Maybe I’m Supposed to Create Anyway
A slow and sacred blog series about creative calling, quiet obedience, and the courage to build what God whispers.
This is a space for the in-between. For the ones still becoming. For the quiet creatives, faithful wrestlers, and women of faith who feel called to more—but want to walk with God through the becoming.
Pull up a chair. Take a deep breath. Let’s reflect together.
Calling and Divine Gifts
Blog #8 of 14 | Section Three: Creative Calling + Faithful Fruit
Some gifts come easy.
You know the kind—what people always praise you for, the things you barely have to try at. Maybe you were the math kid, or the natural encourager, or the one who could fix anything. Gifts like that feel simple to carry.
But what about the ones that don’t come so easily?
What about the things you’ve always done privately—quietly—never sure they counted as gifts at all?
What if it’s a gift—even if it doesn’t feel like one?
For me, it’s always been writing. But I didn’t call it that. Not for a long time.
It looked like prayers in the margins. Notes on my phone. Paragraphs that never left the page. Thoughts I never shared unless someone asked. Even now, I hesitate to name it as a gift—because it never felt official or obvious.
It definitely didn’t feel spiritual.
I used to think gifts had to look like preaching or teaching—maybe leading worship or running a ministry. Something loud. Something useful. Something someone could validate with a title or a role.
I could name other people’s gifts with ease. But my own? I kept those tucked away.
And still, God kept whispering: Write.
When the gift goes quiet
Even that whisper didn’t feel like enough.
Especially when the gift went quiet.
I remember shrinking back after I started my first real job. I didn’t speak up much in meetings. I didn’t offer insight unless someone asked. I didn’t feel like the same version of myself I used to be—the girl who always had something to say. Somewhere along the way, I learned to wait for permission.
A coworker once looked at me and said, “You already know the answer—I can see it on your face. But you won’t speak unless someone pulls it out of you.”
She was right.
That tension between “too much” and “too quiet” stuck with me. I thought I was being wise. Careful. Humble, even.
But really, I was afraid.
Afraid to misuse a gift I didn’t fully understand. Afraid to speak when I wasn’t sure it would land right. Afraid that maybe it wasn’t a gift at all.
But somewhere in the middle of that silence, I started to ask a different question:
What if the gift is real… but it’s still growing?
Learning to name what’s been there all along
So I started paying closer attention.
- To what I kept doing, even when I didn’t mean to.
- To what people gently affirmed, even when I tried to shrug it off.
- To the nudges that came back around, no matter how often I said, “That’s not really me.”
I’m not flashy. I’m not the most creative. I’m not the loudest voice in the room.
But I do have a pull toward clarity. I can feel when something’s off. I can usually name what someone’s really trying to say—before they’ve fully said it.
That’s not just personality. That’s not just preference. That’s a gift.
Scripture talks about a wide range of them—teaching, encouragement, leadership, hospitality, discernment, mercy, wisdom.
Some are more visible than others. Some are hard to describe. Some show up in the break room, not the pulpit. And some don’t feel like gifts at all until someone else names them.
Have you ever wondered if what comes easy to you is actually something God put there on purpose?
When the gift needs fruit
Still, I didn’t feel confident. I didn’t feel “called.” I felt like I was fumbling.
Like I had something in my hands but no idea how to carry it well.
That’s when I started noticing the difference between gift and fruit.
Scripture says the fruit of the Spirit is:
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
And those aren’t checklists. They’re indicators.
You can be gifted and still unkind. You can be insightful and still impatient. You can lead well—and still crush someone’s spirit.
The gift is what you carry.
The fruit is how you carry it.
Becoming someone who can carry it well
I’ve had to learn that the hard way.
I’ve said things too sharply because I knew they were true. I’ve led with vision but not always gentleness. I’ve held back clarity out of fear. And I’ve offered it too forcefully out of pride.
God’s been teaching me that calling is not just about being useful. It’s about being formed.
It’s not just about using what you’ve been given— It’s about becoming someone who can be trusted to carry it.
Maybe the gift is teaching, but the fruit is humility.
Maybe the gift is discernment, but the fruit is patience.
Maybe the gift is leadership, but the fruit is self-control.
The Spirit cultivates both.
The gift and the fruit.
And grace holds them together.
Trusting what God planted
I’m still learning how to trust what God put in me. Still learning not to bury it out of fear. Still learning not to wield it without love.
But I’m paying attention now.
I’m watching for the places where fruit begins to grow— not just in outcomes, but in me.
- When I speak gently, even when I’m frustrated.
- When I wait patiently, even when I know the answer.
- When I offer what I’ve been given, even when I’m unsure how it will be received.
That’s how I know I’m growing. Not because I’m louder or more confident— but because I’m more surrendered.
A quiet invitation
I don’t have a big conclusion here—just a quiet invitation.
- To notice what keeps returning.
- To name what God may have planted in you.
- To look not only at your strength, but at your surrender.
You don’t have to master the gift to begin using it. But it’s okay to ask: What kind of person is this gift shaping me into?
Because the gift may be yours to carry. But the fruit will always point back to Him.
Prayer
Lord,
You see the parts of me I don’t even know how to name yet.
You planted gifts in me that I’m only beginning to recognize.
I don’t want to use them without You.
Help me to carry them with fruit—
with patience when I’m rushed,
with kindness when I’m right,
with gentleness when I’m strong,
and with joy when I feel unseen.
Let my gift point back to You.
Let my fruit reflect that I’ve been with You.
And when I’m unsure if I’m called—
remind me: You don’t waste what You’ve planted.
You grow it in grace.
Amen.
Blog #9 of 16: Calling and Divine Gifts
This is part of the blog series Maybe I’m Supposed to Create Anyway, a slow and sacred reflection on becoming, obedience, and creative calling.
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