Gifts

This week our prompt is the opening of Isabel Allende’s 1999 novel Daughter of Fortune

Everyone is born with some special talent

...and while I agree in principle, I see a problem with the places people take this. Here are two fallacies I hear expressed as a "logical next leap" of philosophizing.

1. "I haven't discovered anything yet that I'm the best at."

God didn't promise us that we would each be "the best" at something. There are a lot less "somethings" to be the best at than there are people in this world at one time. We should sift through the talents we possess and settle on the ones we can use to bring the most happiness to the most people and the most glory to God, understanding that these may not be the same. Usually, these are things we enjoy doing. Sometimes they won't be, but we shouldn't summarily discard a talent based on our dislike of it. Understand this: There will always be other people better than we are at "our gifts", but God doesn't ask us to be better. He asks us to do what we can with what we've got. Success, in God's eyes, is measured by percentage--not gross ability.

2. "When it comes to gifts, all men are equal."

False. God gives us all gifts but they aren't distributed equally. I see this with students every day. You would think that a child who played basketball well would invariably fail math class and that a star saxophone player would spend all his time on the bench. It doesn't always work that way. On the contrary, some children seem to inherit everything: looks, talent, brains, and charm, while others blend into the mousy-gray background of mediocrity--twitching a sad tail occasionally, in wimpering objection to their lot in life. Once again, there will always be people better than we are. What makes us equal is not the talent scale; what makes us equal is the fact that we all have a perfectly priceless soul and a Heavenly Father who loves us with an immeasurable love. In His sight we are all "the best" and "the most desirable" and worthy of supreme sacrifice. The road to His home, though it has been painted as overly difficult, is never an obstacle course of leaps and sprints, or an achievement test with minimum entrance scores. It's a road that challenges our gifts in just the proper places. Thus one may leap through the gate...or crawl.

The best gift is one that has been offered to everyone, one we have yet to achieve--eternal life. That's equal. Nobody's will be longer or better than anyone else's. I think we will wonder why we so fiercely tried to be "the best" back on this cursed planet where mediocrity was more common than genius, and less dangerous. It will embarrass us to admit that fame and recognition were more important to us than pleasing the Master.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Each day just goes so fast I turn around - it’s past

Like raindrops down the glass
the hours escape my grasp.

I'll hold your pointed hands
I'll muffle your solemn chimes

I'll ... tick tick tick
You still can talk?
I plead. I cry.
You move. You mock.
And life is measured
by a clock.

Our Carry On Tuesday Prompt was this line from an old song. "Each day just goes so fast. I turn around--it's past".

The Greatest Show on Earth

He clutched a ticket in one tiny fist, and with the other held tightly to the skirt of the tall, blond, beauty who strode swiftly forward. Circus tents ahead were woven tapestries of brilliant color—gold, crimson, cobalt. They pulsed with the rhythm of blaring music, which slid through the chain-link fence and swirled around his naked feet--a lively music which made him want to dance; it sang of great and curious sights. There was chatter and patter and bustle and laughter, so he hurried to keep up with the woman as she approached the ticket gate.

Suddenly, they were caught by the crowd, pressed and funneled into an orderly queue. A few children held tightly to the hands of patient, red-faced fathers, who pulled them forward into line and eased their steps through the turnstile. Others were carried by loudly-sighing mothers whose grins belied complaints and whose eyes reflected the enthusiasm of their little sons and daughters; this was a long-awaited day. Smiles were radiant, and everyone breathed deeply at the welcome scent of caramel corn and cotton candy.

“Ticket please,” came the voice of a superbly polished gentleman in a top hat, and he favored the lovely lady with a well-worn, yet skillful smile. She handed over her ticket as the little boy, copying her movements, held his own fist high.

“Two then, Ma’am?” asked the ticket man.
“Well, actually, no. I’m coming in alone.” She brushed the fist from her long silk skirt, and the child fell back, his eyes wide open and confused.
“He can’t come in alone, Ma’am, although--who gave him the ticket?”
“Well, I gave him the ticket…but that was all a mistake. I can’t very well have him following me about in this busy confusion, can I? It would be dreadfully wearying, so very tiring for one so small; it wouldn't be fair to him, I'm sure.” She painted her words with an oddly desperate cheerfulness.
“Very well, then,” said the top hat, “I’ll just—and he pulled out a pair of painted shears….”

The child fell back, frozen hunger on his face, as tiny bits of ticket fell and littered the ground around him.

Far ahead, disappearing swiftly into the crowd, the tall beauty bought herself a pink bouquet of cotton candy and consoled herself by watching the man on the flying trapeze.




Our "Carry on Tuesday" prompt was: Life is a ticket to the greatest show on Earth, a quote from Martin H. Fischer.