It is December First. I know, I am going to whine. As most of you who are familiar with me know, I am afraid to turn thirty. I am not afraid of the number, as silly as that sounds. I am not afraid of entering true womanhood or any of those benefits of being thirty. Youth is not what I lament in a general sense. I lament the youth that was lost in failure to selfishly become what I always thought I would be (I confess): a singer with a recording contract. To me, turning thirty means I bury it forever. The good thing is that I look ahead to still being youthful enough to have quite a future before me, but not young enough to have the future I had in mind from the time I could open my mouth and sing the very songs I wrote in my brain. So there is some good to it all. Just because my music will most likely never be produced for the masses (how vain of me to think that I ought to be chosen by God to do such a thing?), does not mean that I don't have other things that I can do. There's always the bright side, right? I am a great cook (and I mean this as fact, not as a praise to myself) but I don't use my talent in that area much. I suppose my talent is wasted.
I very much feel that my musical talent is wasted on me. I made a mistake somewhere down the road and took the wrong turn or just didn't take a turn at all and went straight ahead. I do not regret being who I am; don't get me wrong. I just do think there is such a thing as squandering a gift God has given and realizing that is depressing. I don't know what I could have done. I wish I could literally take it from my body and pass it on to someone else younger than me who can make use of it. And I don't mean to say that I am all that and a bag of chips either. I really can't take ownership of what God has given. I see myself as His vessel, and it is like having a beautiful guitar given to you but your fingers are cut off and you haven't the faintest idea how to play the thing even if you had fingers.
I realize that what I fight against is God's will. He alone has reasons for the path that He has led me to. And what right have I to question it? There is no one to blame. Who am I to say to the Potter, "Why did you make me?" He just did.