And now, the transcript of this morning’s church bulletin discussion between myself and one of my college girlies, Honour:

Me: “Which of their outfits do you like best?  Rank them, please: brown shirt guy, pink shirt guy or blue shirt guy?”

Honour: “1 – brown; 2 – blue, if you took off the Quiksilver part and 3 – pink.”

Me: “I really like the pink shirt guy best but I had this odd urge to hug the brown shirt guy during P & W.  I resisted, however.”

Honour: “I think you should.  Question: why do we always cut up in church when we sit together?”

Me: “Because we’re immature girls in our early twenties?  I mean, I love Jesus, but I like boys in cute shirts, too.”

Honour: “Well, I like my men rugged, with scruffy beards.  Basically men who look like they’re homeless but aren’t.”

Me: “Well I like my men looking kinda preppy, kinda casual — with good hair!”

Honour: “Yeah, hair is def. important.  Beards!!!”

Me: “Gag me!  Have you ever kissed a boy with a beard?!?!  Obvs not, or you’d know better than to want that.  It is so good that you have me in your life to teach you these things!”

Honour: “I have wondered what kind of affect that would have on kissing.”

There was also a bit of discussion of how much we like men’s colognes, but I’ll spare you the details.

Other than to say that, on our last retreat when mother-to-be Ashley and I were sharing a hotel bed, I most definitely sprayed her with men’s cologne when we were in Gap just so I could smell it all night.

Please, please tell me you would have done the same thing ’cause I still feel a little guilty about the headache it gave her.

On my way home tonight, I decided to stop by a local park to swing for a bit.  My earliest memory of God is of talking to Him while swinging in my backyard as a child.  I truly believed He was standing in front of the swing, just listening to me chatter away.  More than two decades have passed then, but I still can’t help but think He likes it when I come swing with Him.

I didn’t say too much to Him tonight; the silence was comfortable, so I kept fairly quiet.  But then a breeze came through, causing my hair starting flying around and my mouth to open –

“I’m still Your girl, You know.”

He already knew it, of course; I just thought He might like a little reminder.

And I just felt like reminding myself, too.

I woke up this morning thinking about Katie going to marriage counseling today; since she and Eric are full-time students (graduating this May!), they had to schedule ALL of their sessions for one day — pretty intense, right?

I decided to send her (whom I call “little one” affectionately and yet accurately — she is awfully little) a quick text to let her know she was on my mind this morning:

“Been thinking about how exciting it is that you’re going to pre-marital counseling today!  One step closer, little one!  YAY!”

I got a reply within seconds:

“Can you come pick Eric up after we break up?”

And now join me for a round of “What did Amy Beth spend her Friday evening doing?”

a. Glamorous date to a little French restaurant downtown with a very handsome boy as her date.

b. Opening night at the opera with a very handsome boy as her date.

c. Declaring war on ants in her living room with two very handsome puppies as her date.

If you chose option C, you are quite the astute blog reader.  Also: can I just say that I really didn’t realize how pathetic my Friday night really was until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I held an ant bait trap thing-y in one hand and the bottle of Raid in the other?

I can see the personal ad now:

“SWF, 24, enjoys long walks on the beach, candlelight dinners at home and spending her Friday evenings with the entire ant population of the greater Cleveland area.”

The best part is that, as the years go by, I can easily change the age part: “SWF, 29″ … “SWF, 34″ … “SWF, 47.”  BRILLIANT, I KNOW.

I had just pulled out of the grocery store parking lot when the song came on the radio.

It was a guy singing to a girl about how she should leave her lying boyfriend and let him have a chance at loving her, telling her “you deserve better, girl.”  It was the chorus, however, that nearly caused me to drive off the side of the road:

{ You should let me love you… show you the way love is supposed to be. }

It was almost as if He was suddenly there in the car with me, buckled into the passenger seat with His gaze turned to me as He silently let me think over the concept of allowing Him to love me, to show me what love is really supposed to look like.

– — –

And I just can’t get Him to stop.

When I’m stepping out of the shower each morning…

You should let Me love you, Amy Beth.

When I grab a quick bite of lunch in between meetings…

You should let Me show you the way love is supposed to be, Amy Beth.

When I’m slipping into sleep at night…

You should let Me love you, Amy Beth.

– — –

It was cold as we walked into his house that night, hand in hand.  I had just finished taking off my coat when he sat me down on his couch, took my face in his hands and said “I want to know everything about you so I can love you even more than I do now, better than I’ve been loving you.”  It was, almost to the very word, the thing I’ve always wanted: to be known and to be loved, in that particular order.

I sat in silence, absolutely stunned.  And then, finally, a whispered protest:

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”  I mean, he already knew a lot; it wasn’t like we were just beginning to get to know each other.

“Start anywhere,” he said, pulling me to him until my head was on his shoulder.

So I began, telling him trivial facts about taking ballet lessons as a child and how I’ve never really liked pure chocolate.  He listened quietly before gently interrupting me:

“Baby, I want to know the deep things about you, all the things you don’t tell other people.”

The words had barely left his mouth when I had an image of myself the night he had told me everything was over, that he wanted out.  We hadn’t even fought — love was just too hard, he said.  I was still sitting on the floor of my bathroom, face in my knees as I cried over the boy who had said marriage when he called back to say he had made a mistake and could he please just take everything back?  I said a soft yes that night, an answer that I now recognize as being born out of fear of being alone.  I had blocked the memory from my mind, at least until now, the moment I was sitting on the couch, expected to begin pouring out my heart to him.

Before I could stop myself, the words came tumbling out –

“I don’t trust you enough to believe you wouldn’t leave if you knew everything.”

