Talents

There’s this phrase I like to use to describe myself. It’s well known by many, but also misunderstood I believe:

“Jack of all trades, master of none.”

On the surface, this phrase seems a little poignant. You’re saying to the world: “I’m not really that great at any thing.” and that thought used to make me shy away from it. I was afraid that people would think I was looking down on myself, that I lacked confidence in what I talents I have.

When you start to dig deeper into the meaning though, something beautiful happens.

You see, I used to be jealous of the people out there who were great at something. They had this one thing that drove them further, this one passion, this one desire that kept them on track. They knew what they wanted out of life and they pushed toward that everyday.

And then there was me.

I’ve felt the call of music ministry from the age of 16, “This is it!” I said to myself. But I believe God had something different in mind.
At 19, in response to my love for art, I enrolled in art college for photography.
I kept my options open, I continued to learn what I could in the realm of music (A story for another day), and I continued to pursue the arts. I painted, I taught myself some graphic design and videography, I got involved in performing arts and discovered a love for musical theater, and I started writing. I loved it all. But where was my one passion?

I believe one of the hardest parts of life is choosing what to go after.

In fact, if there is one thing I’m great at, It’s probably self-awareness. The ability to not be able to lie to myself. To be able to see the harsh reality at all times without rose colored lenses. It’s more like a curse, really. 🙂

I look at every single one of those things I love and can truthfully say that I am not great at any of them.
Why? I would ask God over and over. Life would be so much easier if I just knew what I needed to pursue!

I slowly realized that maybe I wasn’t called to be great at any one thing. God began to challenge me… What was so wrong with that?
Did he promise me that ‘my calling’ would be one thing? Why should my calling happen like everyone else’s? Why shouldn’t I have many talents?

I’ve been so caught up in finding my calling, my special talent, seeking my passion, that I missed the point.

— — —

Today, I was thinking about the Parable of the Talents in Matthew 25:14-30.

A master leaves money (talents) with three servants. Each servant knows their master is a certain kind of man. He values profit. Yet, clearly he values his servants enough to entrust them with his money. He gives one 5 talents, another 2 talents, and the last servant he gives one talent. He leaves for a while and comes back to find that the servants who had the 5 and 2 talents invested them and multiplied them. The servant with the one talent was scared that he would lose his money and be punished by his master, so he buried it.
The master returns and he praises the first two servants for taking what he gave them and multiplying it. But the third servant he scolds and throws out into the darkness for not having multiplied his one talent.
I’ll admit this story has always seemed a little harsh to me. I mean, he didn’t lose the talent, he could’ve went and spent it, but he didn’t. Was it so bad that he was scared that he would fail his master?

But I realized today that that’s not the point.
Multiplication of one’s talent is a side effect of one’s view of the master. The first two servants knew their master, knew that they had been given a lot of trust, and they knew the weight of what their task was. The third servant didn’t understand that. He let his misunderstanding of the master cause him to dwell on all the wrong things. He was more worried about the talent than he was worried about his master desires.

— — —

God has been showing me lately that I’ve had that one passion all along. That one passion is, and always should be, Him. He has given me many talents, and has entrusted me to use them for his profit, his kingdom’s profit.
I’ve felt that weight from the very beginning. But it’s so easy to become the servant with one talent. To get caught up in what I have to offer, maybe even comparing what I’ve been given with others, hiding my small abilities because they didn’t measure up.

God’s message in the parable isn’t that some people have more than others for any particular reason, his message is that no matter what abilities he has given us we should love him enough to want to use them for his gain.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that having more than one ability is better than having just one thing you’re good at. It’s all the same. As in the parable, it is not the amount of talents that mattered at all.

At the end of the story, The master tells the third servant that he doesn’t deserve his one talent, takes it, and gives it to the first servant. Then he says: “To those who use well what they are given, even more will be given, and they will have an abundance. But from those who do nothing, even what little they have will be taken away.”

