, very normal.  Right? 

There were several of us there each week, but only one person mattered to me: him.  He was Mr. Wonderful — well, at least to me.  And, incidentally, to my best friend French Fry as well. 

Yes, that went over really well in our friendship.  Come to think of it, I’m surprised we still have a friendship. 

Interlings, if you learn nothing at all else from this bloggy, please learn this: sisters before misters.  Amen.

Night after night, I would gaze adoringly across the ball pit at Mr. Wonderful.  I would laugh at his jokes that weren’t even close to being funny and always try to figure out a way to compliment him without being too obvious.  Forget being a people pleaser; I was only interested in being a Mr. Wonderful pleaser.

One fateful night, he confided in me that he had feelings for one of my friends (not French Fry, though it is worth noting that she and Mr. Wonderful did end up dating at some point in our high school years).  He asked me what he should do.

I, of course, recommended that he profess his undying love to her.  What wasI thinking, interlings?

He finally worked up the nerve to tell her, but froze when the moment came.  To all of our surprise and his utter embarrassment, instead of telling the girl that he liked her, he only managed to say “So-and-so, you have really nice calves.”

I kid not.  He complimented her on the back of her legs.  Perhaps surprisingly, I was green with envy.

The following Sunday night, as we sat together in the McDonald’s ball pit rehashing the fateful nice-calves comment, I knew the time had come.  I had to say it, no matter how hard it would be. 

“Mr. Wonderful?”  Of course I didn’t call him that, you fool.  I’m just trying to protect me him.

“Yeah?”  His extensive vocabulary sucked me in every single time he spoke.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you… I mean, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking… what I’m trying to say is that I like you.”  There.  I had finally said it.

“I like you too.”  Oh.  OH!  He liked me.  HE LIKED ME TOO.

Suddenly, I was speechless.  This, in itself, was a minor miracle.  Luckily for me, he kept talking:

“I mean, you’ve always been a good friend to me.  And, speaking of that, I need your help with something.”  Oh man.  He needed my help.  Could this night get any better?

“I know you’re really good friends with French Fry…” Wait.  Something is amiss here.  And yet, he continued.

“I was just wondering if you could maybe talk to her for me.”  NO.  This can’t be happening.  Not here, not in the McDonald’s ball pit.

“Sure… what do you want me to tell her?”  I had to ask it, interlings.  What can I say?  I was a glutton for emotional punishment.

“Could you find out if she likes me?”  Noooooooo!  A thousand nooooooooo’s.

 ”Sure.” 

And with that, Mr. Wonderful reached over and gave me a hug while he thanked me for being such a good friend. 

His mom was ready to leave, so before long, I found myself alone in the McDonald’s ball pit.  To my horror, tears started rolling down my face.  As I tried to dry them, I looked up to see Mr. Wonderful coming back out toward the ball pit; apparently he had forgotten something.  Perhaps my broken, stomped on, trampled little heart?

The thought of Mr. Wonderful seeing me in my current state was mortifying, so I did the only thing I could think of: I quickly dug a hole in the mass of balls and dived underneath them.

“Amy Beth, are you… okay?”  Oh no.  He had seen me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Just lost my contacts.”  Whew.  I was never so glad I was able to think on my feet.

“Don’t you wear glasses?  You had them on today.”  Oh no.  Oh no.  Oh no.  How could I have forgotten?

“Listen, I just need some time, okay?  Could you please just let me be alone?” More eloquent words had never been spoken in a McDonald’s ball pit.

“Yeah, whatever.”  And with that, I heard him walk away.

I think I stayed like that for awhile, crying and feeling all alone and feeling pretty sure that my life was ending before my eyes.

Although, thinking about it now, I wasn’t alone at all.  I’m sure there were plenty of germs sharing my sorrow with me.

I believe I have mentioned that I will be spending Valentine’s night with a bunch of little girls.  And yet, there is so much more to the story of the coming week.

You see, though we will have 60 little girls with us this Thursday night………………..

… we will have 300 middle school girls with us this Friday night for a sleepover.

As you can tell, we are scheduling geniuses.

A couple of times a semester, we hold an event we call “Sparkle All Nite OUT!”  Which is, of course, a misnomer as we do not let the girls out at any point during the 15-hour event. 

