Indiana Wilkins and the Temple of Prose

Everyone has different gifts.

This is something I have heard a great deal over the course of my life, especially since moving to Yuma. I married into a family that was extremely gifted musically, and I am not…similarly gifted. I can carry a tune enough not to embarrass myself, but I am not the lifelong singer my wife and her father are.

As if that weren’t enough, they can also play. My wife plays the flute beautifully, and Ken plays anything with strings and several without. Jenny’s brother John is an amazing rock drummer, and my 7 year old son is already a better drummer than I would be if I lived to be a 1000 years old.

I can’t bang a triangle at dinner time.

That used to bum me out a little because I felt like I would fit better in the family if I could play something. I would see them up there playing and worshipping and I would feel like I was missing something.

And then I realized this is my act of worship; writing. I sing my praises through a keyboard instead of a microphone.

God gave me a decent enough brain, and the ability to turn a written phrase—and I do not have the fear that many do to speak in front of people, thanks to 4 years in the drama class of the incomparable Ed Hollingsworth.

So this is what I do.

I write.

I speak my mind to a captive audience of perhaps two or three readers. What I was meant to do? This may be part of it, but certainly not all of it.

Now, approaching my mid-40’s, I find myself heeding the still, small voice, and doing something I would have not even considered the possibility of just a few short years ago, prior to marrying the amazing Jennifer Wilkins.

I’m going to bible college.

Where that will take me, I do not know with any kind of certainty. I do know it is the right thing to do, and the obedient one.

So I will read, and study, and write—unfortunately, this will mostly consist of essays. And the occasional short burst of something like this, time permitting.

The adventure continues…

Six Arms

Work has been a little tough lately. Not so much the job itself—I feel pretty comfortable performing all the tasks assigned to me. This particular test, however, has been a great many hours, and the end of it is a long way off. Consequently, I have been pretty tired, and when I am tired, it is easy to think negative thoughts, and sometimes forget to be grateful for all I have been blessed with.

The other night I was driving home after a 13 hour workday, and all I could think about was that I was hungry, and wondering when I would be able to go to sleep. I knew there were likely a couple things to take care of at home—including catching up on reading for my New Testament class—but none of that interested me.

I parked my car, and realized with a start that I was allowing negativity to consume me when really I had been absolutely flooded with blessing. I had a job when so many people in town didn’t. I had a family that loved me when many were alone. I was going to go inside and eat dinner and sleep in a bed when so many were homeless and hungry.

I asked God to remind me of my blessings, and help me to find a way to glorify Him with my work. Then I got out of my car and walked to my front door.

I stood in front of the door and gathered my thoughts for a few seconds. As I opened the door, I heard my wife’s voice say “Daddy’s home,” and I walked inside.

“Dada,” said John, standing right next to the door. He wrapped his arms around my legs, and then lifted them to me. I scooped him up. David came over and hugged me around my middle. Then Jen put her arms around me and gave me a kiss.

Thanks, God, I thought.