Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Who knew that posting about the fishes and loaves would send y’all leaving comments, sending emails, direct messaging me on Twitter and even texting my cell to offer to help fill our stockings! I am just blown away by your offers to help and had to think quickly to figure out the best way you can do just that.

It brings me great joy to announce: I HAVE A PLAN.

The only problem is that I can’t post it on the bloggy ’cause it is a secret plan that I don’t want my college girls’ beady little eyes to see. So… if you want to help be one of my Christmas elves, leave a comment on this post if you haven’t contacted me already and I’ll pull your email address from it (remember, I can see it when you leave a comment) and I’ll send y’all one big email from me detailing my oh-so-secret plan.

I feel like I need to put on some stunner shades and grab a walkie-talkie right about now.

And I like that feeling.

Even though it’s October and still seven kinds of hot outside (at least here), we’re in full Christmas mode at ye olde ministry office. Our semester ‘o programs ends the week before Thanksgiving in order to allow our college volunteers plenty of time to stay up all night studying before final exams begin in early December.

Or, you know, ride their mattresses down their dorm stairwells. Same thing.

Over the next month or so we’ll have to purchase several hundred gifts, wrap them, sort them and get them to our ten programs AND IS ANYONE ELSE STRESSED ABOUT CHRISTMAS YET?

And so, earlier this semester, I declared in one of our weekly team meetings that this year will go down as The Christmas In Which We Did Not Start Saying Naughty Words As We Stayed Up All Night Wrapping Lip Gloss Kits.

Not that we’ve ever actually done that. Never. Ever, ever.

Okay, maybe once. But do you KNOW how hard it is to wrap lip gloss kits, yo?

What I didn’t count on when I came up with our We Are The Jolliest Christmas Gift Giving Ministry You’ve Ever Met plan was that our main Christmas donor (an organization that chooses to give anonymously) would also be hit with the nation’s economic crisis and ultimately be able to only donate half the amount that they normally give each year.

Also, I did not count on the fact that our elementary school programs (four schools out of our ten) would literally double in attendance this semester, with one school actually tripling in attendance.

Allow me to offer this information to you in visual form:

Now, upon realizing that this little math equation does not work exactly in our favor, I decided that there were two ways I could react:

1. Take thyself immediately to the local dollar store and stock up on some fake Barbie dolls

OR

2. Believe for a fishes and loaves miracle

As intriguing as fake dollar store Barbies are, I decided to go with the latter even though I don’t actually like fish that much (it’s a long story that starts with my first real pet, a fish named Captain Bob and ends with seven of his brothers also going to the eternal fishbowl in the sky).

I do, however, like bread. In all forms. Including croutons. And breadsticks. And rolls.

It is a sickness. A bread sickness, y’all. And I hope it never ends.

I’m sorry. Back to ministry:

And thus, The Fishes And Loaves Starlite Christmas Spectacular Festival Of Lights Celebration of 2008 has been born, birthed, YOU GET THE IDEA.

Really, it’s just a fancy way of saying that we’re believing God to help us buy a whole lot of gifts with very little dinero.

Also: we would not be sad to have Him throw in some loaves of bread for those of us who will be staying up all night wrapping come mid-November as long as He keeps the fish sticks for Himself, ew.

I have this chair in my bedroom, a chaise lounge that sits right next to the window. It’s the most comfortable chair you can imagine; in fact, it’s where I’m writing from right now. It’s where Roomie sits when she comes into my room to chat; it’s where I throw my clothes when I’m running behind schedule and can’t find anything to wear.

I have no idea how this chair has survived the last six years. I bought it when I was a sophomore in college; it was my first big purchase as an adult and I loved it. It has seen dorm room 213, a storage unit, two basements, three apartments and, most recently, the bedroom it now resides in. Fruit punch has been dropped on it, highlighters marked across it and puppies have even teethed on it. And yet it is in surprisingly good condition, somehow still usuable and even liked.

It’s also where I’ve been sleeping these past few nights.

You see, if I pull the pillow down just a little and lay between the arms of my chair, it almost feels like someone is holding me. And when you’re crying to the point where you start to wonder if anyone has actually ever died of a broken heart before, well, you’ll take anyone holding you, even a chair in the corner of your bedroom.

I know that must sound pathetic to some of you. I’m sure that I have friends who wish I would just get over him; I hear it in the voice when we have long conversations without the topic of my mangled heart ever being mentioned. Best not to bring it up, I’m sure they’re thinking. And even though it hurts, I don’t blame them. No one wants to hear about someone’s hurt over and over again, day after day.

Except for One.

I have needed Him before, but I have never needed Him like this before. What I thought I knew of intimacy with Him before now seems like child’s play. Just this afternoon, I sat all alone in the back of an empty chapel at a church where I knew (or at least hoped) no one would recognize me. I brought a blanket and a Bible along with some desperation.

