In cold, dry weather, my brother, Will, used to rub his feet in shuffle fashion as fast as he could across the carpet toward me with his index finger pointed outward until he reached the target, my shoulder, for a whopping electric shock. Sometimes it made a clicking pop sound. This brought him great joy.

“MOTHERRRRRR! HE’S TOUCHING MEEEEEEEE!” This was usually followed by “Fleur, stop screaming!” and never had the effect I imagined. Namely, my brother’s punishment. The decimal level in the household was always set to eleven. (Spinal Tap fans will understand the reference.)

On another day, that same pointer finger of my brother’s loved pointing at me with muted laughter. He’d just stand before me a few feet away, laughing and pointing – without sound.

“MOTHERRRRRR! HE’S POINTING AT MEEEEE!” (Same result).

Will liked to figure out how things worked. And if these things were broken, how to fix them?

He spent hours in his room noodling painstakingly with his Erector Set, with a patience that a modern-day twelve-year-old would seldom have in today’s digital age, piecing together F-16s and B-52s or any other model plane that could be discovered in the nearest hobby shop. The more complicated the model, the better.

One afternoon, I’d surpassed my bratty little sister quota for the day, so Will chased me all the way into the pool (in the summer, we wore our bathing suits from sun up to sun down) and dunked me.

He dunked me for a very, very long time. Apparently, to determine just how long he could keep me underwater before I floated. I’m sure it was just another science experiment.

Will was not so great at handwriting (a skill considered vital “back then”). I recall his second-grade report card related a concern that his cursive writing was in decline “after transferring from pencil to pen.” A point lamentable to Mrs. Venable. But Will was more interested in numbers and formulas. Chemistry.

Instead of long, beautifully constructed, imaginative essays, Will brought home personally designed plastic structures. Blocks for prisms and paperweights. Creation after creation from the school woodshop that also operated as a plastics factory.

While Will was busying himself, learning daily electricity lessons from the rug and my shoulder, I spent my time as a Kindergartener studying every move the middle school cheerleaders made. The only thing between us was a six-foot chain-link fence to the football field. So when I wasn’t peeking my nose through the diamond-shaped holes or grasping the metal so I could be as close as possible to my heroines of cheer, I was claiming my own grassy space playing pretend cheerleader along; enamored with the robotic moves, the smiles, the hollers, the inspiration! I knew every cheer.

You gotta get on down,

You better strut your stuff. (hip, hip)

You gotta get on down,

You’re tough enough! (hip, hip)

You got to get on down.

This delicious cluster of wordplay was followed by a rollicking array of herkies, toe-touches, and general “Whoooos!” in all directions. I didn’t know what it meant, but I loved it. And I knew every word. Bliss!

I had my first tryout for the middle school cheerleading squad in fifth grade. By this time, I’d had ample experience on stage, dance, and voice lessons and an increasing fervor for cheer. I wanted this. BAD. (“Badly, Fleur.” No! BAD is required for a worthy childhood memory.) I wanted it BAD.

The tryouts were in front of the whole school assembly. And guess what? We had to have a run-off between Mindy Kramer and me.

I gave it my all. I was louder, more engaging, a waaaay better toe-toucher, and at the end of our cheer, Mindy just walked off stage without so much as a final Whoo!

Mindy melted like wax.

Mindy gave nuthin’!

Mindy won.

She was more popular. Well, I mean, she was popular. I was just loud and happy. So, I was an alternate. Which meant no cheer for me. But, oh, how I wanted to cheer! I didn’t even know a touchdown from a helmet. I wanted the thrill of a happy crowd yelling back to me, “We’ve got Spirit, yes, we do! We’ve got Spirit, how ’bout you!”

In high school, my senior year, I had a chance to try out again for the mascot. So I thought, Hey, why not roll around on the field in a big cougar head (that looked more like a prairie dog) and funnel this cheer out once and for all? This may be my last chance.

By this time, I had been in professional theatre for about thirteen years, a pro kid actor, and being onstage was my delight.

This was why, when I was reminded that I’d have to make a choice, for the games and the plays were both on Friday nights, I chose theatre. You can’t ride two horses with one ass, and you can’t serve two masters.

I still feel a little sad about that because I was right. The cheerleading opportunity never returned. But the truth is I would’ve hated that plastic prairie dog head.

But why all this talk about cheerleading and Erector Sets? Because what you may describe as a natural talent could actually be the calling of a Gifting from the Holy Spirit; a supernatural talent.

I’m not talking psychic powers or seeing beyond the veil. I am speaking of gifts given from your beginning; your innate talents taken to the next level.

It is easy to spot the seeds of these gifts the younger we are. For the younger we are, the brighter and more honestly these gifts shine. As long as we are not taught to dull them.

These are your God-given gifts that have the ability to transform someone else’s life for the better. What was once a mere talent could be, in reality, the uniquely designed Gift from God just for you in your size, language, type, and style, a portion befitting you specifically for the benefit of the person standing in front of you. This talent, this Gift (with a capital “G”), dives beneath surface levels and boasts a solid barrier against self-worship.

