A few years ago, I was flipping through an old journal and found a sentence I had written in the middle of a restless season:
“Talent alone is not enough. Service is His love language. Talent is just a tool.”
I remember exactly where I was emotionally when I wrote it. Things had shifted. Roles had changed. The spaces where I once felt confident and effective no longer felt the same. And underneath my prayers was a question I did not want to admit out loud:
“God, when are You going to reposition me?”
I was not questioning His goodness. I was questioning His timing. Or maybe, if I am honest, I was questioning why my gift was not making room for me the way it used to.
That was a tender thing to admit.
Because I knew what I was capable of, my experience, my training, and what I could bring to the table. And somewhere along the way, that knowing started to turn into expectation.
Not loud arrogance or obvious pride. Just a quiet belief that because I was gifted, I should be considered. Because I have experience, I should be trusted. Because I had done it before, I should be given a place again.
But that is where entitlement can hide. Sometimes it sounds like: “Why not me?” “They don’t see what I carry.” “I have already proven myself.”
Those thoughts do not make us villains. They make us human. But they also reveal something that needs tuning. Because talent is a gift, but it was never meant to become a claim.
The Bible says in 1 Peter 4:10:
“God has given each of you a gift from his great variety of spiritual gifts. Use them well to serve one another.”
Use them well. Not to prove yourself. Not to secure your identity. Not to climb into recognition.
Use them to serve one another. That is the part that humbled me. Because I liked the idea of using my gift for God. But I had to let God confront the part of me that wanted my gift to guarantee a position.
The truth is that a gift is something we steward. Entitlement is something we protect.
A gift asks, “God, how do You want me to use this?”
Entitlement asks, “God, why am I not being used the way I think I should be?”
A gift stays surrendered. Entitlement keeps score.
That was hard for me.
Because comparison can feel justified when you believe you are capable. Pride can feel logical when you have experience. Resentment can feel reasonable when you think you have been overlooked.
But God was not just looking at my ability. He was looking at my heart. And my heart needed surrender.
Fénelon once wrote, “Full surrender is full peace.”*
That sentence sits right in the middle of this tension for me. Because I had surrendered my gift in theory, but I had not fully surrendered the placement.
I wanted God to have my talent. But I still wanted control over where it was seen.
There was a season when I had to admit that my frustration was not only about closed doors. It was about what I believed my gift should have earned me. I thought my ability should have made the next step obvious.
But God was teaching me that being gifted or capable does not always mean being called to that space. Experienced does not always mean entitled. And being overlooked by people does not mean being forgotten by God.
Jesus gives us a very different picture of greatness.
Philippians 2 tells us that although He had every right to hold unto status, He humbled Himself and took the position of a servant.
The One with the highest name chose the lowest posture.
That confronts me. Because if anyone was entitled to recognition, it was Jesus. If anyone deserved to be honored, it was Jesus. If anyone had the right to say, “Do you know who I am?” it was Jesus.
But He did not use His identity to demand a platform. He used His authority to serve.
That is Kingdom leadership and Kingdom humility.
And it is so different from the way our hearts often operate.
Because sometimes we want the towel, but only if it eventually leads to the microphone. Sometimes we say we want to serve, but deep down we want serving to prove we are ready to lead. Sometimes we celebrate humility until humility asks us to support someone else’s assignment without inserting ourselves into it.
That is when the real heart work begins. Because talent can impress people, but humility reveals Christ.
That season in my life exposed me in the best and most painful way. It showed me that I could be gifted and still need refining. I could be experienced and still need surrender. I could be talented and still need humility.
And the mercy of God is that He does not expose these things to shame us. He exposes them to free us.
So maybe the question is not only: “Am I gifted?”
Maybe the deeper questions are:
Can I serve when my gift is not highlighted?
Can I celebrate when someone else is chosen?
Can I be faithful in a role that feels smaller than my ability?
Can I surrender not only my gift, but also where God chooses to place it?
Those questions are not comfortable. But they are holy.
Talent is good; God gave it to us. It should be developed, stewarded, and used well.
But talent was never meant to carry the weight of our identity. That weight belongs to Christ alone.
Because when our worth is rooted in our gift, we become defensive when we’re overlooked.
When our worth is rooted in Christ, we can serve whether we’re seen or unseen.
We can celebrate someone else’s opportunity without feeling diminished. We can support without comparison. We can lead without entitlement. We can trust that God’s placement is just as important as God’s gifting.
Talent is a gift. Humility is what keeps the gift surrendered. And in the Kingdom, the goal is not to be impressive. The goal is to become more like Jesus with whatever He has placed in our hands.
Let’s tune in.
* François Fénelon, Let Go (New Kensington, PA: Whitaker House, 1989), 23.
