All families have those stories that get told over and over. Over time the story moves to legend, so I type this believing what I am saying as true, but also understanding time tampers with tales we tell. The version I heard is my gran as young girl was given the gift of playing the piano. When I say, “given the gift”, I mean, no lessons, no training, just learned or figured out how to play as if God placed it on her. She played the piano and organ both. Again, maybe my version is more spiritualized than the actual truth, but all this to say, I have sat at the piano and prayed that prayer.
I am obsessed with music. In my free time I watch documentaries on musicians old and new. I was the teenage kid who sat with stacks of CD’s changing them out in my 3-disk stereo for hours just listening to the lyrics and melody. Alternating between singer-songwriter Joshua Kadison to Boyz II Men’s MotownPhilly. I felt every song, every lyric.
Now back to that prayer. In many an empty sanctuary at little churches my granddad would pastor, I would sit with my fingers dangling over those keys asking God to give me songs. I would bang and clang the ivory keys, simply making noise, never making music. My prayer transitioned over to the six-string. I would pick it up and pray and begin to play. Clank and clunk on the strings and a complete lack of rhythm left me leaving the flattop in the closet.
Let me be clear, I practiced guitar. I took lessons from a man who went on to win Grammys (plural). And the mystery remains, music escapes me. Where as my grandmother made melodies and sang hymns on the stage and in her home, I made noise.
I came to this conclusion some time back, I will always love music. I just will never play it. Despite my occasional drift in desire, I have held that it was just a prayer that never got answered. Which, if I am honest, is poor theology. God just answered my prayer in a different way. Instead of the gift to match melody with lyrics, God imparted in me the capacity to make other keys sing. With the click and clank of the keyboard music comes to life in the words I type to be shared in this blog, in sermons, in teachings. My rhythm comes to life in the communicated word. My music is the message of the moments that get shared in this format.
In that is the lesson to learn. I think we often begrudge the gift we didn’t get and look lightly at the gifts we did receive. I wonder if we neglect the good gift from a good father because our desire is for something different. Is there a piece of me that wishes I was in a Nashville songwriting room making the next “On Bended Knee”? Sure. But there is more of me that finds fulfillment in the tap the of the keys of this keyboard in hopes of helping someone with these simple words.
Stop ignoring the gifts God has given you in hopes of different ones. Quit praying for things God never intended to give you. Start living your life from the sweet spots of his grace given to you wrapped in the natural and supernatural talents in your life. Glorify him in the gifts.
Gran may not have given me the talents God gave her, but she gave me a gift. The gift is the wisdom that I am responsible to be faithful with God has given me. Every time I preach, write, speak, and share, God sees it the same as my lovely Gran playing hymns in her church. God sees it as Father smiling on our faithfulness to use what he gave us. Different gifts, same smiling Father.
Get to using the gift.