I sat in the corner of that chapel for hours today, never seeing another person enter except for the janitor who was obviously concerned about the girl sobbing into her knees. I just kept crying though, ’cause sometimes that’s just what you do, even when others are watching you crash and burn.

I think one of the hardest things for me has been feeling like there’s no one that this matters to other than me. That all of these memories have no significance for anyone other than me.

There’s no one that wants to hear about the day he and I met in English class or that time we had breakfast in the dining hall while no one was around.

No one knows how I sat at my grandparent’s house that Christmas so many years ago, just willing my cell phone to ring so I could hear his voice on the other line.

There isn’t another person that has read through the emails, the text messages and, of course, the letter he wrote from England that semester he was away.

It is just me with those memories and I hate it. I need someone else to see them, to give them validation if you will. And there is only One that can do that, only One that knows just how hard it was to fall in love with that man and how much harder it has been to fall out of love with him.

And so, pathetic as it may be, some nights I spend the night in this chair because that’s where I fall asleep after telling Jesus story after story about my one experience at being loved. I tell Him everything, every little memory that works its way back up in my heart. Every phone call, every fight, every kiss.

I just keep telling Him everything because it feels like He’s the only one still listening.

Hello, my name is Amy Beth and I promise to never make another video while driving ever, ever again, cross my heart, pinky promise and all those other things, too.

You’re right: it is dangerous. And since I don’t like living on the wild side, I shall heed your advice and avoid an accident.

I shall also avoid posting part two of the video post because it showed me rocking out to some old school Mariah Carey while driving down the highway.

What I won’t avoid doing is admitting what a total dork I was in the doctor’s office the other day. Because? Really? If you don’t know that I’m a dork by now, then I have no idea how else I could convince you.

Here’s the scenario: I went to the doctor’s office because I was starting to feel sick and I have this nasty little habit of working too hard, not taking care of myself, etc. that results in me spending a lot of time not feeling great and REALLY, IT IS SILLY THAT I DO THIS TO MYSELF.

Sure enough, my friendly doctor informed me that I had “pre-flu symptoms” and that I would be getting three shots of antibiotics as well as three prescriptions to help trick the virus into thinking that I could not be attacked by the ugly little monster.

When the nurse came in to give me the shot, she asked how Starlite was going (she has a daughter in our programs as do several of the other nurses in my doctor’s office so this is a frequent question). As she began preparing the first shot, The Song That Was Supposed To Be My Song With You-Know-Who came on. Right as she got ready to give me the shot, I started thinking about the last time I was sick like that and how Mr. Ex-Boyfriend had showed up with soup and love and all kinds of warm fuzziness.

And so, I may or may not have cried a little bit as I got the shot.

This, of course, prompted me to begin claiming “I’m not crying ’cause of the shot!” to which the nurse kept saying “Oh, honey, don’t be embarrassed. It really does hurt. Kids cry all the time.”

And, because I can’t leave something alone without making it worse, I of course said “No, I’m crying over my ex-boyfriend!  ‘Cause this was our song!  Except we didn’t have a song!  Cause we broke uppppppppppppppppp.”

Delicate, I know.

Things only got worse when “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by Fergie started playing right as nurse-y gave me the third shot. I’ll give you three guesses as to what happened next, but here’s a hint: it turns out that, yes, big girls do cry. Especially when that song is on their “Break-Up W/ —–” iPod playlist.

Wait. You mean to tell me that you don’t have a playlist of songs you listen to when you want to rehash your last relationship?  Why, I don’t understand.  I mean, I’ve kept Mandy Moore and Celine Dion in business with the last few months of my dating life.

I feel like I need to start singing a chorus of “My Heart Will Go On” right about now.

Someone call the nurse.  I think I need a shot of Non-Patheticness right about now.

Those of you who pay very close attention to the blog (yes, mom, I’m talking to you) will remember that today is young Frank’s birthday. He came by the office a few minutes ago in his dapper birthday outfit (I’m not gonna lie — his outfit today is absolutely smashing) and, of course, I only had one question for him:

“So, did that girl fix you breakfast?”

“Yeah… and you’re not going to believe this.”

“What?” If that girl proposed before Roomie got a chance to, I’m gonna be angry.

“She… she… well, she made me homemade syrup.”

I’m still trying to figure out how to break it to Frank that not only does this girl want to marry him, but she obviously would like to carry his children as well. Homemade syrup? I mean, c’mon.

Also: why didn’t Roomie and I think of that first?

Well, we’ve finished the nursery and just in time, if you ask me. There’s one picture, which UPS should deliver today, left to hang and then we’ll be absolutely, positively done.

