Per our usual habit, Cousin Cate and I were talking about A Boy In Her Life on the phone earlier this evening when I, thinking the conversation was over, started to say goodbye.  Her reply?

“HOLD UP!  You’re not getting off this phone until you have helped me analyze this situation from every possible angle!”

And yes, I really did take notes.  Listen, people, this is important stuff we’re dealing with here.

So, for the last few weeks, the same topic has been coming up in conversations with various single friends of mine.  And each time we’re talking about it, I say “Hey, I’m going to ask the bloggy people about this!”

But then I get too busy confessing my bad church-going habits or something equally ridiculous and forget to ask you the burning question.

UNTIL NOW, that is, because I finally remembered to make myself a note reminding me to ask you.

Ahem.

So, here’s the question that I’m REALLY hoping you’ll answer for we single girls:

What does it mean to guard your heart in the context of relationships?

We’re looking for practical answers in addition to the spiritual ones, just so you know.  Like, tell us HOW you did it or even how you WISH you had done it back in your dating days.  It’s your chance to help either get us on the right track or keep us on it, you smart girls.

We singlelites shall now await your wisdom to pour forth.

Yours truly,

Princess Amy Beth of the Singlelites Kingdom of Singleness

P.S. – I’m planning to abdicate my throne fairly soon, so let me know if you’re interested in fulfilling the governing duties required of the Princess of the Singlelites Kingdom of Singleness and I’ll send you the information booklet, application and fingerprinting kit.

“Later doesn’t always mean last.”

It’s All For Him, Haley Dykes

Let’s just say there were a whole lot of very happy elementary school girls at my Starlite program today once they saw that I brought two “boys” along for the afternoon’s event.

Photo courtesy of our high school intern, Lauren.

Flip flops stolen from courtesy of Cousin Cate’s closet.  Ooops.

I know Valentine’s Day is long gone, but I’ve been wanting to tell you more about our trip to the widows’ home during our retreat with my college girls a few weeks ago. So, throw on something red and grab some conversation hearts ’cause we’re going to pretend like this post isn’t over a month late.

As I’ve told you before, we do no “work” on our once-a-semester retreats; instead it’s all about God and fun, especially in that order. When I started planning this last retreat and discovered that we would arrive in Pigeon Forge a couple of hours before we could check into our hotel, I knew it was the perfect opportunity for us to go by the Widows Ministry Center in nearby Sevierville, TN.

I’ll be honest with you: I’ve never really spent time with widows before but, after hearing what the Bible has to say about them, I realized a few months ago that I needed to make it a priority to do whatever my small part is in caring for them. I’m still not sure how God will fulfill that particular mandate in my life, but I knew a trip to see what they’re actually doing at the ministry center would be a good way to start. And, just ’cause they’re so sweet, I knew my college girls would want to come along.

Since it was so close to Valentine’s Day, we started off the morning by grabbing breakfast at Hardee’s (it’s a southern thing, y’all) and making valentines for each of the home’s residents. Here’s Ashley demonstrating one of our lovely creations:

Cousin Cate, another chaperone on our trip (I never thought I’d use the words “Cate” and “chaperone” in the same sentence), was so proud of her card that featured little “windows”:

I can’t remember which of our girls made this next one, but that’s some good handwriting:

It took us almost an hour to get them finished, but just look at the fruits of our labor:

Once we got to the home, we split into teams to tackle all three floors of the home (there are 41 apartments with each widow having her own apartment within the actual home). My team took the first floor and let me just tell you: we were so excited about knocking on doors and presenting those silly valentines that we could hardly stand it.

At one point in our visit, one of the center’s employees mentioned that they were having a group lunch at noon and wondered if we might want to stop by to say hello to all the residents at once. We said a big “yes!” before she could even finish her sentence and then, in an act I still can’t explain to this day, I randomly offered us up as the musical entertainment for said luncheon.

The only problem, of course, being that only a handful of us can actually, you know, sing.

As soon as we finished handing out the valentines, we got our ba-donk-a-donks to the chapel upstairs where we proceeded to quickly pick a medley of songs (some hymns and some modern day worship songs, too) and attempt to all learn the words in a span of, oh, about eight minutes. We then presented our “performance” to the crowd of women who, thankfully, acted like it was the best singing they’d ever heard.

Somehow I can’t help but think they may have been sparing our feelings, but we’ll take it.

As we got ready to leave, our group stopped in the lobby where we spent some time praying for the women while they continued to eat lunch upstairs. I found a spot in the corner to get down on my knees to beg God to provide for these women emotionally, spiritually and physically. The love between a husband and wife is an important theme in my life, so the plight of widows is something close to my heart. As I said earlier, I’m not sure how God wants to use me to bless them but I’m looking forward to finding out as He keeps working in me.

Of course, several of my college girls were begging me to invite the widows to join us at our hotel’s water park, an idea I was forced to shut down immediately much to their dismay. Call me crazy, but I just have a hard time imagining 41 elderly widows enjoying themselves here:

Though I’m quite sure they would have definitely enjoyed seeing Pookie’s choice of pajamas later that evening:

Yep, that’s one of my college girls wearing footie pajamas in my hotel room at 1 a.m.

