“This is the woman I’ve been telling you about. She is a poet,” my sister said. “Barbara, this is my brother, Charlie.”
We were at lunch at my sister’s independent living facility here in Atlanta. My sister explained that Barbara has a big body of work. Big enough that her daughter self-published a book of her mother’s poems.
“Please tell Charlie one of your poems,” my sister asked. I felt uncomfortable for this eighty-seven-year-old woman. She was just put on the spot. I’ve learned in these nursing homes that memory is a challenge for almost everyone. Here we were, staring at Barbara and waiting for her to choose one of her poems from memory and then recite it.
She looked a bit struck and said, “Now. You want me to recite one of my poems now?”
“Yes. Yes,” my sister insisted.
Barbara’s expression changed to one of deep thought and contemplation. And in a few seconds, she began reciting this poem.
I expected the poem to be a few verses, but it went on for a few minutes. It was at least ten stanzas. And Barbara, once she started reciting her poem, never missed a beat. She never once searched for a word or a verse.
As she was reciting her poem, her eyes locked on mine. The words were thoughtful and filled with meaning. It was a commentary on society today compared to when she was a young lady. Her words raised emotion in me. While listening, the thought came to me to give her a kiss on her cheek to show my appreciation for her sharing her poem with me.
When she finished, I leaned over, gave her a soft hug, and kissed her on her cheek. It just happened. I later wondered if I was out of line. But at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do after her reading. I did it because I honor thoughts that, I believe, are led by the Holy Spirit.
After the kiss, she said, “Thank you so much for that. It was unexpected.”
Then she told me this story.
“When I was in high school, the nun teaching us gave us homework assignments to write poems. After class, my four girlfriends told me they had no idea how to write a poem. I was surprised by this. I wasn’t intimidated by the assignment. I was excited about it.”
“The next day of class, we all turned in our poems. After reviewing the class homework, the nun said to me and my girlfriends, ‘The same person wrote these five poems. Which one of you wrote these poems?’
“I raised my hand expecting to be punished and confessed. ‘It was me.’
“The nun didn’t punish me but said, ‘The reason I gave this assignment was to see if anyone in this class had the gift of poetry. The desire and ability to express ourselves using poetry is a gift from God. Young lady, you have this gift.’
“That day changed my life. It was the day I knew my gift. I was a poet.”
I said, “That is life change. I don’t hear stories like that very often. My sister has a similar story. Do you want to hear it?” Barbara was all in.
Janet was sitting on a plane about to take off for London. She said, “As I sat there, I told myself, you are an artist.” She was twenty-seven years old at the time.
Up to that time, she was an English high school teacher. My parents encouraged her to stop thinking about art and focus on teaching as her career. But her innermost desire continued to steer her thinking and creativity toward painting. That day, on that plane, irrespective of what made good sense, she realized she was an artist, specifically, a painter.
I asked Barbara, “How many poems have you written in your lifetime?”
She said, “I’m not sure, but it must be several hundred.”
I asked my sister, “How many paintings have you created?”
She said, “I counted eight big pieces.” (These are paintings that measure five feet by six feet. She has always loved big canvases.)
Then I reminded her, “With your smaller pieces and etchings, I bet you have another two hundred or so.”
I loved these two stories of how these two women, now eighty-seven and eighty-two, learned the gift God gave them. Other people thought their gifts were economically useless. But the gift of poetry and the gift of painting make our world and our lives richer, delightful, and more beautiful. These two women had to engage in other income-producing work to live, but they desired to create using their unique gifts. And we are all the better for it.
Ephesians 2:10 says, “We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus, to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”
We all have a gift. What is yours? Maybe someone told you early in life, like that nun did to Barbara. Maybe at the strangest of times, like sitting on a plane, you just knew. It is moments like these that set our life on the path to do the good work that was intended for us from our beginning.
We must be true to our gift. That’s all God asks.
