For a long time, I thought gifting would carry me. If someone needed me to sing, I could sing. If something new needed to be learned, I could usually learn it. If the opportunity was there, I knew how to rise to it. And without realizing it, I started believing a subtle lie: if the gift is strong enough, the fruit will come. Doors will open. Momentum will build. Faithfulness will take care of itself.
But gifting can impress people, while formation still lags. That’s the part we do not talk about enough.
Because in the Kingdom of God, talent is never the same thing as maturity. Skill is not the same thing as surrender. And being able to do something for God is not the same thing as being deeply formed by Him.
Jesus never said, “By your talent you will bear fruit.” He said, “Remain in me… for apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5 (NLT)
That verse confronts more than our weakness. It confronts our illusion of strength.
I had gifts. I had an apparent drive. I had moments of visible fruit. But when growth started requiring consistency, perseverance, blind trust, and the humility to receive correction, I stalled.
What once felt exciting began to feel costly. What once felt natural began exposing my limits. And instead of leaning in, I quietly pulled back. Not dramatically. Just subtly enough to make it sound spiritual.
If something did not work out, I would say, “It just wasn’t God’s timing.”
If a door closed, I would say, “God didn’t bless it anyway.”
But underneath all that polished language was a harder truth: I wasn’t whole. And my overspirituality had quietly become a hiding place. My ambition was not always pure. Sometimes it was insecurity dressed up as confidence. My gifting became something I pulled out selectively, almost like evidence.
See? I still have it. I’m still capable. I’m still relevant.
But that was not fruit. That was performance. Because there is a difference between saying, “Look at what I can do,” and saying, “Look at what God has been forming in me.”
When the opportunities slowed, when the visibility faded, and when the momentum softened, I unraveled. I did not know how to exist without affirmation. Without being seen. Without being needed. So I reached for validation in the wrong places. I complained about being overlooked. I resented those who were still “doing ministry.” I kept score. I replayed disappointments and called them injustice, even when deep down, I knew it was not always that simple.
Then Scripture confronted me without softening the blow:
“Obviously, I’m not trying to win the approval of people, but of God. If pleasing people were my goal, I would not be Christ’s servant.” Galatians 1:10 (NLT)
That verse exposed more than my desire for applause. It exposed my need for approval. And that was the deeper issue. The doors were not closing because I lacked skill. They were closing because I lacked formation.
God brought me to a full stop, not to punish me, but to realign me. Because He cares more about who we are becoming than what we are producing. More about the heart than the platform. More about roots than results. Hebrews 12 reminds us that the Lord disciplines those He loves. Not to shame us. Not to discard us. But to train us in righteousness.
So I stepped away, not from worship, but from the part of me that needed the platform to feel seen. I did not need distance from serving. I needed distance from the ego that had attached itself to it. I needed pruning.
Jesus said that every branch that bears fruit, the Father prunes so it will bear even more (John 15:2). Pruning feels like loss, but it is actually love. And in the quiet, something began to settle in me: God was not finished with me.
“He who began a good work in you will faithfully continue His work until it is finally finished” Philippians 1:6 (NLT).
He slowed me down. He stripped away the noise. He removed the places where I had been hiding behind gifting. And in that stillness, He began the deeper work. Not teaching me how to do more, but teaching me how to be whole.
So here is the question worth sitting with:
Are we asking God to sharpen our skills when He is actually trying to shape our hearts?
What if the delay is not disqualification, but formation?
What if the hidden season is not punishment, but preparation?
What if the real tuning is not about perfect pitch, but a surrendered soul?
Skill is a gift. But without soul, without surrender, without formation, without abiding, it will never sustain the weight of calling.
Let’s tune in.