And I was right.  He left a few weeks later, ironically without even knowing everything.

– — –

I think we all want to be loved.  And, I think we all want to be known.

I just want it in the opposite order.

When we say we love another human being, we do so with whatever knowledge we have about them; it’s rare to hear someone say they love someone without being able to name even one reason why they love them.  The same is true when it comes to choosing to not love someone; it’s usually based on some piece (pieces?) of knowledge we have about them.

We make the choice of whether to love or not based on knowledge.

It’s just human nature.

And then there He comes with full knowledge of us, yet still choosing to love.

It’s just His nature.

– — –

I can’t think of how many nights I’ve spent knowing He’s sitting by my bed, waiting for me to confide in Him while I turn over, pull the covers over my head and quietly whisper “I don’t trust You enough to believe You wouldn’t leave if You knew everything.”

It’s just ridiculous if you think about it, saying that to a God who, by very definition, already knows everything about us and has yet to leave.  He’s never left me, never once taught me by His actions to expect Him to leave.  No, He didn’t teach me that at all — human nature taught it to me and I’ve been trying to transfer it onto His nature all this time, somehow foolishly expecting Him to behave as one of us might.

And yet there He waits each night with the same offer born out of full knowledge of who I am:

“You should let Me love you… let Me show you the way love is supposed to be.”

To think that He knows more about me than even I will ever know and still offers to love me — it’s almost the very definition of the word unbelievable.

And yet being played out by my bedside even tonight.

Between Cousin Cate (pictured above), Cousin Marisa and myself, we received no less than 30 text messages today informing us not to go to Wal-Mart tonight as there was a rumor going around that a gang was going to be at a random Wal-Mart in the nation.  While we, just like every news station around, obviously discounted it at as rumor, the funniest text came to my phone late this afternoon from bride-to-be Katie who had received quite a few of the forwarded texts herself:

“Hey… will you meet me at Wal-Mart tonight?”

Well, our little bride-to-be only has 87 days to go until THE DAY arrives.

In other words, your little Amy Beth only has 87 days to go until THE DRESS must fit, but hey, let’s just talk about happy things today, shall we?

Yesterday sweet Katie and I went to pick out the invitations for a couples shower I and some of the other bridesmaids are giving her in April. We found the most darling invitations you have EVER seen but what makes them even cuter is the rhyme that includes Katie’s current last name and her soon-to-be married name. How is this possible, you ask? Well, in a really odd twist of irony, Katie’s last name is a color and Eric’s last name is also a color.

CRAZY, I KNOW.

After picking out the invitations, Katie presented me with my Valentine’s gift (hey, we like to keep the holiday around as long as possible). When I opened it, I sat in shock for a good 32 seconds which, for me, is basically an eternity when it comes to being quiet. I’m not sure if I’ve ever received a more appropriate gift, much less one that I am sure to use every single day until Mr. Right arrives.

If you’re a mama with a kidlet watching with you, please view the video first without little eyes around. You’ll see why when the good little girl in me exclaims “Wait! I feel like we need to cover that up!”

Oh yes. Welcome to the best Valentine’s Day gift EVER.

I had a bit of extra time in my schedule today, so I sent a quick text to my college girls who still live on-campus to ask if any of them would want to have lunch with me in the campus dining hall. Five of them were able to make it and I’m happy to report that the conversation was even better than the food. In 50 minutes, we discussed the following: spring break; weird ice cream store decor; my first boyfriend; a concert in town this weekend; the pond in Honour’s backyard; my Snoogle; old bananas; rotten oranges and a boy Joy once kissed.

In other words, I had five great dates for lunch today, seen above making a pact to be the girls who ask for the epidural as soon as they get to the hospital. Don’t ask — it’s a long (and strange) story.

{ Pictured L to R: Joy; Keri; Anna; Honour and Paco }

On my way home from Memphis, right about three hours from my doorstep, I started crying.

It wasn’t the type of tears that sometimes come from leaving good friends behind or from just being tired after a whirlwind trip; it wasn’t even the ones that can be brought on from coming home to a house that’s perhaps just a bit too quiet.

I was crying because I couldn’t stop thinking about how God loves me enough to wait for me.

I know this might sound crazy, especially from a girl who works in ministry, but I have a confession to make: though I wholeheartedly love God, I have always had a very difficult time accepting Him loving me.

Don’t get me wrong — I know He loves me. Even if He never did another thing for me, never spoke another loving word to me, never even turned His head towards me again ’til I reached heaven, I can still know that He loves me simply based on what His Word tells me.

But that’s just the thing: even though He owes me nothing, He continues to give me everything.

When I run, there He waits, ready to chase me down and carry me home.

When I’m angry, there He waits, knowing it won’t be long ’til I’m ready to work it out.

When I’m silent, there He waits, convincing me that it’s safe to speak to Him.

When I’m lonely, there He waits, staying closer to me than any human ever could.

When I’m afraid, there He waits, promising me that I’m still in His hands.

– — –

And I’m so familiar with the concept of waiting because sometimes it feels that all I do is wait.

I wait for people to come into my life and for others to leave.

I wait for situations to change; for circumstances to be different.

I wait for things — some material, some immaterial — to arrive.

– — –

But now? Now I will wait for Him for He is my portion.

I won’t wait for things to appear because He is my portion.

I won’t wait for situations to change because He is my portion.

And I won’t wait for any particular person to arrive in my life because He is my portion.

{ the Lord is my portion, therefore i will wait for Him. lamentations 3:24 }

I used to not like apples, but in my new attempt to eat several servings of fruits and vegetables a day, I’ve rekindled our romance one bite at a time.