Dale's Marinade

Talent is quite burdensome. Scripture says "to whom much is given much is expected." That can mean many different things, but it absolutely does not allow any room for squandering gifts.

I can't imagine recieving a check in the mail and celebrating by lighting it on fire.

Gifts are meant to be celebrated, and whether that celebration means being frugal and saving or treating one's self to trivial things - that gift is still being celebrated. Somehow, however, it also ties into spiritual gifts or abilities. These gifts are like doors in a corridor. The more doors there are the tougher it is to decipher which door is correct (as if there were such a thing). I see this corridor as a huge ornate octagonally shaped room with doors on every side. There are so many possibilities how can I choose the right door? This is the dilemna that I find myself marinading in most of the time. When I say marinading I mean sitting, doing absolutely nothing other than soaking up other people without offering any sort of reciprocation. This marinading is not a rewarding place to be, but much of the time I find myself stagnantly sitting in Dale's as I ponder which direction to run, which door to open. The thing that I overlook is that there is this huge light fixture over my head. It is enormous and multithronged and it sits over my head - sometimes foreboding, sometimes it is a gentle source of much needed light. This light fixture is principle in the my corridor for the simple reason that it offers me my answer, but I am so quick to disregard it as meaningless - useless. So often I'm ignorant to the fact that this light fixture is so enormous that regardless of which door I enter, it will still light the path. Even if perhaps I choose to go in the wrong direction, that light is so illuminous that there is nothing left to chance. I really have no chance of taking an irreconcilable turn or falling into some deep, dark abyss because regardless of where my feet go, there will always be that light (not a fading light and not a glimmer of a sunrise; a bright, vibrant, "follow me" light) that will allow me to see. Behind each and every one of those doors is life, behind each one is light and experience and failure and joy. Behind each one there is also uncertainty. Somehow, I don't realize that by standing directly in the center of the corridor refusing to move, refusing to go, I am also refusing to open my eyes. I am a contradiction, an oxymoron. I am living my 'scared of the dark' life with my eyes closed. It is high time to thrust myself out and walk through the doors with fervor and zeal so as to open my eyes however slightly and regard the light fixture of burnished bronze. It is high time that the possibilities of light encompassing all paths be embraced and the uncertainty behind the doors be embraced as new opportunities to fail and learn - to taste the sour, and of course, of course the sweet, sweet honey that lies beyond my portal, my corridor. It is time for the sweetness of life to ripple through my veins and the joy of failure to peruse through the chronicles of my mind. It is time for doors to be opened - to honor the craftsmanship and brilliance of my corridor's light fixture - which casts light into ever nook and cranny of my expansive hallway, which casts light and hope onto the concerned and frightened brow.

To whom there are doors to enter, doors are to be entered. To whom life is given, life is expected.