MY GIFT?
Over and over we are told to witness for Jesus. I'm sorry, but I'm just not very good at that sort of thing. I have no great testimony to give. I never took drugs or drank or smoked or caroused. I've led a very quiet life, although I'm sure I've given my guardian angel some gray hairs (Do angels get gray hair? :-) ). If he thought he was getting a nice quiet librarian-type who liked to write stories, he was in for a big surprise. Or two. I can hardly go five minutes without getting into trouble.

But I do want to be a part of the work God is doing. I do want to serve Him. I do want Him to widen my world. I do want to see others as He sees them, to help others, and to share His love with them.

I pray about this and tell Him that I want to serve Him, and I cry because I always mess it up when I try to speak of the Gospel.

The other day when I prayed, I asked Him to give me the words to say. And it suddenly dawned on me that my gift for sharing is in the inspirations He gives me, the "revelations" I receive now in my morning quiet times and have throughout my life, not in the way of "spreading of the Gospel" by buttonholing strangers on the street as I had supposed.

In my stories and my poems and in such a way as this one, lie my talents.

We all have differing abilities. We are what we are--what He made us, each of us fashioned in a unique way with individual needs and strengths, dreams and hopes, talents and gifts.