Glory Gifts

Glory Gifts

I wanted to sing.

When we were little, sister and I had twin beds next to each other. Between them was my walk to the stage. Carefully placing the needle on a spinning 45, I strutted to a wobbly wooden chair. Hair brush in hand singing Crocodile Rock and Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog. It was my 15 minutes of fame. Swinging hips, snapping a finger, the entire auditorium filled with music and admirers.

It’s lonely living a life you only wish for.

Last night I heard Lauren Daigle sing her heart out to the Lord. She worshipped Him with her voice. I do that to. But no one besides God wants to hear me sing. She has gifts ~ and all God’s gifts are for all the world. I write my heart out to the Lord. I worship Him by writing. Believing His gift of composing words reinvents the spotlight.

Everyone has gifts from God. Everyone.

Gifts can be used for His glory or ours. The difference lies in fullness.

There are many dreams to chase. Selections are endless. But gifts are preeminent and Hand-picked. Given, but not always opened. Powerful, but rarely appreciated. Manifest, therefore minimized. The shadow over our gift is us. Not catching myself made in the image of God blinds me to the glory of God ~ which is me. You.

Snapping our pictures in front of city sites, mountains, canyons, oceans, and Lauren Daigle’s we frame ourselves in a worthier view. But there was nothing created more beautiful than you, to God. The Creator of all created you ~ using His triune self as the model.

Voices have labored long robbing our richness. There is One mightier than they. Speaking in our ears ~ that our heart would be broken, open, to hear truth; the one that sets you free. Free to live, grow, thrive, give, spill the light of His glory over every little corner of the globe.

At the concert we had the opportunity to sit with a crowd of 50 and ask Lauren questions. Raising her hand, a woman marked how she’s been one of her “followers” since Lauren had less than 1,000. Laurens’ got 6 digits now, so that was pretty impressive. That envies in my ears until the truth ushers it out: my worth has nothing to do with how many follow me, and everything to do with the 1 I follow. Freedom feels good. I wish it for the world.

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