I think the first thing we need to do in order to have this conversation is level the playing field. Several people have left comments or sent emails saying something to the effect of “I think it’s great that you’ve made the choice to remain a virgin but? Me? Well, it’s too late for me.”

You don’t know this but, when I wrote the initial post that got this whole thing started, I almost deleted it before posting it. It wasn’t that I was ashamed or embarrassed to post it; actually, it was the opposite: I didn’t want to appear “holier than thou” or anything along those lines. I’ve seen that card played among Christians — the whole “I’m a virgin, you are not, therefore I am innately better than you” — and you better believe I wanted to steer clear of that.

I happened to be with a good friend when I was writing that post and I remember saying to her that I hoped no one would take it as my being prideful that I’m still a virgin. The sentence had barely left my mouth when we both dissolved in laughter mainly because, after all we have shared with each other about our dating histories, WE CONSIDER IT A MODERN DAY MIRACLE THAT WE ARE STILL VIRGINS.

So, um, consider the playing ground leveled.

I, like a lot of other girls I know, have an appetite for certain things. When I watch certain things, talk about certain things or — and this is a big one — read certain things, my appetite increases. Naturally, I start wanting to feed that appetite, to somehow satisfy that hunger. And that’s where things go wrong for me.

I believe God placed a legitimate need for s*x inside of me. And I believe that need will be met one day in my marriage bed. In the meantime — whether that be a year, five years, twenty years (PLEASE, GOD, NOOOOOOOO!!!!!) — it’s up to me to choose to not use illegitimate ways to attempt to meet a legitimate need.

I’ll say it again, just in case you also were distracted by the idea of a potential twenty year wait: I cannot use illegitimate ways to try to meet a legitimate need.

Especially since the hole I’m typically trying to illegitimately fill isn’t a need for s*x at all.

Some days, when I deal with a situation that gets my hands messy, I write a blog post about it. Other days, I swim laps at the indoor pool trying to somehow get free of the feeling of having a weight tied to my neck that’s pulling me to the bottom of the pool. Those are the harder days, the ones that no blog post could even begin to cover, the days where my goggles don’t help me see underneath the water at all because all I can see is whatever horrific thing I viewed earlier that day.

I have many, many laps to swim tonight.

I mentioned late last week that I was working up the nerve to write more (almost a response) on the feedback I got on this post about the big S-E-X. Or, you know, lack thereof in this single girl’s life.

I like to think that I’m not just practicing abstinence; I’m perfecting it.

Here’s why I’m talking about it this week, in no particular order:

1. It’s a major, major topic among at least my set of single friends. And yet not a topic that any of us would probably talk about publicly, for fear of being labeled something negative.

2. It’s a major, major topic among the college girls who have sat across from me in my office, staring at the floor while they talk to me about it.

3. I’ve seen it — whether the actual having it, not having it or just wanting to have it — wreak havoc in lives of people I love. It’s left some rubble in my life, too.

4. I need something to make me feel a little more embarrassed when someone in real life tells me they read my blog.

So, here’s the plan: I’m just going to write throughout the week about some things that came up after I wrote that post, either in the comments, private emails sent to me or conversations with friends that have agreed to let me share their (anonymous) comments. Some of it will be serious, but some will be funny, too — wait ’til you hear what Cousin Cate has to share on this delicate topic. All I’m gonna say is that it involves a fishing pole.

I’m not going to spend my time making a case for abstinence, because I feel like I’ve already made it clear that I’ve chosen that for my life based on what I believe is obedience to God. What I want to talk about is everything that comes along with that choice — why I think it’s hard, why I think we don’t make the choice or go back on our promises, etc. And it isn’t just going to be about the s-word ’cause every single one of us is aware that a whole lot of other things go along with it. I’m going to be completely honest and transparent with you as I try to muddle my way through this topic, mainly thinking about what I wish I had of known when I was in my high school and college years.

Like how to ride the church singles’ function circuit, for example. Somebody left that out of the birds and bees chat.

And to think of how much busier my social calendar could have been all this time.

Well, this week started off on the right foot this morning at 4:30 a.m. when, in the cover of darkness that occurs when one doesn’t actually turn one’s kitchen light on, I accidentally took a swig of laundry detergent instead of Gatorade.

It was tasty, to say the least.

My weekend was absolutely packed, with much to tell you about including plenty of observations of what it is like to be in the same house with four year old triplets (four words: I WANT A SET!). First, however, I feel like I must come clean with you about what I did upon returning home Saturday afternoon, especially since it is something that I have often swore I would NEVER, EVER DO.

I attended my first church singles’ function.

Honestly, I don’t know how I even ended up going but, after receiving four personal calls inviting me to come, I decided that HEY, MAYBE GOD WANTS ME TO GO BECAUSE HE HAS HOTTIE McHUSBAND WAITING THERE FOR ME.

Not that I like to attempt to, you know, force the hand of God or anything.