The clothes are washed and on itty bitty blue hangers, the diapers are sorted according to size and the teddy bear has been place just so. We’re ready for Baby, at least with all the stuff he’ll need. Mentally? Well, I’m not sure we’d ever be ready so we’re just going to do the best we can when the time comes.

We thought you might like to see what we’ve put together for Baby, so here’s a sneak peek! The theme is called Pop Star from Babies ‘R Us and the cute Starlite clothes are courtesy of Dawn, a blog reader and friend in real life.

Oh, and on Monday? You’ll hear from Roomie herself — via video!

And one more thing: pray that Roomie and I survive tonight’s sleepover for Starlite’s college leadership team. At our house. With lots of pizza and chocolate. That I haven’t actually gone to the store for yet.

Um, got to run.

Well, I had a lovely surprise this month thanks to the October issue of Empowered Magazine!

Woman of the month. Who would have guessed?

Thanks, Empowered!

Frank came over last night to do the last of The Baby Projects That Never Seem To End (i.e. putting together the swing for us). As he was working away, he began telling us a story about a girl who, after finding out that his birthday is tomorrow, asked him what he’d like to have for breakfast because she would be bringing him breakfast to class that day to celebrate the day of his birth.

Roomie and I, of course, immediately said “Frank, this chick likes you.”

To which he replied “No, she just wants to fix me breakfast.”

Roomie and I proceeded to explain a little bit of Girl World to him: basically, if a girl is making you breakfast, she is really, really into you. If she buys you breakfast from Hardee’s she’s still into you, but not as much as she would be if she had cracked the eggs and fried the bacon herself. We ended our lesson by assuring him that any girl who offers to fix breakfast for him basically wants to marry him.

We all started talking about something else and, about 15 minutes later, I asked Frank what he wanted to do when he graduates as far as a job. He told us that he wants to have a well paying job so he can support his future family, but that he doesn’t care what type of job it is as long as he has plenty of time to be with his future wife and kids each day — he doesn’t want any kind of job that will take him away from them.

Roomie’s response?

“Frank, I’d love to fix breakfast for you tomorrow morning.”

Allie, my Starlite other half and bride-to-be, texted me last night to ask if Roomie and I wanted to come over to her and Ryan’s new place for an impromptu dinner. Never ones to pass up pasta, we immediately accepted their offer and told them we’d be there around 8 p.m.

Oh yes. I was eating dinner at my usual bedtime. JUST KIDDING.

Kinda.

Since Allie and Ryan aren’t married yet, Ryan is the only one living in the house and has become, um, unusually excited about home decor. Every time I go over there, he’s got something new to show me including last night when he began telling me about this blanket (which was actually a twin bed comforter) that he had bought at Target for $4.99, AMY BETH, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!?!? I GOT IT FOR $4.99!!!

I believe he may have been a little excited about the purchase.

After dinner, Ryan began talking about the blanket again, telling me how much he loved it and did he mention it was $4.99 and would I like to lay down on the couch with it so I could experience it for myself?

And so, because he really wanted me to experience this blanket, I went to the couch and laid down with that blanket all wrapped up around me. And you know what? HE WAS RIGHT. The blanket was lovely and quite the good deal if I do say so myself.

He then showed me the new mirror his future mother-in-law bought for them while Allie began putting paint on the bathroom wall to show Roomie and I the colors they’re trying to decide between. As all four of us were coming out of the bathroom, I looked over into the master bedroom to see the very blanket that I had just curled up with laying in it’s packaging on the floor.

That’s right. Ryan bought two of them. Because? Hello? THEY WERE $4.99. AT TARGET. CHECK YOUR LOCAL CLEARANCE AISLE, STAT.

‘Cause I just don’t think you’re going to be able to get Ryan to part with his new blankies.

I came home from the office early today, mainly because I have to go back to the office for a little while tonight since we host a dessert Bible study for our high school girls at the office each Tuesday night. Roomie’s on the couch beside me and I just had to tell you about the conversation we just had as my puppies jumped up into my lap:

Roomie: “So, my mom finally told me today that our family dog died.” Roomie had known this from a sibling, but had been waiting for her mom to tell her.

Me: “That makes me really sad, especially with my little Cuddles and Snuggles sitting here.” At this point, I put my hands around Cuddles face and say “Oh my wittle, itsy bitsy Cuddles is never gonna die!”

At which point Roomie says “Well, that’s the thing about animals. Eventually they die.”

Me: (Absolute look of shock on my face.)

Roomie: “Just like your parents will die one day.”

Me: “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Roomie: “I’m sorry. Let me try again.” Picks up Frosty sitting beside her. “It’s like this Frosty. Eventually it’ll be gone, so I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”

Me: “Just a second. I have to blog the fact that you just compared my puppies and parents dying to your Frosty being eaten.”