Stirring the Gifts

A sense of tension stirs beneath the worship of our small fellowship these days; our elders addressed it again just this morning. There’s an underlying apprehension and expectation of what’s to come. I would love to know if this same stirring is manifesting itself in the wider Body of Christ, if it signifies a larger move of the Kingdom of God, or if it’s something more limited, unique to us.

Personally, I experience it in the urgency to write, to reach beyond time and space and connect with those of similar spirit. I am convinced my Lord has called me to this, to speak forth His words for “such a time as this” (see Esther 4:14). I both thrill to and shrink from that call. I have this agonizing desire to share something profound, and so often, I find myself straining to produce that in my own strength.

I have years of writings to look back through, and there are some that leave me shaking my head in awe. Could these holy, pure, and powerful words truly have come from my pen? Surely they were the work of Another … I am humbled by the strength of the anointing when it hits, and yet rarely can I anticipate it. Most often it falls after I have begun to write, and I find myself swept away in its flow.

Yet there are all too many times when it doesn’t. When that otherworldly sense of transport and empowerment is notably absent. The words themselves may be just as true, just as gracious or lovely in form, but the weight of glory is sorely lacking. Was I writing through my flesh and not my spirit, depending on my own strength to accomplish His work? And is it as visible to my audience as it is to me?

I have so long hesitated to call myself an artist, classifying my work in the realm of hobby or personal pursuit, doubting my ability to produce anything others would consider worthwhile. But the more I recognize that false modesty for what it is, the more I find freedom to step out as a creative and offer what I have with confidence and grace. Will it suit everyone’s taste? Of course not! Still, what I give is worthwhile, because it comes from an open heart in tune with my Creator; I am but following in His footsteps.

As an artist, this is the tension I face: to faithfully steward my gift, I must come humbly before the blank page, entreating the Lord to move as He wills through the instrument I provide. I know that sometimes, He will move powerfully, reaching through my words to touch the hearts of those who read them, to provide healing, to minister joy, to illuminate dark places with His wonderful gift of Light.

Other times, perhaps, His work might be accomplished more quietly, more intimately. It may even be just for me: a chance to exercise obedience as I step out, like Abraham, following the call with no end destination in sight.

My human weakness would have me hide my light under a bushel — keep my writings tucked safely between the pages of my journal, visible only to an Audience of One. If that were His desire, it would be enough, but since He has clearly led me otherwise, doing so smacks of disobedience. Hidden away in this manner, there may be no one to criticize, to belittle — or worse still in my mind — to ignore what I have to say. Yet neither will my words be shared to bless, to encourage, to instruct, or to accomplish whatever purpose my Lord clearly has for them.

Selfishness and pride — my twin nemeses — work to keep my pen still, my gift contained. A shadow of fear likewise stalks my efforts, whispering the dire consequences of being exposed, of falling short of my own and others’ ideals. Yet I am continually emboldened by the childlike faith of the boy who offered his lunch to Jesus. Jesus’ own disciples, who already had seen countless proofs of their Teacher’s abilities, were flabbergasted by their own lack in the face of the hungry crowd. In stark contrast, I picture this nameless child as rather oblivious to the immensity of the need. Nor do I believe he took it upon himself to envision how his meager offering could be used. He simply handed it over to Jesus, and trusted the Master to make the miracle.

Beloved, I don’t know what particular gift you have been given, what creative impulse in you aches for expression. But I do know this: We serve a God who has breathed His very Life-force inside us and has blessed us with the mandate to create. He has invited us to join Him in the unfolding of His Kingdom upon the earth. He is the One who takes humble gifts from our outstretched fingertips and uses them to bless the multitudes. He did it then, when a trusting child offered bits of fish and bread to provide for famished thousands milling over a Galilean hillside. And He is still doing it today, when billions more swarm the face of the earth, toiling through their days without a glimmer of hope in a present Savior.

Our gifts, our talents, our abilities seem so small, so simple, so inadequate. What can I possibly give, or do, or say, that will be of any lasting value when the need is so overwhelming? How can I trust that my offering will be worthy of His notice? I am incredibly grateful that my Lord does not measure things the way I do! Even the smallest gift, when offered in hope and humility, and to honor the Giver, will be found to be more than enough.