Jeff—Saturday
With all that's transpired over the last ten days, I fell to reminiscing about advice I've taken (and given) on how to navigate difficult times. That led me to reflect on why so many of us think that what comes easily to us, must come easily to everyone else.
The natural corollary to that sort of thinking is that what comes so effortlessly cannot possibly be as meaningful as what does not. For example, some know precisely what colors and patterns work well together, while others can’t even match black shoes with black socks. Some can whistle a complex tune with perfect pitch, while others can barely blow their noses. Two unique skills, each too often taken for granted by its possessor.
Then there are writers who breeze through complex narrative portrayals, all the while dreading the eventual paragraphs of dialog to come. And the artist genius with pen and ink that shrinks at the thought of touching oil to canvas. They, as well as those tortured by the opposite dilemmas, all thinking that what comes so easily to them is not as valued by society as that which does not.
I’m not meaning to suggest that one should not work hard toward mastering the more difficult aspects of one one’s chosen craft, but in seeking to master a skill set you find difficult, do not do so to the neglect of enhancing your natural gifts. In other words, play to your strengths.
Yes, we all admire and respect those who persevere and succeed in mastering the most challenging aspects of their work, but what of the many who lose patience in the struggle, become frustrated, and simply give up, sacrificing the potential of their natural gifts in the process.
Each of us has gifts meant for us to develop, nurture, and exploit. If we pursue what we think is more valued by society, to the neglect of what we’re blessed with, we’re playing into the strengths of those who possess the very gifts we lack. Our energies should be directed toward successfully competing through our strengths.
It’s like a five-foot-tall natural born jockey who, instead of racing, chooses to compete against seven-foot giants in basketball. The outcome will assuredly be as unsatisfying for the jockey, as it would be for a seven-footer who decides charging for the finish line astride thoroughbreds is a better choice than heading for the hoop in a pair of Air Jordans.
Bottom Line: “Play the cards you’re dealt.” But play them well.
That’s all for this week’s sermon.
–—Jeff
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