A little over a month ago, as I was walking to my car in a parking lot here in town, someone (whom I didn’t know) walked up to me and asked if I was the girl who had began Starlite.  I told him that I was and he immediately began telling me how disappointed he was that Starlite has ended. It’s a sentiment I’ve heard expressed literally hundreds of times in the last five months and I can certainly understand why people feel that way; no one ever really wants to see a ministry — especially one as “successful” as Starlite was — end. It just doesn’t seem “right”… even if it is right.

As I listened to him talk, it became obvious that he had some very strong opinions about the ministry ending.  He told me that he had friends on the “inside” of the ministry who had told him the “real” truth — that Starlite ended because I was “over” it and wanted out.  Without waiting to see if I had a reply to his statement, he asked me how it feels to go to bed at night knowing that I “singlehandedly caused a ministry to hundreds of young girls to crumble?”

– — –

When it came down to the last few months of Starlite, I was pretty sure I wanted to leave town as soon as it ended.  I just didn’t think I could stand to live here after it was over, especially since my life here has revolved around the ministry until just a few months ago.  I quietly began interviewing for jobs in other states, secretly hoping that I would get the green light from God to move somewhere that I could begin a “new” life.  I didn’t have anything here to run from, but at the same time, a chance to be known as something other than “the girl who began Starlite” was very, very appealing to me.

And then, as you know by now, I ended up staying here not because I necessarily wanted to, but because God called me to stay right where He had me.

– — –

There are some things that God calls us to do that we won’t understand until we reach heaven but, thankfully, this has not been one of those things for me.  We’re just shy of five months since the end of Starlite and I already see several very clear reasons why He called me to stay.  At the top of that list are my 11 remaining Starlite college girls, no two alike.

They’re sophomores and juniors and seniors; they’re from the southern states and a couple from the north, too.  They’re Biology majors and English majors and maybe even a couple switching between majors right now.  They’ve got parents who stand on the porch when they come home for Fall Break and they’ve got parents whom they haven’t heard from in weeks.  They’re single and engaged; introverts and extroverts.

They are the girls who led Starlite’s programs in our ten elementary, middle and high schools.  These are the girls who were in charge of the other college girls who volunteered with the programs, our leaders in the ministry. With the sheer number of volunteers that Starlite had each semester, it was impossible for me to know the majority of our volunteers but the 15 or so who served as leaders for the programs — well, those girls became “my girls” each semester.

Nine of them just left my house a few minutes ago.

– — –

Not everyone shows their frustration with Starlite ending in the way that man did in the parking lot a few weeks ago.  Most people just tell me how disappointed they are, how they thought I had real “potential” in ministry, some even going as far as to suggest that I basically threw away my chances at further success in vocational ministry by leaving Starlite.  It’s those people, not the man in the parking lot, that I want to politely ask to quit speaking (but don’t worry, I’m far too much of a good southern girl to do such a thing).  I listen quietly, mainly because I’ve discovered that, if I don’t say much in response, they get bored fairly quickly and then I can get back to bagging my groceries at the self-checkout lane.

But, since it’s just you and me tonight, let me tell you what I really want to tell them.

– — –

I want to tell them that yes, yes I was doing ministry when I stood on a stage and gave altar calls that hundreds of middle school girls responded to, crying in an altar as they gave their lives to Christ.

But I was also doing ministry when I woke Avi up this morning, dressing her for the day.

I want to tell them that it was definitely ministry when we had ten public schools agree to let our programs in, when we held our programs right there in the cafeterias and libraries and gymnasiums.

But it was also ministry this evening when I listened to one of my college girls talk about her broken engagement.

I want to tell them at it was unbelievable ministry when girls that came into our programs were set free from eating disorders, self-mutilation, etc., never to return to them again.

But it was also ministry when I spontaneously kissed one of my girls on the forehead as she left my house tonight, only to hear her spontaneously say “you’re the best mom ever.”

– — –

No, I didn’t throw away my chances at ministry.  No, I didn’t cause a ministry to crumble.  In fact, if you want to know the truth, I actually haven’t left ministry at all.

And neither have you.

That baby that will be waking up in a few short hours, hungry while there’s still hours left until daylight?  Your ministry.  That husband who will put on a perfectly ironed shirt tomorrow morning because you did hours of laundry this afternoon?  Your ministry.  That coworker who has it out for you and doesn’t mind if you know it?  Your ministry.  That teenage daughter who slammed her bedroom door shut earlier tonight when you told her she’s grounded for two weeks?  Your ministry.

Don’t you ever let someone tell you that ministry only happens on stages or in altars or in front of crowds.  Should it happen there, will it happen there?  Well, of course it should and will.  That’s a part of ministry, large audiences and big crowds.

But I’ve found that the funny thing about ministry is that it seems to happen just about anywhere and everywhere it can find a place to land, even if the only current availability happens to be in your laundry basket.