I’m actually pretty comfortable with the talents I have. God gave me the ability to sing pretty well (which I ought to do more often, as there are lots of notes and ranges that I can no longer hit because I haven’t kept in practice as I should). He gave me a penchant for writing that has gotten me through so many things in life because it is the cheapest therapy I’ve ever been able to afford when things were chaotic in my life, from fourth grade on, continuing into the present. I have at many times in my life had the ability to know what was going to happen before it happened, if not straight out, then to some degree, including the death of my friend Terry’s father yesterday — dreaming that out mutual friend Terri called me twice the day before to tell me this bad news by phone — Terri did call me twice (I missed both calls), but it was to ask me questions about tax stuff for home-based businesses; I didn’t mention the other part to her, but yesterday she texted me to tell me that the other Terry’s dad had died — he was a precious man of 92. Things like that have happened to me since I was six years old. I have a gift to make people laugh, to know what to say and do to help others feel better much of the time. I believe that I am the kind of person who attracts good, kind people into her life; as one of the preachers at my Papaw Anderson’s funeral said about him, I believe that I, too, “collect friends” in life, and they all have my back, and they circle around me, so in this way, no side of me is ever unguarded or unprotected. I also attract people and situations wherein God keeps me supplied with stories, so I rarely have to make up anything at all, although sometimes, I change a few things and do call it fiction. I am the story-keeper of my maternal side of the family and part of my paternal side of the family, although I do not know that side as well. I share those stories freely and hope that the younger generation is listening so that they, too, will know the stories and carry them on, since I have no children to carry them on my behalf.
I’ve always thought that the gift of healing would be interesting. It would definitely come in handy at night when I’m fighting acid reflux, trying to sleep. Two and a half hours of sleep is just never enough. Often, when I see a child crying over a bee sting, or a sprained ankle or something minor, I have wished that I could just go to him/her/them/and wrap them in a sincere hug, whisper, “It will be all right,” and that it would be. I have often wished for the gift of knowledge: I hate not knowing how things will work out — I don’t think I would mind finishing out a situation so much, if I just knew how it ended, how it played out, so I could figure out how to make sense of it all in my head as the rest played out, so I was better prepared for what comes at the end, and maybe not be so emotional when the end arrives and it catches me by surprise.
I wish I had the gift to pick winning numbers so I could win enough money to give Russ the ability to leave his stressful and often crappy job, at least for a few years, and do some things that need to be done around here, but also to take him on the dream vacation he has always wanted — an Alaskan Cruise, to do it up right, to treat him to everything he wants, the way he always seems to take care of giving me most everything I want when we go on vacation.
I wish I had the gift to fix broken people because it is so hard to see so many unhappy, unfixed people in the world, especially friends and family who seem to be stuck in “broken” cycles, but I guess maybe it’s better for them to wish that for themselves. After all, it’s not really any of my business.
And I wish I had the talent to actually converse with my feline children to see what is going on with them, so I don’t have to second-guess about how they feel, when it’s time to go to the vet, or to say and hear the words “I love you” in the same language. We say it and understand it from each other. It would just be cool to comprehend it in their own tongue and vice versa.
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