I seem to recall composing a blog post some months ago - perhaps even a year ago - that had a title like 'I can't do this.' If I remember rightly, I was in the process of composing the first assignment of my MTh. Between the bewildering cultural differences, the loneliness and the utter foreignness of the educational system here, I was feeling both lost and helpless. I never thought that in a year not only would that degree be done, but it might receive honors. I didn't envision myself, twelve months down the line, struggling over a PhD proposal, completely lost as to the next step. I couldn't see past the end of that first essay.
Perhaps it is all in your perspective: how you look, what you look at, where you focus your attention. If you go about it the right way, isn't it even possible to argue that black is white?
Of course, the point is, I need to stop faffing around and actually do the thing. The other point is this: every glass ceiling I have ever given myself has been shattered - except one. Each time I was convinced it was impossible, it happened. Every time I decided to give up in despair, I gave it over to God and went on. Now, as I sit down and wrestle with this proposal, I feel the chill mounting. The whispers of 'I can't' begin to sound in my mind. I see and hear this almost impartially. Don't freeze, says a voice in my mind. I won't, answers my faith. This is too important.
Instead, I am inclined toward sleep. I am fighting not to remember that my flight departs from London in less than six weeks. I am struggling with serious questions of finances, faith and future. And all the while I cannot wrench aside the bent of my thoughts towards a certain individual who occupies a room in this building. Where is he? What is he doing? Is his work going better today? and a hundred other questions and thoughts focused on that one person swamp my brain. Simple functions of deciding what to have for lunch, conversing with my flatmate, hanging out the laundry suddenly require special concentration.
Last Wednesday I went to a cafe for lunch with a fellow student, wife and mother of four. As we walked to the cafe, I began the story of my interest. At some point in the middle she said, "you're in love!" I acknowledged it at the time, but I am keenly aware that this kind of obsession and interest is not strictly love. Given time, it may develop into such, but for now it is interest, a decisive bent in a certain direction, and an unmitigated nuisance!
Thinking back, I have realized that I saw him five out of seven days last week, and though many of those encounters were by no means personal, we were in the same room and frequently in the same conversation. Yet I seem starved, as if it has been ages since I saw him. I don't know whether to shake my head and try to laugh at my own pathetic state or beg God to make me more rational. I have work to do! I don't have time for this!
But you see, this is my last glass ceiling, and I didn't go looking for him.
I don't understand. I don't know how to behave. I don't know what to do next.
03 November, 2008
25 October, 2008
love, weddings and social situations
I went to a wedding today. The ceremony took place at 2:30 in the afternoon. The evening celebration nominally began at 8pm. In actuality, people began arriving at 8 while the hotel staff cleaned up from the reception and prepared for the evening. I've seen it happen before, at the wedding I went to back in July, but I forgot, so when I arrived with my ride, I was expecting things to be ready. Instead I spent the next hour and a half in the hotel 'Restaurant and Bar' chatting with members of my parents generation (or older).
I am fully cognizant that I carry some culpability for this - I could have deliberately mingled with those nearer my own age, but there is a barrier there and tonight I just didn't have the ability to get through it. Watching the ladies in the sleeveless dresses, high heels and carefully coiffured up-do's; the men in suits, ties, flowers pinned to the lapel; I slowly sank more and more into myself. My new skirt with cool pleats, my favorite sweater and my normal pony-tail started to seem a bit frumpy. I knew plenty of people - why was it so hard to mingle and make conversation?
When my ride left just as they were finally going in for the evening celebration, I was offered another ride if I wished to stay. Did I wish to stay? I had been glad to not have the choice, and then it was offered. I pictured myself, home in my room, wishing I had stayed. I pictured myself sitting in a corner of a hot and noisy room, wishing I had left. I decided to leave, realizing as I did so that the decision denuded me of any right to regret it later - I was given a chance and I refused it.