I arrived late to ye olde singles’ function which actually made it easier for me to slip in and survey the results: 26 females; 5 males. This event was actually for all ages of singles in our church, so by my calculations, the 40 And Under Playing Ground was actually more of a 19:3 ratio. In other words, the odds were still not in my favor. And yet I soldiered on because, in case you’ve forgotten, AIN’T NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE WITH GOD.

The only available seat was at a table with three precious women who were quite a bit older than me. I happily took the seat because, after all, you know what they say about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer. I am no fool: I know my competition when I see it.

Oh I kid.

Maybe.

It’s my duty to report that I did not leave with an engagement ring, but don’t worry: your girl ABB has a plan! I hear the Methodist church down the street has their singles’ group on Monday nights. There’s also the Presbyterians on Tuesday nights, I’ll take Wednesday off for Bible study (see, my priorities are in order), hit up the Baptists on Thursday evenings and attend my own church’s group on Saturday nights.

You may have noticed that I kept Friday nights open, but that’s all part of the plan: after all, you gotta have a night available for actual dates.

Always thinkin’ ahead, that’s me. Just always thinkin’ ahead.

Some weeks — like ones where you’ve been out of town, had three water pipes burst in your office, worked 70+ hours, cleaned up the mess from your ceiling falling in from the burst pipes — yes, some weeks it is just fine to serve pizza to your college girls.  Especially if you buy extra breadsticks.

Hand model: the lovely Becky, one of my college girls.

After I finished speaking today, the women who organized the event gave me a HUGE box of goodies, most of them personalized (look closely and you’ll see that even the mesh box is personalized!).  Wonder how they knew I liked pink so much?

Meet K, R and P — the triplets best known from Lots of Scotts (one of my all-time favorite blogs).  I’m staying with their family tonight and what a night it’s been so far!  If you’ve never had dinner at a Japanese restaurant with four year old triplets, you simply haven’t lived.  We followed dinner with some puzzle action, pajamas and, of course, a goodnight kiss for me from Spotty the stuffed lion (at least I think that’s what he is).

I can’t wait to see them tomorrow morning, which is a good thing since K informed me during bedtime prayers that she’ll be waking me up early.

I know I just told you about what I’m going to do this weekend, but I’m back for a quick second to tell you that homegirl here is in need of a little prayer. I’m running behind, haven’t packed and — to top things off — my cell phone is suddenly missing. I haven’t slept well for over a week now and am feeling the burden for the group I’m speaking to this weekend something awful.

And, if that weren’t enough, you should SEE my hair today. And it isn’t even it’s fault — totally user failure today — so I’ve got HAIR GUILT happening on top of everything else, for crying out loud! The enemy’s been trying to make me feel inadequate about this event for days now, but when he started messing with my hair, I put him on notice that WAR HAD BEEN DECLARED.

In other words, prayer? Please?

I’m heading out of state later today to speak at an event this weekend that I’ve been looking forward to since the moment I found out about it, mainly because of the subject matter — my testimony.

Or, as I like to think of it, How God Pulled Me Out Of A Heck Of A Lot Of Pits, Thank You Sweet Jesus.

Most of the speaking I do is more about Starlite — how we started, what we do, what local churches can do in their own communities to reach out to girls, etc. I really don’t speak a lot about my own, personal testimony that much, probably because, being a young 24 years old, it just hasn’t been that long since the redemptive side of it started taking place!

I’m borrowing the theme from Beth Moore’s Get Out Of That Pit (which, besides the Bible, has been the absolute best written resource I have ever personally used). I’m using her idea of the three ways we end up in pits — being thrown in them, slipping into them or just plain jumping into them — to share my story. And like all good stories, this damsel in distress got rescued each time by a Hero unlike any other.

The interesting thing, however, is that God hasn’t been rehearsing with me all the ways He pulled my ba-donk-a-donk out of those pits. Instead, He’s been reminding me of what those pits looked like, felt like, etc. I suspect He’s doing this because the group of people I’m sharing this with are not a local Sunday morning congregation, to say the least. Don’t get me wrong — I love, love, love those kind of opportunities to share, especially if I get through it without falling off stage. It’s just that, with this group, I think I might get the chance to see some of the pits they’ve been living in, especially since some of those pits will probably look awfully familiar to me.

“Brothers, think of what you were when you were called…” 1 Corinthians 1:26a (NIV)

You better believe I’ve been doing a whole lot of thinking this week.

And a whole lot of thanking Him for not leaving me where He found me, amen.

Speaking of what I was when He found me, I’m hoping to focus next week’s posts on my follow-up thoughts on this post from last week, especially after reading through the emails it generated. I say “hoping” because I’m still working up the nerve to actually write about it. We shall see how brave I’m feeling come Monday morning.

And, you know, if I survived cooking for my college girls the night before.

I’m sorry to have to admit that today’s my first day of having a no-caffeine victory this week.  Water all day long, sometimes with a little lemon.  And yes, I almost fell asleep at my desk this afternoon.