The blog home of speaker and writer Mindy von Atzigen

The blog home of speaker and writer Mindy von Atzigen I am a lover of words, Jesus, and His church. I am also a wife, a mom, and a friend. I hope you'll consider me yours...

Sweet Moments in a Hot Summer

We've had a tremendously hot summer already, and it's only June. That doesn't bode well for West Texas. But, I have learned something living in this great state for......a number of years, and that is when it gets hot in Texas, Texans eat watermelon.  And it helps us feel like it's cooler.


It also makes us happier.  My husband had a revelation the other night and shared it with me.  It went something like this.  "I don't have a single bad memory involving watermelons." 


I could tell he was really impressed by that thought, so I stopped to ponder it, too.  The truth is I don't really like watermelons, but I don't have any bad memories of them, either.  It must be because when watermelons are served, the mood turns festive.  And I might pass on the watermelon, but I like a good party.


So, if you need to change the way your day is going, lop off the end of a chilled watermelon and start cutting huge chunks of the sweet stuff and handing them out to whoever is nearby.  Then, stand back and watch the smiles.  Maybe snap a few photos....because watermelons make smiles, and smiles make for good memories.












Collide

Our friends' ranch burned this week.  The horses were saved, the buildings spared, but all the land is charred.  And another friend's home threatened, and then another.  Wildfires are raging in our West Texas countryside, and the church now has a line-item in the budget labeled "Hotel Rooms for Fire Evacuees."  We can often smell the smoke in town, sometimes even see ash fall as we walk to the car and go about our normal routine.  Our world is normal, while our friends have been thrown into chaos, everything they have built being threatened by fire.


And in the middle of it, sometime around two in the morning, I sat in the back yard, willing the rain storm I could see in the west to please come our way and collide with the huge orange glow south of town.


Collide.


Won't you come, Lord?  Won't you bring the power of who You are and collide with the fires that rage in the earth?  Won't you cause Your presence to rain upon the mess we have made, bringing life where we have caused destruction?


I sat for almost an hour, and I couldn't help but stretch my arms out to the sky and with one hand touch the storm and with the other hand touch the fire and with both hands push.  Push them together and pray.  I prayed the collision that began 2,000 years ago with a baby born in the manger would continue in my life and in the lives of my children and in the lives of my neighbors being ravaged by the drought and the heat and the winds.  And I prayed that I would bring the collision, that I would carry it with me and unleash it upon the works of the enemy.  I prayed that my life would bring the power of who He is to the fires that rage in the earth and that I would rain His presence, bringing life to those who need to drink of Him.


Come Lord Jesus.  Come in me, and I will collide.

Come In This House

"All the believers were together and had everything in common....they broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God..."  (Acts 2:44-46)


The believers were together.  They broke bread together.  They were sincere with each other.


Where did it go?  How do we find ourselves alone and lacking deep relationships?


As much as we hate to admit it, it doesn't really have much to do with our busy schedules.  Rather, it's because opening our homes and inviting other people in makes us vulnerable.


Our houses, our yards, the food we put on the table--- we see them all as a reflection of ourselves.  And it's a scary thing to put ourselves on display, with all our weaknesses and imperfections.  It's easier to hole up, keep the circle small, meet people at a restaurant for dinner, or skip the family mingling all together and just stick with the occasional lunch date while the kids are at school.


But, what we miss out on is the sharing of life.  The sense of being a part of a circle of friends who really know each other.  The ability to say, "I'm not perfect, but I'll share who I am with you.  I'll not only invite you in, but I'll also step into your life without passing judgment on your imperfections.  I'll choose not to feed myself on the table that holds the wound from the last time I tried to go deep, and I'll learn with you how to live life in transparent friendship."


The day I took my family to a friend's house and stepped out to see the girls having their tea party in the back of the old family pick-up truck, something grabbed at my heart and I started snapping pictures, desperate to capture the moment.


Days later, as I pondered the images, it struck me.  I could do this.


I could choose to invite people into my world without having to perfect my world first.  I could share what I have in the moment without worrying that it's not enough.  I could seize every opportunity to see my friends laugh at my table instead of waiting until they'll be impressed by my domestic skills, which might very well mean I would wait forever.


I could offer myself like tea in a mason jar, and we can grow to be porcelain together. 








Nicknames and Blessings

My nickname growing up was "Birdlegs."  It was bestowed upon me by a gruff grandpa who didn't know how to express affection.  His best attempts were the call signs he gave to each one of his grandchildren.  With my overly skinny body and complete lack of curves, the name was fitting, but never flattering.  Have you ever looked at a bird's legs?  Not pretty.  And while it's true I wouldn't mind hearing that nickname now, with a not so skinny body and plenty of curves, it wasn't something I delighted in at the time.


It could have been worse, though, much worse.  Many kids' nicknames are worse.  And it doesn't stop at nicknames.  Words, and the tone they're spoken in, have the power to profoundly wound.  They leave marks that may not be visible to the eye, but shape the heart and form the lenses through which that little person will view themselves and the world around them.


Words have the power to label, and children must be labeled correctly.  They must be identified by their strengths and not their weaknesses.


If we were to follow God's example, the labels we bestowed upon our kids would be blessings.  When God gives a new name, it's always a step up.  Abram the Father to Abraham the Father of Many.  Jacob the Deceiver to Israel the Prince.  Simon the Reed to Peter the Rock. 


When our Father labels us, it's always for our good.  It always calls us higher.


When people give names, it's usually an attempt to reduce in size or to remind everyone who hears of the person's failure in an embarrassing memory.


I want to be like my Father. 


And so I choose to call my third born a warrior.  Yes, there are days he fights for the wrong things and in the wrong way.  That's why I'm here, to teach and keep on teaching, until he gets it right.  But in the meantime, my words will remind him of his calling and not his shortcomings.  I will praise him for the gifts God has placed in him to war for the underdog and to stand for what is right.  I will teach him to use his strength to heal and not to wound.  And I will help him remember how God sees him.






Lord, make the words of my mouth be a blessing to those I speak to.  May the names I give speak of the treasure I see in the people who bear Your image.  Even when I speak to myself, may my pronouncements be those that build up, honor, and encourage.  And when I can not see good to speak of, open my eyes and let me see what You see.  And may Your words in my mouth bring healing.  Amen.