When I got home, I was relieved to escape from the 'dressy' clothes. Sitting down with a slice of bread and butter, I wondered why I tend to be so uncomfortable in social situations, but I had hardly had the thought before I remembered last Thursday evening.
Thursday evening a group of us went down to the pub. Six of us were there to begin with, but for most of the evening the number was ten. Crowded around two small, round tables in a loud pub, we chatted about everything from theology and philosophy to how posh the loo's were in the pub. I enjoyed that evening. I had dressed carefully and was pleased with the result. I was sitting next to the individual who interests me most at the present time. I was able to participate in real conversations about real things.
That night was joyful, satisfying, pleasant, a social situation no less than tonight, but I knew the people involved. The average age of the gathering must have been in the 20's, but the wall was not there with them. I talked. I smiled. I enjoyed nearly three hours in a noisy pub with a bunch of peers.
What made the difference? One formal gathering, one relaxed? A crowd of folks I know fairly well versus a mixed crowd containing many I have never met? A group of ten versus a group of more than fifty? Or was it the young man sitting beside me?
Perhaps it was a combination of all. When we got back to the car tonight, I asked Annie for a hug. She held me long and tightly. What's wrong? Your face looks like an evening of winter rain. I don't know, I wanted to say. Perhaps I am wistful. Perhaps I am lonely, but whatever it was, that hug went a long way to taking it away. After that I was content to go home.
I don't quite know myself anymore. Days like today get me wondering - why do weddings make me uncomfortable? Why is this interest of mine so powerful and yet so subtle? Why am I so content to wait, yet so lonely in the waiting? Why are there some people I can relate to in a short time and others that I simply can't, no matter how much I try?
Somehow it all seems to revolve around love. . . . I really need to write that book.
I am fully cognizant that I carry some culpability for this - I could have deliberately mingled with those nearer my own age, but there is a barrier there and tonight I just didn't have the ability to get through it. Watching the ladies in the sleeveless dresses, high heels and carefully coiffured up-do's; the men in suits, ties, flowers pinned to the lapel; I slowly sank more and more into myself. My new skirt with cool pleats, my favorite sweater and my normal pony-tail started to seem a bit frumpy. I knew plenty of people - why was it so hard to mingle and make conversation?
When my ride left just as they were finally going in for the evening celebration, I was offered another ride if I wished to stay. Did I wish to stay? I had been glad to not have the choice, and then it was offered. I pictured myself, home in my room, wishing I had stayed. I pictured myself sitting in a corner of a hot and noisy room, wishing I had left. I decided to leave, realizing as I did so that the decision denuded me of any right to regret it later - I was given a chance and I refused it.
When I got home, I was relieved to escape from the 'dressy' clothes. Sitting down with a slice of bread and butter, I wondered why I tend to be so uncomfortable in social situations, but I had hardly had the thought before I remembered last Thursday evening.
Thursday evening a group of us went down to the pub. Six of us were there to begin with, but for most of the evening the number was ten. Crowded around two small, round tables in a loud pub, we chatted about everything from theology and philosophy to how posh the loo's were in the pub. I enjoyed that evening. I had dressed carefully and was pleased with the result. I was sitting next to the individual who interests me most at the present time. I was able to participate in real conversations about real things.
That night was joyful, satisfying, pleasant, a social situation no less than tonight, but I knew the people involved. The average age of the gathering must have been in the 20's, but the wall was not there with them. I talked. I smiled. I enjoyed nearly three hours in a noisy pub with a bunch of peers.
What made the difference? One formal gathering, one relaxed? A crowd of folks I know fairly well versus a mixed crowd containing many I have never met? A group of ten versus a group of more than fifty? Or was it the young man sitting beside me?
Perhaps it was a combination of all. When we got back to the car tonight, I asked Annie for a hug. She held me long and tightly. What's wrong? Your face looks like an evening of winter rain. I don't know, I wanted to say. Perhaps I am wistful. Perhaps I am lonely, but whatever it was, that hug went a long way to taking it away. After that I was content to go home.