I mean, where would you really take 300 middle school girls in the middle of the night in a small town like this?  Wal-Mart, perhaps?  I can hear it now:

“Clean-up on aisles, 2, 3, 4, 7, 10, 13 and 26.”

Our sleepovers in the fall feature a full spa set-up — each girl gets a manicure, pedicure, hairstyle and make-up application.  All for free, of course.

And suddenly, it strikes me that these girls have it way better than I.  Hmm. 

Anyway, during the spring sleepovers, we do a formal dinner-theater style theme.  I can’t tell you the details of this year’s event yet because there could be all kinds of sneaky eyes reading.  I will say that I think it is going to be our best yet. 

We do these events — in addition to the weekly programs at all of the schools — as an outreach to the girls.  As fun as pedicures and three-course meals are when you’re my age in 6th grade, we aren’t shy about admitting that, for us, these events are about offering the message of Christ to the girls.  Many of the girls we serve do not have the opportunity to attend church; in fact, I think you’d be surprised to learn how many have never even been to church before.

So, instead of presenting Him to the girls through a sermon, we use dramas.  We have an incredibly talented team of college girls who each have amazing gifts and talents.  They produce beautiful moments like this:

Moments than make you cry…

And, of course, moments that definitely make you laugh…

And yes, we were dancing to “It’s Raining Men” in this photo.  Hallelujah.

Now, I love these sleepovers.  I really do.  Since we’ve been doing them (three? four years now?) I’ve witnessed a whole lot of manicures, plenty of 1 a.m. pizza and over 1,000 young girls accept Christ.  It is, by all accounts, a great event.  There is just one question that has always plagued me, that has kept me up many a night.

How do we actually get it to rain men? 

I am, of course, not hoping for this to happen to aid myself.  I just want to see our (single) volunteers happy.

I’m just nice like that.

Starting today, there’s a new! exciting! feature! coming to Ministry So Fabulous.

I sense that your enthusiasm matches my own about going on a Valentine’s date with little girls.

Anyway.

So, readers reader, I happily present: Friday’s Face!

Each Friday, I’ll be featuring not only the face of someone who works or has worked with Starlite, but I’ll also be letting you get to know them via interview style.  Trust me, you’re gonna love it.  My Leadership Team girls loved the idea until I mentioned that I would not be posting their phone numbers with their face. 

Before you start judging them, remember that it can be hard to get a date when you’re in ministry.  Don’t I know it.

Ahem.

Today’s face is the lovely Jennifer J.  I think you’ll find her pretty funny, indeed. 

So, Jennifer.  What do you think of this whole new bloggy thing?

This idea is second only to Sunday Chicken at Cracker Barrel.

I agree.  Are you excited about being the first person to be featured on Friday’s Face?

Well, I am pretty excited about it — and I’m sure that the four readers are too! 

You are not very funny anymore.  Okay, tell all the interlings what your “job” is in Starlite:

Other than happily making 300 pancakes on one griddle 30 minutes before a volunteer party began, I serve as the director of the Glow program at one of our local high schools.

Do you have a favorite Starlite memory yet?  You’ve only been with us for a little while.

Definitely our Leadership Team dates at Cracker Barrel since somehow they always end with someone (generally you, Amy Beth) sharing some mildly embarrassing personal information!

Moving on: when you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?

When I was little, I wanted to be a flight attendant.  I can’t figure out if it was because of all those movies featuring the handsome pilots or if I really enjoyed being in tight spaces with irritable people!  Ironically, now I am terrified of flying.  Now, flight attendants to me are simply people who are paid to make your near death experience a little more comfortable!

What do you want to be now?

Now that I’ve discovered that the aviation industry just isn’t for me, I would like to get a job in public relations — working with people at any capacity!

What food do you find disgusting?

I absolutely hate mushrooms — the texture, the color, the taste.  The way I see it, there is pretty much no good quality about them…

Would you rather be stuck hanging upside down on a broken roller coaster or have to take care of my puppies, Snuggles and Cuddles, for a week?

I would rather jump out of a moving vehicle than take care of those puppies.

Jennifer!  I am ashamed of you.  Diving a bit deeper now: if I asked your parents to describe you in one word, what would they choose?

Indescribable.

And, for the big finale… the question that everyone wants to know: what color is your laundry basket?

Indigo.