I’m finding everyday that if my passion lies in my talents, then I am doomed to fail. But if my passion is for my master, the talents I have are just a tool to please him.
It’s a beautiful thing to be a jack of all trades and master of none. God has richly blessed me with abilities, entrusted me to gain interest for his kingdom. To be a master of nothing isn’t a poignant matter. It means that I’m ever learning, ever growing my abilities. And the truth is, I’ll never become a master of my talents. For my talents are not mine to begin with, they’re his. I am merely holding onto them, using them well, striving to increase them for my master’s hand.

Wishes of a Heart.

You don’t know me… And I don’t know you… Not exactly.

But it’s what I do know about you that makes me wish these things.

I know if you just knew me, both of our lonely existences would be gone. I just have this feeling, this aching in my chest, that you could be the one for me.

I’ve been wrong before. God knows how incredibly wrong I’ve been.

I can’t help but think about all these stories I’ve heard. Not love at first sight… but this gentle urging, this small confidence, that this was it. This person is the one.

I let that keep hope alive.

Hope. That one day, the both of us will overcome the apparent social awkwardness of our personalities… and say hello to one another in a crowded room.

That would only be the beginning.

The next time, we might carry on a short dialogue at a mutual friend’s party.
And the next, sit down in a quiet place with a cup of coffee.

Just thinking of these small steps makes me smile with an inner joy I haven’t felt in so long a time.

Maybe after you know me, you’d admire those traits of mine that so many others find intimidating.
My intelligence and wit would be a comfort to a man as smart as yourself.
My odd sense of humor would make you laugh easily.
My honest opinions would intrigue you and challenge you to think differently.
And my gentle teasing would disarm you in a willing vulnerability.

Then I could find solace in knowing I’m not smarter than the person sitting across from me.
That your gentle voice could sing me to sleep over the phone, or in person when the time is right.
I could be excited to listen to your dreams, or just to listen to you ramble.
And feel comfortable enough to exist in silence, not feeling the necessity to fill the gaps in conversation.

All of this I can now only wish.

One day things will change. I know it’ll happen.

And then I will never have to wish or want for anything again.

Inspiratron.

____________

I am inspired by the little things.
The way a child’s eyes light up as they catch the first glimpse of their parent after an absence, or how lonely a mere moment can be whether in solitude or in company.

I am inspired by music.
That in our voices alone lies the potential to create sound beyond any instrument man can fathom, or that we can perceive one combination of notes as sounding ‘unpleasant’ and another combination as sounding ‘pleasant’.

I am inspired by nature.
How a worm will relentlessly work it’s way through an apple, or how the leaves on a tree will hold on with all their might before plummeting to their death in a pile of others killed in action by something that can’t be seen.

I am inspired by irony.
How you only get stuck behind the person with 10,000 coupons to scan in the check-out line when you are in a gigantic hurry, or how happiness makes us cry just as much as sadness.

I am inspired by failure.
The reason I cry every time I watch the music video for Garth Brooks’ “Standing Outside the Fire”, or how I get so motivated to do something when someone tells me it’s not possible.

I am inspired by tragedy.
How the most honest and open-hearted feelings can be exposed in the wake of adversity, or to experience the restoration process after a prolonged downward spiral.

I am inspired by hate.
To learn the way the individual mind takes information and twists it into their own understanding, forever branding the truth with falsehood; or examining the fight against our human nature to immediately criticize those around us.

I am inspired by love.
Witnessing the difference in the way a person looks at someone they deeply love versus the way they look at everyone else, or seeing an old man still continue to open the car door for his wife.

____________

What inspires you?

The Faucet Romantic.

Valentines Day… Single’s Awareness Day… Whatever you want to call it. It’s coming up, in case you haven’t noticed.

Every year, no matter how hard I try, I get sucked into the greeting card section like a fat kid to the smell of brownies cooking in the oven. I can’t stay away. Why? First of all, I love greeting cards. Second, I love cheesiness. Third, I always imagine buying this card for my future someone or imagine it’s being said to me in order to make myself feel better.
It feels so good to read them and yet so depressing at the same time. The idea that the other people in the aisle are thinking the same thing I am about them… “I wonder who she has to love? Look at how happy she is.” makes me get a tad gushy and turn on the faucet of romanticism I keep carefully tucked away in my brain. Before I know it, it’s flooded every rational thought I’ve ever had and all I can feel is bitter and angry because it’s better than feeling isolated on such a day as this.

