“Jack of all trades; master of none.” Haven’t we all heard that old saying and have, at certain places and times in our own earthly journey, applied it to ourselves? Sure we have because not many of us have mastered all that we wished to.
That cliché was once my mantra; many years ago and far away.
I was, in my early adult life, passionately involved in the arts. I loved and pursued music. For ten years I studied piano, all the way through college freshman year. And I did learn enough to play in church. But no matter how diligently I practiced, I could never conquer the more advanced techniques of classical compositions. I loved singing and with voice lessons was able to do solos in church and work with church choirs but with my light, lyrical voice, I never attained the level of accomplishment to sing in Little Theater productions or university operas. In fact, taking pity on me and my futile struggle, my music professors suggested I change my major from music after my college freshman year.
I changed my major to English and sailed along like an eel in water. No big deal, I thought. Anybody can do this.
I later took sewing lessons and managed to whip up little dresses for my small daughters. Gathering courage, I put together one pair of golf pants for my husband, polyester they were. Not a bad job. Emboldened, I began to sew for the public. My first venture turned out badly when I hemmed the dress too short. I was blessed in that the client was my best friend, who laughed it off and merely let out and faced the hem to a wearable length.
Deflated, I put my sewing machine away and focused on my college English compositions. No time to sew anyway, right? By now, secretly, I was convinced that I was, indeed, master of none.
Insignificant. Dispensable. If I died, I wouldn’t be missed.
Mymymy. What a pity party.
It was years later, after the death of my child, that Father God taught me differently.
Grief was the catalyst that brought me face to face with my mission here on earth. Your channel may be something else entirely. But for me, the loss of my precious eleven-year-old Angie, set me on a path where I learned that, in God’s will, I could make a difference.
Psalms 139:13-14 opened my eyes: (13)“For thou hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb. (14)I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth well.”
Isaiah 49:1 drove it home: “Hearken ye people from afar: The Lord hath called me from the womb; From the bowels of my mother hath He made mention of my name.”
Note the word “CALLED.”
We each have a MISSION.
Mine is to make a difference through writing. Yes, He has helped me to master, to some extent, one thing. Writing. And now, my deepest passion propels me from that point of Divine contact.
What is your mission? You have one that was commissioned, even as you formed in your mother’s womb. Today, won’t you ask Father to help you find your mission? Then, when the going gets tough, you’ll know who you are.
Pray with me, please? “Father God, I ask that you guide me to my own calling here on earth. Please, help me to discern and form my own mission statement. Imprint it upon my heart until I may sit down and compose it on paper. Help me to walk in it daily. Then, dear Lord, help me to make a difference in lives during my earthly journey. Amen.”
Now, dear one, go forth in holy confidence and when the going gets tough you will know who you are in the Lord. You are “… fearfully and wonderfully made!”
Emily Sue Harvey is The Story Plant’s Author of the Month. This means we are offering sensational deals on all of her works. You can learn more at our website.