I don't quite know myself anymore. Days like today get me wondering - why do weddings make me uncomfortable? Why is this interest of mine so powerful and yet so subtle? Why am I so content to wait, yet so lonely in the waiting? Why are there some people I can relate to in a short time and others that I simply can't, no matter how much I try?
Somehow it all seems to revolve around love. . . . I really need to write that book.
24 October, 2008
Afternoon with Gerald
He's 83 years old. Recovering from surgery in his hospital bed. We laugh together. We blink back tears. He tells me how he wants to live to receive the invitation from the Queen on his 100th birthday. It's only 17 more years, I tell him. You can make it. He repeats over and over again how lucky he is, how blessed. He expresses regret over misspent years and wayward children. He clings to my hand, exhorting me to love life. He sees the years before me and urges me to go for it, and I . . .
I sit next to him. When he grips my hand, I return the pressure. When he closes his eyes, I wait in silence for him to gather his thoughts. When he tells his stories, I listen. When he asks me questions, I answer him. But always I watch him. Sometimes I see the white socks, the hospital gown, the age spots covering his scalp under the wisps of white hair, the roughened skin of his hands, the sunken eyes. But these are only peripheral things. Usually I just see Gerald: bravery, humor, great joy, deep faith, passionate conviction, overflowing love, fountain of information and encouragement.
Did I think I was doing him a favor going to see him today? Did I wonder if he would realize that I had walked for an hour to reach him? Did I want him to be grateful that I came? Did I pay the visit for myself or for him? Perhaps it was for both, but I wonder - who has benefited more?
Such a strange friendship. In the early days I simply regarded him as an oddity. I wondered at his odd ways, his unconventionality, his frequently outrageous humor. Until the day when I realized it was deliberate. He refuses to conform to convention, because he can do. He says what he thinks, because it is true. He is who he is, because life is too short to be anyone else.
And I love him. I'm not sure when it happened. Perhaps I have never before encountered such a humble, devote soul in such a strangely incongruous body. Perhaps I have never before built a relationship with someone more than 50 years older than I who had no special interest in me, yet chose to give me interest, encouragement, unconditional love, asking for nothing in return.
I wonder what Graham thought when he found us sitting there together. I wonder if he guessed I had already been with Gerald an hour when he arrived. I wonder if he can see the uniqueness of the relationship that has developed between us.
As I left, I promised to visit next week - if you are home I'll come see you there. I saw his face brighten. Goodbye. My eyes fill with tears at the memory. Love is an amazing thing.
I sit next to him. When he grips my hand, I return the pressure. When he closes his eyes, I wait in silence for him to gather his thoughts. When he tells his stories, I listen. When he asks me questions, I answer him. But always I watch him. Sometimes I see the white socks, the hospital gown, the age spots covering his scalp under the wisps of white hair, the roughened skin of his hands, the sunken eyes. But these are only peripheral things. Usually I just see Gerald: bravery, humor, great joy, deep faith, passionate conviction, overflowing love, fountain of information and encouragement.
Did I think I was doing him a favor going to see him today? Did I wonder if he would realize that I had walked for an hour to reach him? Did I want him to be grateful that I came? Did I pay the visit for myself or for him? Perhaps it was for both, but I wonder - who has benefited more?
Such a strange friendship. In the early days I simply regarded him as an oddity. I wondered at his odd ways, his unconventionality, his frequently outrageous humor. Until the day when I realized it was deliberate. He refuses to conform to convention, because he can do. He says what he thinks, because it is true. He is who he is, because life is too short to be anyone else.
And I love him. I'm not sure when it happened. Perhaps I have never before encountered such a humble, devote soul in such a strangely incongruous body. Perhaps I have never before built a relationship with someone more than 50 years older than I who had no special interest in me, yet chose to give me interest, encouragement, unconditional love, asking for nothing in return.
I wonder what Graham thought when he found us sitting there together. I wonder if he guessed I had already been with Gerald an hour when he arrived. I wonder if he can see the uniqueness of the relationship that has developed between us.