I stopped beating myself up about not having a valentine probably back in high school. That was when I made my first rebellious move on V-Day. I made a gigantic heart and colored it black, with scratched inky letters that spelled ‘ANTI’ (emo much?). But there’s still that little twinge of loneliness that tugs at your heartstrings when you see a couple holding hands, whispering sweet nothings. (What does that phrase even mean? If you’re saying something sweet, it can’t very well be nothing too can it?)

So what can one do?
If you read my blogs regularly, which I know you don’t, you’d know that this year I made a covenant to not ask for anything in the subject of intimate relationships (Christianly intimate for what it’s worth 😉 ). Let me tell you, I’ve never been so tested about the subject until I promised not to ask. So V-Day is an automatic no-go when it comes to swooning and drowning and all that nonsense.
I’ve never put too much emphasis on this day anyhow, considering how ridiculously commercialized it’s become. It’s still a nice thing though.

The truth is… This year I don’t feel depressed about it. I don’t feel like I have to make a big deal and go out of my way to be bitter or obnoxious to those who have someone. I don’t want people to tell me that it’ll be me next year.
Instead, I feel peace about it. I’m looking forward to the 99¢ box of chocolates (5 to be exact) my mom buys me every year. I’m even looking forward to seeing couples be happy in their coupledom. How grown-up of me, eh?

I think it’s because I’ve finally started to understand where I truly am when it comes to the subject of love. I know I’ve never felt it on this earth and wouldn’t know the extent until I’m there… but I do know the steadfast love that Christ bestows upon me. This past year or so has taught me so much about God’s love. You hear that everywhere, about how God is love and he will love you no matter what… I think we’ve heard it so much that we become desensitized to it. Have we forgotten what it’s like to truly be loved?

I haven’t. In fact, I feel it more now than ever. It’s his love that’s changed my attitude about V-Day and all it’s affiliates this year. I don’t know when his love will be extended through someone here on earth… If ever. It would be great to have that, but I know it’s not what’s most important in life.

So if you’re out there, single for another year like me, I encourage you to not wallow in self-pity and enjoy being single while you can. Don’t be bitter towards a love you don’t fully understand, instead make it a point to discover what love really is. Beyond a day out of the year that makes you feel like crap, beyond a friend who makes it a point to exclaim his/her excitement for their established coupledom. Beyond that empty tug at your heartstrings.
Look beyond and soon enough you’ll find the love you’ve always wanted.

Cheers

It’s Foolishness, I Know.

You were sitting next to me at our wedding reception.
The band was playing, people tapped their feet and joyfully conversed.
You leaned towards me and smiled.
“I feel like dancing.” I whispered.
“Me too.” a smirk in return. “You ready?”
Seriously? my expression asked.
Of course. Your eyes sparkled in confirmation.
Rising to your feet, you offered me a strong hand.
“We aren’t allowed, are we?” I said nervously.
“We didn’t plan it. We can’t control what we haven’t planned.” you teased, raising an eyebrow.
Strong hands pulled me into awaiting arms.
You led me calmly to the center of the room.
Suddenly you broke out into a tap dance, a silly grin crawling across your face.
I followed with meringue, swinging hips and puckering lips.
The Twist. The Sprinkler. The Copy Machine.
Every white man’s dance was covered.
People started watching and laughing. Shock grew into hilarity.
The wedding party joined in.
The crowd joined in.

Dancing. Some call it foolishness.
Life. Some take it too seriously.
How can there be life without dancing?
How can there be seriousness without foolishness?

We didn’t plan it.
We can’t control what we haven’t planned.

This Isn’t Goodbye.

The thunderous whistle bellows, Splintering disregard into piercing awareness.
Bitter wind licks at my brow, Washing strands of hair across my face in quiet ripples.
You turn to me and smile.
Not of happiness or contentment. Not of a teasing manner.
A melancholy smile. A smile of remembrance.
Your smile fades slowly as you grasp my hands between yours.
Your eyes say it all. You don’t have to say it.
You glance down at our clenched hands and whisper softly,
“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t goodbye.”

