Devotional | A Little Something

‘It’s okay to be small,’ He whispered to my soul. And He wasn’t talking about my 5’1½”.

We were in ‘therapy,’ which is the completely accurate name I give to receiving trained prayer ministry as a mutual adjunct to psychology. These wonderful folk use a specific framework to isolate the origins of spiritual problems, as evidenced by the collateral damage they cause in one’s life. And there is also a specific framework for dealing with such matters and all their accretions, and finding a place in God from which to move forward differently.

I have been blessed in my life with several small talents, all of them in the arts: song, dance, writing, artwork.

At the age of 15, when my family had been forever nudging me toward ballet, and my creative writing and drawing were flourishing, I felt God calling me to the music ministry. Without any sort of incandescent brilliance or point of difference, I had a nice sweet soprano voice and could harmonise; music sang in me. That was it, but I knew I wanted to serve God, body and soul. I felt that somehow I was destined to make a dent in the world. I was called to Be Radical For Jesus and Do Big Things For God.

What was the path to becoming the next Amy Grant? I didn’t know. But the stories I heard at that age all sounded like this: the girl was singing someplace, and somebody important heard her, and offered her a recording contract – upon which she went on a world tour and blessed/helped save thousands of people, and made several albums (first, broad-spectrum; second, cool; third, experimental).

Well, I didn’t know anyone in the industry, and I could count the musicians I knew at the time on one hand. I was going to have to trust God to do the rich-and-famous part; my part was to keep singing, and develop my songwriting. My parents, God bless them, bought me as many gospel backing tracks as they could afford at the time. Now … who wants to let me sing?

And so I found myself, without even realising what I was doing until much, much later, chasing gatekeepers. I spent the next few decades in three countries singing for Jesus any chance I got. From school competitions and choir, I went to playing in bands, in church, at youth group, on outreaches, in rallies, at parties and weddings and festivals – everywhere. It was the only thing I knew: be faithful with what’s in front of you, serve the gifts of others while you’re at it, and trust God to bring along Bigger Things.

But to get to Bigger Things, it seemed you had to earn the respect of the Bigger People. How could you be discovered as a singer, if you weren’t singing someplace? And how could you sing anywhere unless people let you? But my, they were hard to impress. They wanted you to be at every event they put on, because you needed to look Committed and Pulse-adept, and show you had priorities and tenacity. Also innovation. And – let’s be honest – poise, maturity, a great look, a solid reputation, good doctrine, a pure heart, unstinting volunteerism, team player, a hotline to Jesus, a following, the X-factor, and cool friends. It incensed me when others would succeed with only some of this list, while I languished in obscurity shooting for the moon in all of them, the bar continually shifting. It didn’t occur to me that my own metric was out. Nor, for a long time, that I was self-righteous. I didn’t see it as self-promotion (a dirty word in Christendom) because I was only pushing so that I could do what God was asking of me. It was ambition, but it wasn’t selfish, I reasoned.

Alongside of all that desperation, distrust, confusion, and striving was the part of me that rang true. Bless the people around you. Sing nothing without meaning it. Write honestly and with hope. Crave the anointing. Be humble. Promote and encourage others. Share the fun parts and don’t be a diva. Roll cables. Appreciate and love all kinds of people. Aim for that Heavenly ‘well done.’

What actually happened was that I ran myself, and by extension my family, ragged. To this day I don’t really know how much of it was well-meaning and how much of it was misplaced. You could say there was faith: I was shooting for something that exceeded my wherewithal. But you could also say there was un-faith: I did it all in my own strength, without even understanding what that phrase meant.

I never did become the next Amy Grant, or at least, it hasn’t happened yet. I made a beautiful album at 35 that everyone loved but only a few bought. I wrote hundreds of songs. I stayed faithfully ministering in church life, sometimes under grim circumstances. And I co-raised two wonderful people with my longsuffering husband. Now in my early 50s, there is still a part of me looking for my Big Break. Another part of me marvels that I emerged at all from the aforesaid local grimness, shuddering to think what would have happened if I had made it big and put my sensitive li’l heart in a position for the entire industry to chew me up and spit me out.

‘Did I screw up Plan A, Lord?’ I whispered. ‘When I insisted on having kids?’

‘Oh,’ He breathed, with laughter in His voice, ‘you’ve got no idea how many plans I have for you. We have a whole alphabet to work with …’

You Are HereSo here I am working as a graphic designer on the cusp of a writing career, with 2.5 books under my belt and twelve more planned. And the challenge is, will I again chase the gatekeepers? Or will I take care of business at my end, and leave the size of things with God?

It’s okay to be small.

I don’t know how God balances ‘dent the world’ with ‘be okay being small,’ but He would be the One in the know. As for gatekeeping – His gates don’t require me to be big, only to be faithful – and even then, where I am not, He is.

Not long after that memorable prayer session (hours, in fact) my eyes were opened. I started to see just how many attention-seeking behaviours I had developed. It was one part horrifying and one part pitiable. I genuinely cared and wanted to bless people; but I was going about it intrusively by drawing attention to myself as the Blessing Bringer. All for God’s glory, of course …

The fact is that while many things start out for, or may be aimed at, God’s glory – it is PERILOUSLY easy to get distracted into chasing them for their own sake. In the words of Iron Man 3, one day you look up, and you’re a long way from shore. That happened to me. And to bend a metaphor, I’m not sure what the price of admission is on this one, either.

So, while I understand the importance of building a platform as a means of succeeding as a writer, and I get that it’s a means to an end … I know that I am easily sucked into the means. And I tend to take my poor family down that whirlpool with me. All I wanted to do was serve God with my gifts; but I wound up serving the gifts. So, I don’t want to work hard at currying anyone’s favour any more. I don’t want to think myself benevolent if really a large chunk of my benevolence was simply me seeking the right to call myself Nice. I’m done with striving to be Impressive™. I hope. I don’t want to wear myself out to ‘get somewhere,’ even if that’s a legitimate path for some. It isn’t for me. I don’t want to keep trying on Saul’s armour, straining to grow into it.

Instead, I want to keep asking the Holy Spirit for His advice on how to proceed, and how to balance my responsibilities and health with working diligently on my craft/s. I’ll put my two cents out there, and concentrate on being faithful, rather than famous. If there’s a platform to be built, sure, I’ll give it a go; but I want Him as my Foreman – and only incidentally, because He’s first and foremost my great Love. I’m ready to live a Spirit-led life. And if I never make it big … so be it. If there’s a spotlight in Heaven, only Jesus will be standing in it. I’ll have done as He directed me, to the best of my ability to hear and obey. And it’ll be okay to have been small.

Have you ever stressed yourself out with trying to be fabulous?