A few years ago I had a dream that I have not been able to forget. I found a baby in a stroller, abandoned on the side of the road. I took the baby home to keep her safe and figure out how to find her parents. More than a day passed before I went to the police to report that I had found a baby. In that time, I never once picked the baby up, changed her diaper, or fed her. She just sat quietly in the stroller in my house. When I woke up, I remembered the dream and felt disturbed. How had I left that baby all alone and not cared for her?
And then I got it. That baby. She was a representation of a gift I have — a talent that I was investing almost nothing in. Like that baby, I did not take care of her or nurture her. She just sat there, and I ignored her. She had stopped making noise, if she’d ever made any.
We like to think our talents are outright gifts. A blessing, not a burden. I think that’s where we go wrong. I have four children, and they are wonderful blessings to be sure, but kids are a whole lot of work.
Before you are a parent, there is simply no way to understand just how much mundane, nose-to-the-grindstone effort is a part of parenting. When they are babies, it is all the feeding, diapering, not sleeping. There is all the lugging around, of baby and the paraphernalia. And then as they grow, everything has to be taught and not all are such eager pupils. They must be taught to obey, taught how to treat others, taught how to use the bathroom, dress themselves, tie their shoes. The basics. As they grow older, they must be taught responsibility for homework, chores, commitments, a job. And there is still all that feeding to do. Kids want to keep on eating!
There are transcendent moments in parenting, to be sure. And lots of joyful moments too, watching your child score a goal, hit a ball, get an A, conquer a fear. I love to watch each of my kids be who they are meant to be, but none of them would be that person without encouragement, help, and correction. And they certainly wouldn’t be those people if I never bothered to attend to the drudgery of going to the grocery store, buying food, and then bringing it home to feed them. A whole lot of work goes on behind the scenes of those transcendent and joyful moments.
Our talents are the same. It is not just about a song sung on stage, a book published, or a painting hung on a gallery wall. Our talents involve work, even drudgery. They must be nurtured, encouraged, taught, and cared for. You might even need to change their diapers. Get rid of the garbage.
The thing about kids is that they won’t leave you alone. First they cry to have their needs met, and then they pester you. They won’t stop asking for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For most of us, our talents are much quieter, less demanding. They wait, in silence. We walk right by the quiet baby and ignore its needs. But if we ignore our talents and their need for nurture, there will never be transcendent moments. The book will not be published, the painting will never hang in a gallery.
It is easy to push aside the demands our gifts and talents make on us. Our bosses are loud. Our children are louder. They easily make demands. Somehow I find the time to meet the demands of deadlines and my children. I do my work — and I wash the clothes, go grocery shopping, and make the meals. I do it over and over again. No matter how busy I am or how tired and sick of it all I feel, I keep doing it. I have to.
Somehow we have to see that quiet baby as one fully deserving of attention, help her have a voice and make her own demands, and then make room for it all. We have to accept the reality that even our talents involve work, work, work. And we have to juggle the priorities and make room for this baby, just like I make room for my work and for my kids. Don’t neglect the baby in the stroller. She is worthy of your time and attention. Make a place for her, and let her make demands, just like any baby would.