As I left, I promised to visit next week - if you are home I'll come see you there. I saw his face brighten. Goodbye. My eyes fill with tears at the memory. Love is an amazing thing.
16 October, 2008
stupidity, love and other nonsense
Over the past six years I have had a number of "crushes" or "infatuations" or "obsessions." Some have been more serious than others. Some have been rather violent and/or lasted for many months, but they have all had one thing in common. It was never a mutual thing. In most cases it was wildly improbably anyway: barriers of language, culture, beliefs, age. Perhaps it was subconsciously a purposeful thing. After all, if there was no real chance of mutuality, there was no real risk of rejection. I may have believed I really wanted things to work out, but perhaps, on some subconscious level, I knew I was not ready. It was the wrong time, or something like that.
Fast-forward to the now. Having lived in Wales happily for over a year, I have suddenly developed an "interest" in a young man of my acquaintance. Although he is not a student at the College or a member of my church, we are thrown in to company rather often. My interest was first sparked when we had a conversation about grammar - an actual mutual conversation, not a monologue by me with his eyes glazing over. It was fairly caught about four days later when I was privileged to be a part of a conversation about life, music, God and journey. The glimpses of his thought processes and experience in this conversation intrigued and attracted me. I was fairly caught.
A few days later, it was Saturday, he and I with one or two others "hung out" making pizzas, eating them, chatting and "jamming" with guitar, trumpet and voice. It was an awesome night. I was hopeful. Maybe something amazing was about to happen.
I have seen him various times since, usually in company, but the intriguing conversation has dried up. Any question I ask is answered briefly. This evening we spent at least 15 minutes in a room together with nothing being said except "thank you."
The whole thing is exasperating in the extreme. His behavior baffles me, but my own is just as bad. To anyone else I can chat, make conversation, or at least be comfortable in silence. Other guys I speak to by name, ask them to do things for me, but not this one. If we could both just be natural, maybe we'd get somewhere, but instead the two of us just sit like bumps, resolutely not looking at one another. . . well, maybe a glance now and then. Every now and then, something funny is said or done and we exchange a smile. I like his smile, and I think if only he could break out of the straight jacket and be the person behind his smile more often.
Who knows. Perhaps I make it all up. Perhaps it's all in my own head, my own perceptions, my own infatuation. Perhaps it is an entirely inappropriate thing to write about in a blog, but I wanted to put it down. I wanted to say how frustrated I was, and how impotent is that frustration. Now I have taken a deep breath. If it isn't him, it will be someone else. If it isn't now, it will be another time. My life does not depend on this working out the way I "want" it to, neither does my happiness, or my joy.
So what am I so worked up about?
Fast-forward to the now. Having lived in Wales happily for over a year, I have suddenly developed an "interest" in a young man of my acquaintance. Although he is not a student at the College or a member of my church, we are thrown in to company rather often. My interest was first sparked when we had a conversation about grammar - an actual mutual conversation, not a monologue by me with his eyes glazing over. It was fairly caught about four days later when I was privileged to be a part of a conversation about life, music, God and journey. The glimpses of his thought processes and experience in this conversation intrigued and attracted me. I was fairly caught.
A few days later, it was Saturday, he and I with one or two others "hung out" making pizzas, eating them, chatting and "jamming" with guitar, trumpet and voice. It was an awesome night. I was hopeful. Maybe something amazing was about to happen.
I have seen him various times since, usually in company, but the intriguing conversation has dried up. Any question I ask is answered briefly. This evening we spent at least 15 minutes in a room together with nothing being said except "thank you."
The whole thing is exasperating in the extreme. His behavior baffles me, but my own is just as bad. To anyone else I can chat, make conversation, or at least be comfortable in silence. Other guys I speak to by name, ask them to do things for me, but not this one. If we could both just be natural, maybe we'd get somewhere, but instead the two of us just sit like bumps, resolutely not looking at one another. . . well, maybe a glance now and then. Every now and then, something funny is said or done and we exchange a smile. I like his smile, and I think if only he could break out of the straight jacket and be the person behind his smile more often.