Distractions bustle about us. In the steam, the cars, the people.
The quickened rhythm of haste matches the pounding of our hearts.
And yet, Only you are before me. Your presence an extension of mine.
Your eyes are liquid with dithering resolve.
Returning your gaze sends pangs of yearning to my very core.
Your eyes say it all. You don’t have to say it.
The train utters a final, foreboding wail, Tearing asunder our being.
Your embrace lingers long after you relinquish apprehension, vanishing into haze.
“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t goodbye.”

Today, I Missed You.

Today, I missed you when I blurted out an inside joke,
I had forgotten I shared it with only you.
Blank stares and nervous laughs answered me,
It brought me back to reality, left me feeling blue.

Today, I missed your teasing smile,
And the way your eyes would sparkle with delight.
Or when you found out corny jokes were my weakness,
And how we would laugh until we cried.

Today, I missed your reassuring hugs,
Like nothing would ever harm me.
So strong and gentle at the same time,
And how you were always beside me.

Today, I missed your familiar smell,
When a man walked past me in the grocery store.
He left in his wake a scent so much like yours,
I contemplated following him some more.

Today, I missed your free spirit,
When I ran past a pile of leaves on my afternoon jog.
I remembered the time we raked for hours,
Only to take a trip to the emergency room after you tripped over a log.

Today, I missed your chivalry,
Seeing an old man with a cane hold open a door.
His wife, as old as he, smiled wistfully in return,
In that moment I felt the exact way my heart tore.

Today, I missed you when I felt terribly sick.
I remembered how you would sit on the side of the tub,
How you held my hair back gently as I puked.
I recalled an odd sensation of true love.

Today, I missed you when I was doing laundry,
I checked some pockets and found a note.
It was in your hand, wrinkled and faded,
I smiled as I read another corny joke.

Today, I missed your golden-flecked eyes,
I found them staring back from a photograph.
Then I looked up and found them on our son’s face,
He grinned a toothless grin, I heard your laugh.

Today, I missed your hoarding tendencies,
I sold what clothes I couldn’t give to family in a yard sale.
I finally threw away those ugly, moth-bitten sweatpants,
Later I retrieved them, soaked from a half empty can of ginger ale.

Today, I missed your ring on my finger,
I took it off the left and put it on the right.
I met a nice man at the coffee shop,
It may not go anywhere, but then again, it might.

Today, I missed your voice,
Our son whispered, “I love you” to me at the reception.
Remember that guy at the coffee shop?
We tied the knot and now we’re talking about contraception.

Today, I missed you when I brought the baby home,
I guess you knew those contraceptives wouldn’t last.
I didn’t have the heart to paint over the color we picked out for the nursery,
My husband said he liked that his daughter could grow up in the past.

Today, I missed you when our son got his college degree.
He smiled your smile, a smile of pride.
I hugged him tight and I felt you hugging back,
I told him how proud you’d have been and we both cried.

Today, I missed you as I knelt by a hospital bed,
I quoted to my mother a poem you wrote.
She found out she was dying just a year ago,
At her funeral our son wore your coat.

Today, I missed you more than once,
I missed you all day long.
I wasn’t sad or lonely, but joyful and excited,
To our first grandchild I sang your silly song.

Today, I missed you as I recited vows to my husband of forty years,
“Til death do us part.” he recited back.
He said he loved me and to say ‘hello’ to you for him,
I smiled as my vision slowly faded to black.

Today, I didn’t miss you as I entered through pearly gates,
I stood in awe of the colors, of the view.
I took the hand of my Savior and asked why I didn’t miss you anymore,
He smiled and motioned to a figure standing a ways off…
It was you.

Dating is Selfish.

I can’t get that phrase out of my head today.
It popped in my brain and I’ve been trying to think of a correct way to go about writing a blog about it all day.
I almost didn’t write about it because I fear you’ll take it the wrong way. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
I want to know what you think about that statement, and how it is true (or false) in your own life.

Thanks for your input.