Erma Bombeck once said, “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’”
Which sounds noble, inspiring, and slightly terrifying if you’re the kind of person who still has unopened craft supplies from 2009.
Because let’s be honest: many of us are planning to arrive at Heaven’s gate with a carry-on bag labeled “Untapped Potential.”
God: “So… what did you do with the gifts I gave you?”
Me: “Well Lord, I saved them. You never know when you might need a spare.”
The Spiritual Junk Drawer
We all have one. That invisible drawer stuffed with talents we meant to use someday:
- The book we were “going to write”
- The kindness we were “saving for a better moment”
- The courage we were “waiting to feel first”
- The musical ability we stopped using because one person said, “You’re… brave.”
It turns out Heaven does not reward careful hoarders of potential.
God doesn’t seem impressed by mint-condition talents, still in the original packaging.
The Myth of “When I’m Ready”
Most of us assume God hands out talents expecting polished performances. Standing ovations. Maybe a highlight reel.
But history suggests God is perfectly comfortable working with:
- Stutterers (Moses)
- Doubters (Thomas)
- Hot-headed fishermen (Peter)
- And people who definitely did not have a five-year plan (everyone)
Apparently, readiness is optional. Willingness is not.
Used, Abused, and Joyfully Worn Out
Erma’s quote implies something radical: that the goal is not to protect our gifts but to exhaust them.
To arrive at the end of life spiritually out of breath, slightly scuffed, and joyfully empty.
Picture it:
- Your patience? Gone. Used on people who tested it daily.
- Your creativity? Spent on things that didn’t always work.
- Your love? Over-distributed. No refunds.
God looks at you and says, “Wow. You really ran that thing into the ground.”
And you reply, “Yes, Lord. No returns available.”
The Heavenly Performance Review
I doubt the final evaluation sounds like this:
“You played it safe. Excellent job avoiding failure.”
More likely:
“You tried. You risked. You loved people who were difficult. You used what you had—even when it felt small.”
Which is good news, because most of us are not working with Olympic-level talent anyway. We’re working with “good enough if you actually try” material.
So Here’s the Plan
Use the gift.
Say the thing.
Write the article.
Make the call.
Serve the people.
Sing off-key.
Fail forward.
Laugh at yourself.
And when the day comes to stand before God, may we all shrug and say:
“I’ve got nothing left.
I spent it all.
Hope that was the point.”
If Erma Bombeck is right—and she usually is—then arriving empty-handed might be the most faithful thing we ever do.
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