Who knows. Perhaps I make it all up. Perhaps it's all in my own head, my own perceptions, my own infatuation. Perhaps it is an entirely inappropriate thing to write about in a blog, but I wanted to put it down. I wanted to say how frustrated I was, and how impotent is that frustration. Now I have taken a deep breath. If it isn't him, it will be someone else. If it isn't now, it will be another time. My life does not depend on this working out the way I "want" it to, neither does my happiness, or my joy.
So what am I so worked up about?
15 October, 2008
Pain
I left Andy's office today thinking, right, I know where I stand now. No help from them, I've just got to do this myself with divine assistance. Simon stopped me at the foot of the stairs. He was telling me there were options, bringing up whatever came to mind. I met his eyes, I nodded, but I barely heard him. I'm on my own in this, said that voice in my head, just me and God.
Simon told me to go home. Eat lunch. Relax. Watch some telli or something. So I came back here and ate my lunch. It was only after lunch that the weeping started.
I encountered Simon again in the evening. There might be a way, he says, outlining some fresh information for me, do your own research, push every door, try to prove the Union wrong. After all, this process is all new, make it work to your advantage.
I listened to him. I heard him. I wondered why I never seem to have the space to assimilate the shocks in my life before people are at me with solutions. I don't want to hear about all the things I have to do to fix this. I just want someone to hear me hurting. I just want the space to feel the hurt. To be. Without a list of things to do next, ways to prevent, engage the world and turn things around!
No. Not anymore. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Maybe next week. Maybe after the tears have dried up and the pain goes away and the open wound in my head and heart has become a scar, or at least a scab. I can't do this. It hurts too much.
We went in to chapel. Graham preached a magnificent sermon about being rooted in Christ, his body, mutual love. He finished with the scripture that promises God can do exceedingly, abundantly more than we ask or imagine, according to his power in Christ Jesus. What are you afraid to ask God for, afraid even to think of asking God for? He can do that, and more than that.
I wept, and somewhere in the tears I remembered a Saturday night two years ago, when I was driving home from the theater. That was the first time it came home to me that divine love always gives of itself even when it hurts, and I realized. This is the moment. This is the time. Now is when I hurt, and I want to run, I want to hide, I want to wall myself up and stubbornly declare that I'll do it myself, with the help of God. It is an old pattern of mine. Apparently it is another old pattern that I am called upon to abandon.
That is my calling in this situation: to remain open to those who have rejected me, to push back at the doors that have been slammed in my face, to seek other ways to get around the walls, to continue to reach out, even if it means functioning out of pain. I must go on. I must remain open, available, even loving, with a love that comes not from me, but through me, a peace that does not take away the pain, even a joy, the joy of the Lord.
Is this possible?
Anything is possible: with God.
Simon told me to go home. Eat lunch. Relax. Watch some telli or something. So I came back here and ate my lunch. It was only after lunch that the weeping started.
I encountered Simon again in the evening. There might be a way, he says, outlining some fresh information for me, do your own research, push every door, try to prove the Union wrong. After all, this process is all new, make it work to your advantage.
I listened to him. I heard him. I wondered why I never seem to have the space to assimilate the shocks in my life before people are at me with solutions. I don't want to hear about all the things I have to do to fix this. I just want someone to hear me hurting. I just want the space to feel the hurt. To be. Without a list of things to do next, ways to prevent, engage the world and turn things around!
No. Not anymore. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Maybe next week. Maybe after the tears have dried up and the pain goes away and the open wound in my head and heart has become a scar, or at least a scab. I can't do this. It hurts too much.
We went in to chapel. Graham preached a magnificent sermon about being rooted in Christ, his body, mutual love. He finished with the scripture that promises God can do exceedingly, abundantly more than we ask or imagine, according to his power in Christ Jesus. What are you afraid to ask God for, afraid even to think of asking God for? He can do that, and more than that.
