Five Words I Met on the Way to Heaven

by Kerry Blair

In the parable of the talents, a wealthy man gathers three of his servants and entrusts them with his goods while he is away. To one he gives five talents, to another two, and to a third he gives one talent -- each according to their several abilities. As you probably recall, the first two servants doubled what they were given while the third servant dug a pit in the earth and hid up his talent in order to “keep it safe.”

Do you ever wonder if Matthew and Luke missed somebody when they retold the tale? In latter-day revelation -- and indeed in His life teachings -- Christ makes it clear there is a fourth type of servant as well. While some of us are digging pits, and others of us are going merrily on our way multiplying our talents little or much, there is a fourth group who pause in the enrichment of their own fortunes to consider their fellow laborers. When they see another servant hide up his talent, they drop what they are doing and rush to help.

I know this kind of person well. The Master has often set them along my path because He knows that I am without doubt that third servant. Call me Martha. (Having written that, I recognize that it is a discredit to a worthy woman.) The point is, I have raised being “careful and troubled about many things” to an art form. When Luke called this kind of mortal mania “cumbered” he knew whereof he spoke. (And I’m not just saying that to make up for pointing out his possible journalistic oversight earlier.)

To use writing as an example -- since it does come to my attention from time to time that this is a writing-related blog -- I intended from childhood to make use of that meager talent. But being careful and troubled about things like school and marriage and children and callings and . . . whatever, any talent I might have been given was soon buried under an avalanche of life. It would still be there, in fact, if it weren’t for my best friend Joan -- one of those fourth types of servants.

Not only did Joan first encourage me to write, she dragged me along to her writer’s group and applauded my first pathetic attempts at novelizationing. (I suspect that's not a word.) In real words, she stooped to dig my one tarnished talent out of the dirt each and every time I dropped it. (Stepped on it. Buried it. Abandoned it forever.) Joan knew me too well. She recognized that I was determined (if not destined) to spend more time obsessing about not having as many talents as everybody else than using the measly one I did have. One day, in total frustration, she yelled at me:

“Just write a stupid book!”

Turns out those were five of the most meaningful words I ever heard. They were so wise, in fact, that I wrote them down and still have them framed and sitting on my desk. Don’t obsess, they remind me. Don’t despair. Be careful not to borrow trouble. Just write a stupid book now and worry about being a no-talent loser later. That simple phrase has so much power -- it’s worked nine times for me! -- that I’ve been thinking of copyrighting it and selling posters during NaNoWriMo. (But I’ll give it to you free of charge today. You’re welcome)

There are so many servants like Joan -- incredibly talented people who are going about their Master’s business in the way He truly intended. While magnifying their own talents all out of proportion, these people yet take every opportunity to teach and bless, build and edify others. If I started to name the ones who have profoundly affected me -- Jennie, Marsha, David, Cheri, Margaret, Janette, Marnie, and those guys who blog here the rest of the week -- I’d be listing all day. So instead I’ll silently bless their names (as I do every day) and wait to sing their praises until I get to the other side of the veil. And take voice lessons.

In the meantime, I must confess that I misplaced that lousy talent yet again. (Okay, okay, so I chucked it down a well the last time that “careful and troubled” thing hit.) Fortunately -- and thanks to a couple of those aforementioned fourth servants -- I think I still see a glimmer of it down there somewhere. Maybe I’ll finally stop obsessing, fish it out, and write a stupid book.

It’s not like I haven’t done that before. (You knew I had to say it before Rob did!)