Every evening, the same scene repeated itself. Home from school, I would sit in the house awaiting the familiar click of the milker as it signaled the beginning of evening chores. The lights in the house would dim for a split second, then return to full vibrancy. Like the lights, my enthusiasm for farm life would lessen as I remembered the chores that awaited me, but once I had hefted on my overalls and boots and stepped into the country air, my joy would return.
In the barn preparing the calves’ evening ration, the local country station would mix with the steady hum of machines emptying the cows of their precious commodity which was the lifeblood of my family. I knew every song that played on that radio by heart, and my voice would quickly take up the tune as I worked.
My arms, just as strong as any boys’ my age, would swing heavy buckets of milk and bottles up the gravel lane that led to the calves; all the while, a song was on my lips. Safe on our little farm in the hollow of the rolling hills, I would sing at the top of my voice, never fearing I would be heard. The little calves would join the chorus as they heard supper arriving.
My music wasn’t reserved for the calves. In high school, I found my sweet spot on the stage of our local high school. I knew how to play to a crowd and would change my performance night to night based on the mood of the audience. If there was any vocal or talent competition, I was often in it, and would often bring home a prize.
Singing with my voice put a song in my heart. I never felt more alive than when a song was on my lips.
Then life changed. Shifting from country life to huge university campus life meant I no longer could belt it out whenever I pleased, and as a science major, music was not on my course list. I took a role in the university musical my freshman year, but as my voice lay dormant, I lost the ability I once had to control my voice. Wanting to gain back some of the warmth music had been in my life, I took lessons. But now when I sang, the voice coming from my mouth sounded foreign and hollow.
I had lost my gift.
Turning to a vocation of love…
Music was a cornerstone in my childhood home. Mother played guitar, directed the church choir, and could pull a harmony out of thin air. My two sisters possessed rich voices that sang for many ears. One even chose to go on and get her doctorate in Vocal Pedagogy (that is “How the Voice Works” for those of you wondering) and has a gorgeous operatic voice.
Though, as a young girl I dreamed of touring the world while my song hit the top of the charts, God’s Will (thankfully) has led my life in the complete opposite direction. My life is not spent on stages in front of massive audiences, but instead is played out quietly inside the four sturdy walls of the home my husband and I have made together.
Though God, in His Grace, has called me to live a hidden and unappreciated vocation, it does not mean I must bury the gifts He has so graciously bestowed on me. Quite the contrary.
My gifts are not my own. I am only the steward of such things while I walk this earth. God doesn’t intend for me to use them selfishly or to, alternatively, hide them away. Instead, His plan calls on me to use these gifts for His Glory.
He gave me these gifts knowing full well I would end up here in this little village in the middle of America. Could it be He intends me to use these gifts right where I am this very moment?
Slowly, God has helped me unearth the dusty treasures I had assumed I must bury when I took up mothering as my full time vocation. He has shown me that motherhood and the exercising of my gifts are not two exclusive destinies. No, these gifts and my calling go hand-in-hand.
Dusting off buried talents…
God transforms what I used for selfish gain into a tool to shape the souls and destinies of eternal beings.
I bring the gospel of life to my family by humming those hymns I learned in the little white church on the hill. My children pick up the words and soon I hear them about their day, while they remain unconscious that they are singing at all.
Hymn study is not something relegated to the morning basket, but instead is carried out over an unfolded pile of laundry on mama’s bed.
My voice is singing, but so is my heart. How could it be so much sweeter to play to an audience of four than of four hundred? But somehow it is…
My children will remember their childhood home being one filled with joyful noise. Someday, they will remember mama’s voice raised in praise to a God who has richly blessed her life. They will turn to a friend and say, “My mother sang to me…”
You too, dear reader, possess unique God given talents.
What gifts have you put to rest as you have become a mother? Do you think your vocation excluded you from using these treasures?
I see God’s handiwork in each of my friends in unique ways. Those gifts are reflected in the lives of their families and in the hearts of their children.
A friend gifted with a loving heart and emotional sensitivity ministers to strangers as she shops with her little ones in toe. Another servant-hearted friend opens her doors to one and all, inviting even the most fringe persons to experience the love and acceptance of a Christian home. Another uses her love of literature to feed not only the souls of her little ones, but to help others and in small measure support her family.
Don’t tell me you were born with no talents. No, God gave each of us special gifts, dear friend. What brought you joy as a child? What were you praised for? Ask God to reveal the unique gifts He embedded in your soul at the moment of your creation.
Enliven the family culture…
Next, pray how God asks you to use these gifts in your present vocation as mother.
Do you think God would carelessly put such fine detail into the creation of each future mother only to ask them to stifle and snuff out these gifts when they bring their first child into the world?
It is my firm belief that God gave you these gifts, not in spite of your call to motherhood,
but as a very means for living your vocation to its fullest.