I wept, and somewhere in the tears I remembered a Saturday night two years ago, when I was driving home from the theater. That was the first time it came home to me that divine love always gives of itself even when it hurts, and I realized. This is the moment. This is the time. Now is when I hurt, and I want to run, I want to hide, I want to wall myself up and stubbornly declare that I'll do it myself, with the help of God. It is an old pattern of mine. Apparently it is another old pattern that I am called upon to abandon.
That is my calling in this situation: to remain open to those who have rejected me, to push back at the doors that have been slammed in my face, to seek other ways to get around the walls, to continue to reach out, even if it means functioning out of pain. I must go on. I must remain open, available, even loving, with a love that comes not from me, but through me, a peace that does not take away the pain, even a joy, the joy of the Lord.
Is this possible?
Anything is possible: with God.
06 October, 2008
Blinded gifts
Last night I went home with a friend from church, as I almost invariably do after the Sunday evening service. Today we were accompanied by a young man, a fellow student at the Baptist College, who has been on sick leave for a number of months. After our meal of corned beef sandwiches, our hostess took us out to her art studio (housed in a shed out back). I have had the privilege of seeing this studio and its contents several time over the last year, but the young man with us had never seen them before.
Watching his reactions to the room full of sketches, mistakes and works in progress, I knew he would be blown away but what was coming next. The extent of creativity that was eventually revealed astonished and moved him, and he couldn't stop talking about the beauty, the power, the creativity of this shed full of art, dedicated to the glory of God.
As I listened to his words of encouragement, I watched their effect on my friend, and many ideas began to form in my mind. The young man who was speaking is past master at the art of self-belittling. He is forever apologizing for faults - real or imagined - in himself, his cleanliness, his intelligence, etc., but as I watched him speak, I realized that he has gifts that he himself dismisses. He has kindness, compassion, insight, a heart for people and the highly valuable and important ability to sincerely encourage others. His gifts and the power of his words as an encourager came pouring out as he spoke about the wonders he had just been shown, and as I listened, I saw many things anew and understood possibilities that I had never before noticed.
Across the table sat my friend, about the age of my mother, but grandmother of three, single again, working to keep a roof overhead and bread on the table, and pouring every spare ounce of herself into her art, for the sole purpose of bringing glory to God. In spite of discouragement, loneliness, lack of an outlet to share or show that work, she continues to create, exercising her image of God, and humbly hoping that it might bring him glory and advance his kingdom. She soaked in the words of encouragement, almost incredulously, she is too familiar with her abilities to value them.
Rewind to Saturday night, five 20-somethings gathered in a common living area, between us are two guitars, one trumpet and two voices. We start to make music. The younger guitarist begins to pick out chords, finding the song in his head, while the other watches. "You're amazing," he says, "I wish I could do that!" The younger one shrugs, it's just something he learned how to do. The trumpeter plays improv, winding short bursts of notes and longer melodies through the chords and around the vocal line, bringing tears to my eyes. Again someone comments "Wow, I wish I could do that," but he also shrugs of the compliment, "it's just something I do, it isn't difficult."
Do you see the theme? I hope you do, for it has been brought forward to me this week like a thread of gold in a black cloth. Each one of us is gifted. Each follower of Christ bears the mark of his grace and the gift of his Spirit. But so often we despise our own gifts. We are too close to our own abilities to value them. "Oh, that," we say, "that's nothing." This is how I react when someone finds out the extent of my education. Sometimes something approaching awe comes into their face, but to me it is an accident, just something that happened. I'm not special, but I am.
Just like my artist friend does not value her art at its full potential, just like my encourager friend dismisses his ability to walk up to a stranger of any station in life and strike up a friendly conversation, just like my trumpeter friend takes his musical skill for granted, and my guitarist friend fails to see that he really does play beautifully, I too fail to see and value my own strengths and abilities. I dismiss my gifts with "Oh, that" without stopping to see just how powerful they actually are.
