Keep the Change

There is a certain amount of irrational behavior that occurs in girls starting at about age 11. Notice that I did not say, "from age 11-24," or, "from age 11-38," because I'm pretty sure that once a woman has passed the threshold of irrational behavior, they can never go back. This is not to say that every woman is irrational all the time. However, I think it would be safe to say that occasional estrogen induced irrationality is not an uncommon occurrence starting from about middle school on. My first "irrational experience" occurred when I was 11. My dad has just sold his company and my mom had been given the dreaded job of telling me that we were moving. Now, to understand my reaction, you must know that I hated change with a passion, which was evidenced by the “101 Dalmatians” decals stuck to the wall of my pre-teen room.

"We can't move!" I screamed. “We have lived in that house my entire life! All my friends are there!" I don't particularly remember my mom's reaction, but I do remember grabbing the door handle and threatening to jump out of our white and gold mini-van. It was my first try at an ultimatum. Mom says we're not moving, and she keeps her little girl. Mom says we are moving, and I jump out of a moving vehicle. Makes perfect sense, right? Needless to say, I did not jump out, but not because my ultimatum worked. Apparently you can still use child safety locks on pre-teens, even though they are not children and have it all figured out.

We moved. I hated my life for about 6 months, and then I began to realize that my parents really did know a thing or two about making good decisions. However, even though the course of my life was greatly improved by this change, I still find myself, at the age of 24, driving by the house I grew up in. You can't blame me, though, because I come by this change phobia quite naturally. You see, my Dad doesn't like change either. In fact, he had a similar reaction when his parents moved into a new house after he had graduated from college. He said to his mom, "you're selling my house!?!" OK, so it was no where near my reaction, but he was still upset. It’s not that we don’t like moving onto new and better things; I think it’s just that we treasure each moment of life and respect the fact that every experience has made us who we are. We don’t ever want to forget where we came from.

My dad has come a long way since his days of High School Band President (yes, that's right...President of the Band-Joes). And even though he has achieved a tremendous amount in the eyes of the world since his humble beginnings in Lubbock, TX, he has never forgotten where he came from. He still likes to eat fried squash and meatloaf. He’ll always cheer for the Red Raiders and eat too many funnel cakes and hotdogs at basketball games. He’ll always shine his own shoes and bargain with the salesman on any major purchase. He’ll always listen to ELO, the Beatles and Elton John way too loud in the car and have a deep respect for a good marching band. He'll always part his hair on the left and tuck in all his shirts...even t-shirts. He’ll always love baseball and Nolan Ryan. In fact, the only thing that’s changed about my dad in the area of sports in the past 35 years is his love for the Cowboys (but I think he will always secretly love them). He’ll always take the time to tell people he’s proud of them and to give of his time and money. He’ll always put his family first. He’ll always love the Lord and seek Him with all his heart, and he’ll do that not because he dislikes change, but because he feels the need to cling to his convictions.

We serve an unchanging God, one who is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. However, we also serve a God who desires change. Ironic, isn’t it? A never-changing, change-orchestrating God. So, how does a man, who has a deep dislike of change, worship this life-changing God? Trust. He trusts the Lord completely. Unlike my 11-year-old self, my dad trusts that the Lord works for the good of those who love him. And that faith in the Lord, that unchanging, unrelenting faith, has changed him forever.

Merging

From the moment Allie Kelly and I got kicked out of Drivers Ed class in the 9th grade, I knew that driving was not going to be my strong point. That incident (which is another story for another time, and really not that interesting) was soon followed by a thrilling experience that took place behind the wheel of a car traveling down highway 183 during rush hour. Did I mention I tried to “merge” going 30 mph….hence the use of the word “thrilling.” Merge. I knew that you merged when you drove. I could even use it in a sentence. But actually doing it was a completely different thing. Not to mention, it was my second time ever behind the wheel of a car, and I had the added bonus of car accidents running in my family (also another story for another time, but much more interesting). However, I did have the advantage of a very encouraging teacher. As she was yelling at me to “merge,” she also was kind enough to ask me, “do you see all those cars moving? They’re swerving because they’re trying to get away from YOU!” This word of encouragement, of course, did wonders for my driving at the moment and for my future confidence as an operator of a large killing machine.

As scary as it was, I received my official Diver’s License on my 16th birthday, accompanied by a forest green Jeep with gold stripes. Yes, I said gold. And I looked hot in all the pics my mom took of me sitting on the hood of my new jeep in front of my local branch of DPS. Eventually I learned to merge, so that cars no longer had to swerve out of my path, and 3 accidents and 1 ticket later, I had become what you would call an “experienced driver.”

