I used to be a dreamer. I used to lie awake at night thinking of the great man I might be, the great awards I might win, the great deeds I might accomplish for the Lord. I would eventually drift to sleep convinced of my own potential and glimpsing visions of my own grandeur. As I slept, I would dream of holding the trophy, grasping the prize, receiving the praise.
Back then I thought the only things that could hold me back were desire and opportunity. I was as able as anyone else and also as gifted, as talented, and as clever. All I needed to do was direct my abilities to the area of my choosing and wait to be identified and recognized, to have others acknowledge what I already knew to be true of myself. And then would come my day, my moment, my chance to finally make something of myself.
But that was a long time ago. That was before I came to a more realistic assessment of my strengths and abilities, not to mention my weaknesses and inabilities. It was before I had tried a hundred things only to fail at ninety-nine of them and before I had seen others excel where I only foundered. It was before I began to deal with the circumstances that would permanently tax my mind and the physical difficulties that would sometimes humble and sometimes humiliate me. That was a very long time ago whether measured in time, experience, or maturity.
I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep dreaming, much less dreaming about myself and my own greatness. I can’t remember the last time I seriously felt like I was under-recognized or that I deserved greater recognition. I can’t remember the last time I encountered a situation in which I felt it more likely that I would succeed than fail, that I would be just the right answer to the problem or just the right person for the challenge. Time, it seems, tempers some sins—though it exposes new ones, as well.
I don’t need to be concerned with what God has given others, nor be resentful of what he has kept from me, but to simply trust his wisdom in both the giving and the withholding.
As much as I’m able, I have accepted who God has made me to be. I know he has gifted me in the ways that he deems right and put the calling upon me to fan those gifts into flame. I don’t need to be concerned with what he has given others, nor be resentful of what he has kept from me, but to simply trust his wisdom in both the giving and the withholding. I need to accept it all—the parts I love and the parts I don’t care for, the parts I would have chosen anyway, and the parts I would have fled from. I need to accept it all and steward it with faithfulness.
I used to plan big plans and dream big dreams. But now, if I dream at all, it’s not of plaudits and trophies and not of awards and accolades. Rather, it’s of being faithful and finishing well. It’s of making it to the end without botching it, without blowing it, without making a shipwreck of it all. It’s of pressing on all the way to the finish line and hearing his “well done.”
