Christmas when I was six-years-old was a memorable one. Not because of the gifts I received, but because of the hard lesson I learned.

We spent every Christmas at my grandparents’ home in wintery Logan, Utah. I can’t recall a Christmas in my youth that wasn’t a picture Norman Rockwell wouldn’t have loved to paint. One of my grandparents’ Christmas trees was placed at one end of their front living room. Frocked, with gold ornaments and white Christmas lights, it was majestic and magical. Gifts were perfectly wrapped under its branches. We would spend days before Christmas anxiously weighing and dreaming about what we would find when we could finally open our gifts.

On Christmas day, when all of the Aunts, Uncles, and cousins gathered together, the unwrapping began as it always did starting from the youngest grandchild to oldest, one at a time. Even at six, I was one of the older grandchildren, so I impatiently waited for my turn. It was also standard procedure that after the grandchildren unwrapped their gifts they were all excused to play with their new toys while the aunts and uncles remained for their gift exchange.

When my turn finally came round, I excitedly opened a GI Joe bombardier type game. It came in a large box, and looked fun, so my six-year-old self was pleased with the gift. That was until my older brother opened his – a giant GI Joe fighter jet. It was off-white in color with fantastic decals. Its landing gear moved up and down, and its wings could expand between flight and fighter mode. Jealousy immediately set in, and my gift, in my eyes, became meager.

It was shortly after my jealousy had set in that we were excused to go play with our toys. I opened mine and began setting it up, but with little hiding the fact that I no longer found my toy desirable. I pouted, and played my game alone with disdain. Unnoticed by me at the time, my Grandfather exited the living room to retrieve more gifts for his children and saw my ungrateful fit. Emerging from his bedroom with more gifts he approached me and said, “here.” He handed me an unwrapped box containing a GI Joe jeep. It was large, green, with black tires, fantastic decals, and machine-gun you could mount on the back of it. My heart leapt at the new gift that looked as awesome in comparison to my brother’s jet. Then I looked up at my Grandfather who still stood over me, and I saw his face of satisfaction but disappointment. I could tell he was glad to have given me the new toy – he was a giver by nature and loved his grandchildren. At the same time, however, I could see disappointment on his face with my own lack of gratitude for the original gift I’d been given. My grateful and excited heart immediately fell in realization that I had been a great-big ungrateful jerk.

From that day forward I have tried to always be grateful for whatever anyone gives me. But sadly, an experience last night revealed that I’m still that six-year-old little boy.

I love movies. I love the theatre. I love any medium that gives place to good acting. Throughout my life I have been moved through every emotion, and been influenced, by well written scenes acted to near perfection. That brought with it a fascination and desire to become an actor myself.

I used to watch the Oscars at a very young age, wishing it were me on stage accepting the award. In grade school, junior high, and high school I was involved in as many plays, skits, and assemblies as I could. But it was in high school, when I began competing, and even auditioning for some local film productions, that I saw the great disparity between my acting abilities and those of my peers. For this reason, and concerns over the direction of the industry, I chose a different path.

Last night, however, I was watching a movie I enjoy very much and one that I feel is well acted. The run time of this particular film is two hours and 21 minutes. Before I started the movie, I thought of several things I could have done with two hours and 21 minutes of time, including starting this blog that I have vacillated over for months. Ultimately, I started the movie. Most of the way through the film I found myself again entertained and enthralled with the actors portrayals of their characters, and wishing I could do what they do. Then came a gentle rebuke, “that is not the gift I’ve given you.” I immediately became my six-year-old self on that Christmas so many years ago, and realized that I have been ungrateful for, and have underutilized, the gifts and talents the Lord has given me. Rather than accepting and using the gifts I had been given, I was wasting time in admiration of someone else’s gift, and wishing mine were different.

The Lord has given all of us gifts and talents that, like the servants in the parable of the talents, he expects us to utilize and increase. Our wishing for that which we have not been given or our lack of use of those gifts and talents is the equivalent of burying them in the sand.

Standing rebuked, I knew I needed to start this blog. Whether I’m a talented or gifted writer in the eyes of my peers is debatable. But what I can no longer question is the Lord’s desire for me to write. My hope is that the emotion, inspiration, influence, and motivation that I found in well written scenes acted to near perfection, can be found in some small degree within these posts.

Thank you for reading.