Merging. When witnessed from afar, it appears rather simple, but it’s not that easy is it? You not only have to plan ahead, but you have to step out on faith, even if it is a small amount of faith, and hope that some random stranger will let you in.

Christian and I were talking tonight about truly knowing people. I mean, do you ever really know a person? Do you think that Adolph Hitler’s mistress ever thought him capable of mass genocide when he was simply Adolph the painter? In truth, entering into a relationship with someone is much like merging. You not only have to step out on faith, but you have to hope and pray that the other person will be willing to let you in (and that he or she will not be a complete psychopath). And then there’s the planning thing. But in my opinion, God is much better at that than me. I am eternally grateful to the Maker that, in His graciousness, he changed the plans I had for my life and allowed me to merge with such an incredible man of God. No, merging for us was not easy, nor was it done perfectly, but there are not words to adequately describe the pure joy of being let so deeply into another’s life. To be headed down a new road that you know has much greater purpose and possibility than your road before is an amazing, yet humbling feeling. Thank you, Christian, for letting me in, for leading me down a more beautiful path, and for putting faith in our Maker. You are, and always will be, the best merge I ever made.

Barnabas

There are very few people in the world who have the ability to make others feel the way that Jenny Thompson does. You are my Barnabas. Thanks for reading my blog, Fuller-than-yo-mama. More on her later....

World War III

I like to joke and tell people that if they missed WWIII, it's because they didn't live in the Skidmore household from approximately 1998-2001 (which just happens to be the exact years I attended high school. Complete coincidence.) Some people would call our family dramatic. I prefer the term passionate. Shelby was not being dramatic when she climbed on the roof and threatened to kill herself if I didn't let her sleep with the dog. She was simply very passionate about the fact the Isabell needed a good nights rest. And I was not being dramatic when I ran to my room crying on Valentine's Day because the card my father gave me took 2 lines to say, “Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie. I love you,” while the card he gave my sister took 8 lines to say the exact same thing. I was simply passionate about the fact that the love (and lines) needed to be equally distributed among siblings. If there was a game called “Passion,” and my family played, my dad would briefly regret his third place victory (while claiming he had "nothing to prove" by wining a game), Shelby and I would be yelling/crying over who got second place, and my mom would, without a doubt, be singing “I won, I won, I really really won” in a mock opera voice. My mom is many things, but what makes her “Millie” is her passion. And I don’t mean drama. I mean passion. Just today, she took my great aunt coffee (as she does every day), made Christmas gifts for all her niece’s teachers, took her sister dinner, ran errands for Shelby, helped me make 20 Christmas gifts for my colleagues at work, and took me and Christian out to eat. If that doesn’t take passion, I don’t know what does. And I didn’t even tell you about her plans for tomorrow. She is an endless supply of selfless energy, and, unlike OPEC’s, hers is completely free. It doesn’t cost a thing. I guess what I’m trying to say is that she loves like Christ loves: without any catches, expectations or ulterior motives. She loves because Christ loved her first. Now that’s worth being dramatic about.

Late Bloomer

I am a late person. If an event starts at 7:00, you can almost guarantee that I will fail to make my entrance until 10 past. I send out Christmas cards around New Years, I still don't have a wedding album, it took me 4 months to change my name after getting married (and 3 months to replace the new driver's license I lost one week later), and even as we speak I am setting up this thing called a "blog," which most of my friends have had for at least a year now. My justification for this "thorn in my side" (and in my husband's side as well): humility. This little imperfection (among many others) keeps me humble. It also makes me who I am. Isn't it true that so often our greatest imperfections are the flip side to that coin which bears our greatest strengths? I have yet to find out what the flip side of my "imperfection coin" is, but I'm sure I'll figure it out one day....when I get around to it.

All that to say, I am blessed by the little idiosyncrasies of the people I come into contact with each day. I am blessed by their imperfections. I am blessed by their strengths. I am blessed because the Lord has beautifully crafted them to be just the way they are; He has gifted them in ways he did not necessarily gift me, and I want to not only admire their gifts from afar, but relish in them. Seek to learn from them. Mirror them.

So here's the plan. Each time I blog, I am going to highlight a particular person whom I admire. They may be a close friend or family member. They may be a child in my class. Or they may just be an acquaintance or stranger I speak to in line at HEB. You have blessed my life with your gifts, and I want to share that with the world (or maybe just the 8-10 people who actually read this).