The waste of space I was not meant to be.

Outside the inn where we're staying there is a great big yard. The kind of yard a kid can get excited about, daydream about in math class and plan fully involved cowboy and space monkey battles of epic proportions in. But there are no children here. No homes, no families, no schools. In the yard stands a lone giant gazebo with a miniature stage, two picnic tables, 8 benches, and two outdoor grills, the sort you have to chip the rust off of before using. But there are no large jolly gatherings, no neighborhood parties here. Instead of the delicious scent of burgers and beef franks I smell ash and cigarettes because this is the place the inn staff come to smoke and gossip about us messy guests. Across the narrow unlined street is a tennis court, a volleyball net, and four square blocks. There is no equipment, just the tease of opportunity. I've looked for the place where they keep the rackets hoping to go out and fulfill the hopes and dreams of those empty painted squares, but alas it seems they are meant to stay in exile across the street. I can't help but pity this place, in all its wasted glory, hidden away from the children, the families who dream of its existence without knowing its been here all along, dreaming of them. I come sit in the gazebo, a different bench every day, just to give it what it craves, the satisfaction of being used.

This place is exactly who we are, built for a purpose, but lacking the courage or even perhaps the intelligence to be put to use. I can play an instrument, not just any instrument but a rare and beautiful one. I can cook delicious meals. I read very well and aloud, something my Mama taught me. These aren't statements of self importance but of shame. God gave me these incredible gifts but rarely do I use them for his glory. I play music for my pleasure, I cook great big meals for my own taste, and I read every day for my own entertainment. If your father gave you a sparkling candy apple red, top of the line, world class huffy racing bike would you hide it deep in the garage and only sneak it out in the dead of night to polish and ride in little circles in the driveway? No, me either. So why are we so selfish with the gifts our heavenly father gave us?

There is an audience for every talent God has ever created, a need for every skill. There are people in nursing homes, children's homes, our neighbors homes that have needs God has created us to fill.