Thus so often in relationships we are daunted by the abilities of others. He'll never want to get to know me, he's so talented or she knows so much, why would she want to talk to someone ignorant like me? Yet we forget that the other person is likely thinking the same thoughts in reverse, forgetting what they have to offer and seeing only their own inadequacies compared to the strengths of the other.
So this is the gift of my community to me: the sight to see the gifts of others, the courage to acknowledge some gifts of my own and the vision to grasp that the way to find purpose and bring glory to God is in seeing those gifts in others around us and drawing them out, even as we allow our brothers and sisters to perform that same task for us.
Watching his reactions to the room full of sketches, mistakes and works in progress, I knew he would be blown away but what was coming next. The extent of creativity that was eventually revealed astonished and moved him, and he couldn't stop talking about the beauty, the power, the creativity of this shed full of art, dedicated to the glory of God.
As I listened to his words of encouragement, I watched their effect on my friend, and many ideas began to form in my mind. The young man who was speaking is past master at the art of self-belittling. He is forever apologizing for faults - real or imagined - in himself, his cleanliness, his intelligence, etc., but as I watched him speak, I realized that he has gifts that he himself dismisses. He has kindness, compassion, insight, a heart for people and the highly valuable and important ability to sincerely encourage others. His gifts and the power of his words as an encourager came pouring out as he spoke about the wonders he had just been shown, and as I listened, I saw many things anew and understood possibilities that I had never before noticed.
Across the table sat my friend, about the age of my mother, but grandmother of three, single again, working to keep a roof overhead and bread on the table, and pouring every spare ounce of herself into her art, for the sole purpose of bringing glory to God. In spite of discouragement, loneliness, lack of an outlet to share or show that work, she continues to create, exercising her image of God, and humbly hoping that it might bring him glory and advance his kingdom. She soaked in the words of encouragement, almost incredulously, she is too familiar with her abilities to value them.
Rewind to Saturday night, five 20-somethings gathered in a common living area, between us are two guitars, one trumpet and two voices. We start to make music. The younger guitarist begins to pick out chords, finding the song in his head, while the other watches. "You're amazing," he says, "I wish I could do that!" The younger one shrugs, it's just something he learned how to do. The trumpeter plays improv, winding short bursts of notes and longer melodies through the chords and around the vocal line, bringing tears to my eyes. Again someone comments "Wow, I wish I could do that," but he also shrugs of the compliment, "it's just something I do, it isn't difficult."
Do you see the theme? I hope you do, for it has been brought forward to me this week like a thread of gold in a black cloth. Each one of us is gifted. Each follower of Christ bears the mark of his grace and the gift of his Spirit. But so often we despise our own gifts. We are too close to our own abilities to value them. "Oh, that," we say, "that's nothing." This is how I react when someone finds out the extent of my education. Sometimes something approaching awe comes into their face, but to me it is an accident, just something that happened. I'm not special, but I am.
Just like my artist friend does not value her art at its full potential, just like my encourager friend dismisses his ability to walk up to a stranger of any station in life and strike up a friendly conversation, just like my trumpeter friend takes his musical skill for granted, and my guitarist friend fails to see that he really does play beautifully, I too fail to see and value my own strengths and abilities. I dismiss my gifts with "Oh, that" without stopping to see just how powerful they actually are.
Thus so often in relationships we are daunted by the abilities of others. He'll never want to get to know me, he's so talented or she knows so much, why would she want to talk to someone ignorant like me? Yet we forget that the other person is likely thinking the same thoughts in reverse, forgetting what they have to offer and seeing only their own inadequacies compared to the strengths of the other.
So this is the gift of my community to me: the sight to see the gifts of others, the courage to acknowledge some gifts of my own and the vision to grasp that the way to find purpose and bring glory to God is in seeing those gifts in others around us and drawing them out, even as we allow our brothers and sisters to perform that same task for us.
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