We milled around the room. Laughter and conversation rose to the top of the high ceilings as women greeted one another with punch in hand. At the front of the room, gifts wrapped in soft blues and greens overflowed off the stage in front of a backdrop welcoming baby into the world.
I’d been in this room before – innumerable times. This church houses the earliest days of my faith. As I sat in this familiar space, a familiar voice came over. We small talked and then she told me, with that big smile and that precious Southern accent,
“I know you’re probably busy, but… I noticed that you’re not writing as much anymore.”
She went on to say that she missed seeing my writing, and that if I was writing in a different place, she wanted to know so that she could follow along.
I admitted to her, “Yeah, I really haven’t been writing as much. Especially on social media. I’ve been trying to build a new website and place to write, but it’s been hard. And I’ve been so afraid to share it. It just hasn’t felt complete yet.”
In the most loving tone, she went on about the weight of a well-written word. She reminded me, “But your gifts are given to you so that you can give them back to others! Don’t forget that.”
It’s a word I should have recalled sooner. A word that has been spoken over me in sermons and conversations and college courses.
But it’s usually easier to believe that no one misses your withheld gifts than to show up and give them.
What I didn’t tell that precious woman is that it’s hard to show up to a blank page. It’s hard to feel drawn to written word in a society whose fingers are locked on a scroll. Communicating in a day when people are quicker to cancel and criticize than the accept and admonish – because we forget that real flesh and blood are behind the avatars – is not an easy desire to grapple with.
I didn’t tell her that I’m afraid to write and share because that would mean people might actually read my words. And for all the anxiety that can seep in that space, it’s also hard to admit the fear that people won’t read my words.
I didn’t say a word of this. And I can only guess this woman knew to have this conversation with me because she is led by Jesus, the only One who knows I didn’t say a word of this.
This conversation has replayed in my mind since then. The thing I can’t shake is that someone noticed my absence. Someone thought it important enough to make a beeline to me from across that big room, just to tell me that she missed receiving my gifts.
The very thing I was hiding, whether intentionally or not, was brought to light by a person who was brave enough to graciously catch me red-handed.
Someone noticed my absence. Someone saw my withheld gifts.
And what is the church, but a group of people so carefully connected by grace and looking to each other for strength, that the absence of even one is noticed?
And what is the church, but a group of people so carefully connected by grace and looking to each other for strength, that the absence of even one is noticed?
I don’t mean to let myself off the hook, but I’m not the only one withholding. There’s a whole web of need in the church and on this planet begging for the goodness that is waiting to be shared. The goodness that you have to offer.
Here’s what I took away from that conversation with that sweet Southern woman: we see your gifts, even when they’re withheld.
Even when you think you can hide the light, it continues to illuminate the darkness. The Holy Spirit is blazing a trail on this earth that won’t soon be forgotten. We continue to draw strength from your gifts, despite the weeks or months it’s been since you’ve offered them to us.
Why? Because God is doing it. These gifts are not something that you’ve mustered up on your own. No, these are granted access to work in beautiful, divine ways through you because God said so.
Your gifts bring heaven on earth. They help, edify, restore, teach, dignify, and guide. It’s so natural to you, you might not even realize you’re doing. But when you open your hands, and the rest of us can receive what you have to offer, we feel it. We long for any strand of Christ’s love we can tangibly feel. And your gifts make His love more real to us.
It’s so natural to you, you might not even realize you’re doing. But when you open your hands, and the rest of us can receive what you have to offer, we feel it. We long for any strand of Christ’s love we can tangibly feel. And your gifts make His love more real to us.
I mean that – for you and for myself. I really do.
You make a difference. Christ, in and through you, is doing a beautiful thing. He’s bringing heaven down to earth. And you’re invited to take part by receiving the gifts He’s given you and giving them right back.
The world is illuminated with truth and beauty by way of your gifts.
So, we do not withhold. We give. Freely and generously. And when we feel like we have little more to give, we look upward and trust the Giver of good gifts to supply what we need when we need it.
Take a deep breath. Whisper a breath prayer.
We have gifts to share.