When I was asked to write for this blog, I have to say, I was like, “What in the world would I write about?” Yes, I have lots of life experiences, but writing about them just seemed a little too much at the beginning. And, besides, where on earth would I start? (Seriously, where would I start?!)
I guess, first, I would start by introducing myself since I had been doing it all week in different groups. I have such an unusual name, it only seems natural to explain how my parents arrived at Mignon. Really, how many Mignons do you know with “Mig” as a nickname? How did I get that name? I knew you would ask.
No, my father and mother didn’t look down at their Saturday evening meal of filet mignon steak and say, “Let’s name her Mignon!” Nor did they call me Mig for short because they saw a Russian fighter plane zoom through the air (although that, some would say, fits me perfectly). But, instead, I was named after my Aunt Mignon, and it was shortened to Mig by my four brothers. A beautiful French name that means “cute,” I’m sure it will be passed down generation after generation. (Just kidding, family!)
I continued thinking about my name and what kind of impression I would make writing, and would I really want to sign my name to the post? Like, what if it’s bad, and everyone would remember my name as the woman who can’t write?! Then, the Holy Spirit spoke to me and said,
“What’s really in your name, Mig?”
“What? What’s in my name?” I thought.
“Yeah, what’s in your name? Am I in your name? I want you to write about what’s in a name—not what you’ve accomplished, but instead, what you left of me.”
Just at that moment, I looked down at my shirt. Now, anyone who knows me knows I’m a space cadet, and remembering what I put on that day would be like asking me what I wore last Tuesday, but to my surprise, I looked down and saw, “Love Has a Name.” And it just blew me away. I think every single being of my soul was goosebumping. (I know, not a word, but I’m using it!) We’ve all had them, the ones that make the hair on your arms stand up straight, oh, and they are so strong that you are convinced you have an electrical current running through your body and anyone next to you will be electrocuted. Yeah, those. And the most delightful thing is you can’t decide if you want to cry or scream for joy, so you stay silent, totally paralyzed by the awesomeness of it all. I call it “The Holy Spirit Attention-Getter.”
Well, He got my attention, all right, as I scurried through my memory bank, thinking of all the times I might have missed the chance for my name to portray the love of Christ. Like the time in elementary school, where all girls were mean, leaving someone out each day on the playground. I played that game for a while until I was the one left out, and I said, “No more!” Believe me, I’m sure a couple of those elementary girls still remember my name, and the thought of “Mig” only shouts “MEANIE!” in their heads.
Or as an adult who has no tolerance of inconsiderate drivers who swing from one lane to the next just to get to the stoplight a few seconds before me. The ones that ride my bumper, and my car rages, seemingly, back by slowing down, slower, slower, slower, trapping them in the flow of traffic. The honks are screaming, “Pick up your pace!” (I’m actually saving them from a ticket, but don’t let them know my name!)
Although I crumbled in despair, His grace showed me the many times that I shared His love, His name, through my name. Like the time I sat on the porch with Dorothy, a widow who loved to talk about old times. The child that I picked up and consoled after a fall on the school playground. The practice of being patient while waiting in line for the store clerk to bag up a family’s groceries because the store didn’t have enough workers to help that day. The time I skipped my turn to allow another fellow student to go first in a game at recess. The forgiveness I gave my friend for staining the shirt that I let her borrow.
“Really?” I was thinking to myself; “I’ve done bigger things than that!” Then, I realized He was showing me the simple acts of love instead of the big ones and how important they are. And even though we may dismiss them, He does not. God loves to surprise me with His wisdom, and I’m sure He laughs at how I react—my being dumbfounded that He gave it to me. Either way, knowing it’s Him giving it to me, instead of thinking it’s my own intelligence, really humbles the soul.
So as I come to the end of my first post, God reminds me that the start of introducing my name is the beginning and end of who I am. My name in this world is Laura Mignon, or “Mig,” and the substance of my name should always be Christ’s love. Not what the world may proclaim—creative, artsy, funny, goofy, absent-minded, beekeeper, oily nerd, Lyft driver, Court Appointed Special Advocate, Family Support Specialist, teacher, meanie, slow driver—but instead, “Love,” because He lives in me, and Love has a name.