In other words, just a regular day at the office for me.

While getting ready today, I made the executive decision that I’m going back to wearing ribbons in my hair whenever I can get away with it.  One of my college girls, Lizy, wears her ribbons tied around the front of her hair, almost like a headband but with the tied end tucked underneath.  And now?  So do I.

While I was out in the country today running an errand, I came across a field of horses just enjoying an afternoon snack of grass.  I don’t know what came over me, but I sure enough parked my car in the road (IN THE ROAD, Y’ALL!), walked right over to that pasture and began attempting to woo the horses to me.  Unfortunately I had nothing to use in my woo-ing process, so I resorted to singing a little song I made up right there in the pasture:

“Come here, my little horsies.

Come here, my little babies.

Come here, my little horsies.

I would like to pet you!”

Unfortunately, they remained unmoved.  I like to think they were just caught up in the moment.

Three scenes, three different girls, all in the same 24 hours, starting from the close of the day.

Because some stories end at their beginning.

– — –

Laying in bed, almost asleep when the call comes in at nine minutes ’til midnight. I leave immediately, still in my pink and black pajamas. She’s waiting outside the door when I get there, but she isn’t crying like I expected. We walk inside without saying anything; she gets into her bed and motions for me to do the same. She talks for three hours and I’m secretly glad because I have nothing to say. They didn’t teach me about this topic in my crisis counseling classes so I just do the only thing I know: I wait until she’s ready to sleep and then make myself a bed on her couch where I lay wondering how a girl as sweet as this can suffer such profound loss. When the sun has been up for awhile, I go upstairs to her bedroom and find her laying there, staring at the ceiling. I quietly walk to the side of her bed, bend down and say –

“Did you sleep well?”

She shakes her head, looking me in the eyes. And then –

“I don’t know how to fix this.”

– — –

Eleven hours earlier, I’m sitting at a table for two: myself and one of our volunteers who recently lost her mama. She told me about the day they got the diagnosis, about the year full of driving to the hospital for treatments, about her mama promising not to go before the semester was over — she didn’t want her daughter to be distracted during finals. When the last exam was turned in, she headed straight for home where she found herself standing in the kitchen while her daddy told his bride that their daughter was home from college. She opened her eyes, smiled at her husband and then she was gone.

“Really, it was the best timing,” she said, tears running down her cheeks as she sat three feet in front of me, “since my 21st birthday was the next day.”

I start crying not for her, but with her because I too am wondering who will button her wedding gown while telling her she’s the most beautiful bride that’s ever lived, who will teach her how to bathe her little baby one day down the road.

And she tells me about how she called him the other day only to beg –

“Daddy, you have to fix this!”

– — –

It’s five hours earlier and I’m getting dressed for the day, not yet knowing that I’ll spend much of it crying. I reach for my earrings, glancing in the mirror as I start to put them on. That’s where I’m standing when I suddenly think of how it could be, how it would be if things were the way it should be between me and them. I dismiss the feelings quickly, reminding myself that this is how it’s been for years and no amount of wishing it was different has ever done any good. I reach for the square glass of perfume and it hits me again, the indescribable pain of missing them. And I’m furious with myself for even caring but I can’t make it stop and suddenly I’m back in bed, tears all over my pillow as I say the only thing I can think of –

“Please… will You fix this?”

– — –

And sometimes He will. Sometimes He’ll fix this.

But sometimes He chooses to fix us instead.

A couple of weeks ago, when I was the only one at the office guarding the goods whilst a few of the girls went to get a truck for some bigger things we need to move out, I just happened to grab a box of journals from one of our middle school programs and started reading what the girls have been saying lately. I came across this gem, written by a 7th grade girl to her college-aged volunteer and knew I had to share it with you:

“The big news in my life right now is that I’M FINALLY ALLOWED TO HAVE A BOYFRIEND. And guess what? I’ve ALREADY got boy drama. So…… HELP!”

Get used to it, sister. Oh and check out this one, from an eighth grade girl:

“I have an amazing boyfriend! He treats me so good, even better than all my other boyfriends did. He even carries my purse for me!”

Yes, because by eighth grade, I also had “all my other boyfriends.” Definitely. I totally identify.

And then, near the end of the stack, I found this one, from a girl in seventh grade. I’m guessing they skipped the lesson about run-on sentences in English class last year:

“Okay, so there’s this really cute guy that I like and his name is Mark and he is sooooo cute. So in our 7th period math class I sit right in front of my friend Jenny and we were talking and I was talking to Mark and then I got done and Jenny said my first name WITH HIS LAST NAME acting like I was married to Mark which I WASN’T cause that would be extremely weird but anyways so I said something about Jenny that was funny and good to this kid named John and then Ben told John that I liked Mark and John told Mark that I wasn’t supposed to do that and then Mark looked at me and said “do you like me” and I said no but I really do like him but I don’t want him to know that and I wasn’t mad at Jenny or anything but I was so embarrassed. So, that’s my story.”

I’m glad she was able to get all that off her chest.