When these personal Gifts collide with spiritual formation, like the molding of clay, and the cleansing of a soul, they transform into an outpouring resulting in something much bigger than self-confidence, though that is a welcome by-product. Your Gift becomes the long-sought-for key that unlocks the narrow gate leading to the path of true charity and virtue for those who are in need.

Like a golden puzzle piece, your Gift was created to interlock with specific pieces that could only respond to your shape and sizing. That is why when you shrink back from the use of this holy creation within you, one, two, or countless sweet souls are robbed of that missing link that could connect them to the most crucial blessing of their life.

This is talent with anointing. And your anointing must not go unattended or misused. Someone depends on it.

Back to my brother: Knowing what little I have told you about Will, what might you think he grew up to do?

Will is a pilot. Will flies jumbo jets globally.

Do you know what Will did before that? He fixed those jumbo jets. He was an airplane mechanic. He knows how those planes work from the inside out. You know what Will did before that? He spent four years on aircraft carriers in the Navy. Before that? Electrician. Before that? Maintenance. Before that? Airplane models, Erector Sets, and shocking his little sister with his index finger.

When did his natural curiosity and talent become a Gift of the holy Spirit? I jokingly call my brother Mr. Fixit. Because within the realm of worldly help, this talent enables him to work on those structural problems that make me fall asleep at the first half of the first thought of any mathematical equation. But in his anointing, his talent dances with the wind of the Holy Spirit, brushing up against charity, transcending to the upward call of Mercy. I also call it Good Will.

While he’s on the lookout to put pieces together, structuring them inwardly and outwardly for their fullness and wholeness, his Gift suddenly reveals itself as seeing someone in need of a job and paying them to help him out with some odd house chore like fixing furniture or planting a tree creating a new community if only for an hour. His Gift becomes their Gift. Doors are opened, self-respect is established, spirits are strengthened, and hopes are rekindled.

The Gift of Good Will was not without its trials. Be assured and forewarned that those supernatural Gifts you have been given and are called upon to use for the good of all will be attacked without fail. What might that look like?

Defending Your Gift

“Hello, Tinkerbell.” What was a pitiful attempt to compliment me for the benefit of listening coworkers had the transparency of an HD glass window pane. His performance was awful. His eyes were dull, void of the twinkle required for such a “compliment” of my natural Gift of cheer and encouragement. His squinting ferret eyes belied his tone and partnered with the downshifted corners of his mouth in a sly, nearly imperceptible sneer.

I saw this not merely with my physical eyes but with the inward eye. My whole being a witness to the mockery of my Gift.

For him, mere encouragement did not grasp the depth required for acceptance. How could someone this joyful encompass the worldly knowledge essential to this job? The die was cast. I was the Tooth Fairy. A glow-in-the-dark pixie among mocking hyenas.

Sounds dramatic, huh? Welcome to the wonderful world of the enemy using those unaware souls, ill-equipped and unlearned in this sparkling arena of possibility, to attack your God-given Gifts. Your Giftings are and will be the central target.

In this (now long past) position, I was not actually hired as “Tinkerbell .”I’d been hired to help in a particular industry because I had that barometer, that Gifting, that supernatural Gifting for encouragement. For hope.

It should be stated that there is a difference between cheer and encouragement. Though they can blend nicely, they are vastly different when shepherding a broken heart or Spirit in need of inspiration. One is the symptom of the other. Treating illness with a symptom (“Feel better!”), though a pep-up isn’t likely to have that enduring effect that shepherds the lost lamb back to greener pastures.

The rivers of encouragement run deeper and wider than “Gooooo, Team!”. The Gift of Encouragement isn’t merely seeing the glass half full. It’s acknowledging the current water level, then looking inward and forward in the joyful possibility to the next step, the next realization, and rejoicing in that journey – no matter the landscape of the path. Encouragement accompanies the water lily, living underwater in the potential for the fullness of the bloom while wading together in the mud. Authentic encouragement holds the ability to discern the ripening of fruit and its stage of development.

True encouragement is the summoning of the blossom.

This powerful Gift is chiefly underestimated, often misunderstood, and undervalued, ultimately culminating in insignificance in the realm of self-proclaimed intellectual thought leaders.

The world of the flesh doesn’t get it, Honey.

The one who greets you with the Gift of encouragement can provide a lamp and light, remaining unshaken and committed to your truest self while you grieve your experiences of not having the lamp. The encourager teaches you how to keep the candle aflame on your own while reminding you do not need to go it alone. In fact, we were not created to go it alone.

And isn’t this the one common denominator of it all? When we are lonely, we mistakenly convince ourselves that we are alone.

Thus the creation of the Gifting of encouragement. What grace? True encouragement, as defined by the Spirit, not as defined by the world. The ability to sift through the gunk – but not stay there.

Salted with a little “Go, Team!”

And a high kick.

Who has entered into that role when your ebb was low?

I began with Will’s Gift, and I’ll end with it. The same boy who dunked me underwater for a very questionable amount of time and who shocked me with the power of static electricity was also the first I beheld moments after I was told I was not my mother’s daughter.

His was the first arm around my shoulder.

The Gift of Good Will.