Don Miller is Engaged! (And I'm Gonna Make a "List")

So, my Don Miller craze has much subsided. Thankfully. Else I wouldn't have been able to handle this news. For those of you who need a refresher:

and . . .

So . . . yeah. About that.

Anyway, I read the earlier linked post and thought that it was very well-written and that his fiancee's "list" was sweet. I remembered that one of the session speakers at the conference I went to recently mentioned a "list" as well.

Sigh . . . the "list."

I'll admit I wrote a whole essay "list" when I was sixteen. It was called "My Dream Guy." Ugh. I cringe at the thought. I still have it somewhere. I can tell you this now: My priorities have changed. And thank God.

I think I would do well to write another. Seriously, this time. Part of me is scared to because then I'll be admitting that I want something specific instead of thinking I'll just float along until a magic flash of lightning gallops by and finally snatches me up. (I used to hate that . . . "Ah cain't ba-LEEVE nobody hadn't come and just snatched you UP yet.")

There's no magic, no knights, no shining armor, no white horses, no damsels in distress. Just regular, real people who choose to love one another.

Verdict: Fabulous

So . . . this past Thursday through Saturday was spent in Tennessee at a singles' conference called The Power of One.

First of all, thank you, Lord that it was not one iota as dismal as was prophesied. Yes, there were a fair share of middle-aged divorcees, but there were also a fair share of twenty and thirtysomethings, which was fantastic.

I met new people and reconnected with people I already knew. I received, was reaffirmed, renewed, restored, and was able to rejoice with people of like faith. It really was wonderful.

Some funny things happened: a shoe salesman hilariously tried to pick us up, and we ended up inviting him to church. We were called "Bama babes" by a gentleman we thought was reserved (I died) and he ended up paying for our dinner that night.

Some amazing things happened: Cracker Barrel was held open exclusively for the singles' conference attendees after church, and by the end of the night, 4 waiters and waitresses received the gift of the Holy Ghost. It was unbelievable. I posted a video on Facebook for all to see of one of the waiters praying through. Blew my mind. Check it here.

There's lots that I want to say, that I could say, but I'll just say I'm glad I went. Here's the thing, though. It's so easy to get on cloud 9 at a conference, but what matters is what you do when you get back to life. I want to get back to life right this time.

Don't Wait Till the Battle Is Over

1. I was doing what I thought was a creative two-step in the kitchen while waiting on my biscuits in the oven when my little brother said, "Chantell, that is not a cool dance."

2. What I got my friend for her birthday: parchment paper, a dip pen with a variety of nibs, ink, and envelopes. Perhaps they will provide useful recreation and inspiration after her turns about the grounds of Pemberley.

3. Darling little boy: I'm gonna be with Chantell when I grow up.

Darling little boy's big sister: By the time you grow up, she's gonna be way too o—

Both kids' mom: Sweetie, stop.

4. I wore my yellow dress to camp meeting last night and someone said, "My, don't you look sunny." Was that a compliment or a underhanded slight?

5. Don't wait till the battle is over, shout now! You know in the end, you gonna win. Man, I wish I had my tambourine on that song.

6. Thursday will mark the advent of a momentous occasion—my first foray into national UPCI singles conferencedom. Will a tall, dark and handsome bespectacled Apostolic stranger who has fallen in love with me via my blog (one of my fanciful fantasies) show up? Will our eyes meet and will we then both immediately "know"? Will God reveal to some devout, linguistically talented hottie that The One will be a Spanish-speaking girl in a red dress, and a minute later I walk in bedecked in red splendor greeting him with "Hola"? Perhaps I should temper my delusions of grandeur by keeping in mind an online convo I had with a sarcastic friend of mine:

me: Weird/random question: Have you been to any singles conferences?

10:28 PM friend: singles conference: yes

10:29 PM my sister dragged me to the one in DC for several years until they killed it

my advice: don't go

not only not helpful, but often detrimental

me: Just wondering cuz I was thinking about going to one in TN in June. Called The Power of One. I usually avoid them like the plague, but I need to stop being such a weenie about it and try it out. Really??

Why so?

10:30 PM friend: 1) too many MAD attendees

2) too many weird attendees

10:31 PM 3) too many married attendees who "forgot" their wedding rings

MAD = Middle Aged Divorcee

Ratio of male to female is usually like 1:6

me: LOL

10:32 PM Geez, you're such a kill joy.

friend: you could always go on the Singles Cruise.

Nevertheless, God, please let it be better than my elitist, cynical, killjoy of a friend described it. Thanks.

Assistant Coach

I was having a miserable time.

I had been spending a lot of time nervously licking my lips, wringing my hands, weathering stomach pit knots, sobbing, moping, wallowing, having more breakouts than usual, and mulling things over in my mind to the point of absurdity. Waking up in the morning had become a chore I longed to avoid. It was a combination of things: I had allowed my job at the time to make me feel like a weak, unappreciated failure; I couldn't stop the barrage of mental self-scourging for ever-present regrets which followed me like ghosts; and I felt myself inching closer to that whirlpool of self-obsession and destruction, that same spiral that I already knew would leave me with nothing but vertigo.

I thank God He gave me the wherewithal to make some changes. I had a teary breakup from my abusive boyfriend of a job. I had a shaft-of-light revelation to apply to a PhD program. But still, I needed to do more things outside of myself. Forget about me and my weepy me world. Get involved in something positive and productive. That's why I agreed to be an assistant Junior Bible Quizzing coach.

I am so glad I did. It's just amazing how far these kids have come. I'm so proud of them. We were not the best team, but I'm simply satisfied that the kids had fun learning the Word of God. It's truly been a bright spot for me. Today was the last tournament, and it's something I'll miss being a part of.

Last night he said,

"You look radiant. Are you sure there's not something we don't know about? Something you're keeping from us?"

My only reply consisted of surprised and amused "No!"s sandwiched between bursts of laughter.

My Church Sunbabies and My Red Dress (Again)

I've neglected my sunbabies. My home sunbabies, that is. They're still growing, but I've waited too long to take them out of the planter, so I think I've stunted their growth for life.

But I still have my church sunbabies. I don't know if I've really talked about my church sunbabies. I teach the Toddler class, and we had a lesson on faith. "Do you believe this teeny, tiny seed will turn into a great, big, beautiful flower?" They all nodded exuberantly. Ah, faith like a child.

So we planted some. And they've grown quite wonderfully. You can now see the little sunflower flower head bud. We water them every Sunday:

I luh you, my wittle church sunbeebees . . .

And of course, I rocked my red dress today. Today was the first time in a while that I felt truly positive about myself. But it's not the dress, it's my state of mind. I should keep it up. And I should eventually get some shoes that match the dress a little better. My red shoes didn't go, so I had to settle for black. It's hard to match up reds.

Red All the Rage

I need to stop spending my money.

But I saw this red dress calling out to me! See, what ha' happen wuuuuuz . . .

Seriously, I saw it and they only had dresses not my size. But I figured I would at least try one on, even if it wasn't exactly my size . . . just to see. And whaddya know, I walk into the dressing room, and on the rack (you know, the "discarded" clothes to be put back by the salespeople) BAM! Same red dress, my size. See, if I hadn't have had the faith to try on the first dress even though it wasn't my size, I wouldn't have walked into the dressing room to find the one that was my size! JAY-sus, can I get a witness up in heah?