Let's be honest about something we've all witnessed but rarely discuss some of the most gifted people you know are walking around with the emotional maturity of a houseplant. Not because they're inherently broken, but because nobody ever cared enough to water anything besides their talent.
Here's the uncomfortable truth—we've turned sanctuaries into talent agencies where souls are scouted, not shepherded. We'll celebrate that gift, promote that gift, and milk that gift for everything it's worth. But the moment we catch a glimpse of the actual human carrying the gift? The moment their humanity shows up messy and inconvenient. Suddenly we're quick to judge, slow to hear, and even slower to love—basically the exact opposite of what we're supposed to be.
It's like treating people as spiritual vending machines—insert worship service, receive anointing, then walk away when the machine needs maintenance. We want the blessing but we ghost the vessel. We preach about loving one another deeply from the heart, yet somehow our love comes with an expiration date.
The gentleman in the clip nailed it: "People love the gift of prophecy, but they hate the ministry of the prophet." Ouch. That one probably stung because it's true. We want the convenience of their gifting without the inconvenience of their growth process.
The Soul That Never Gets Checked On
Most gifted people live in this weird psychological split-screen reality. On one side, there's thunderous applause when they're operating in the Spirit. Standing ovations, social media praise, "God really used you today!" On the other side, there's crickets when they're back in the flesh, back to being human—because the flesh profits nothing, but we act like it should profit everything. Nobody bothers to check on them when they need encouragement, prayer, or someone to simply ask, "How are you doing... really?"
Because here's the raw truth nobody wants to acknowledge you can speak with the tongues of men and angels, move mountains with your faith, and still be emotionally starving because people fell in love with your demonstration, not your soul. When that happens, you don't minister—you perform. You don't flow—you force. You stop chasing God's heart and start chasing the next standing ovation.
And before you get all spiritual on me with "God's love should be enough," let me stop you right there. Yes, it should be. But iron sharpens iron, and we need each other. We were designed to experience God's love through vessels that demonstrate it to us. That's not weakness—that's design. We were created for connection, not just communion. How can they hear without someone preaching? And how can they feel loved without someone loving? God didn't design us to be islands floating in spiritual isolation.
The Applause Addiction
Here's where it gets messy. When the only time you feel loved is when you're performing, you develop a codependency with your gift that's more toxic than your favorite reality TV show. The applause becomes your lifeline. The approval becomes your oxygen. And when the crowd goes quiet? You start questioning if God went quiet too. But we ought to obey God rather than men—even when those men are clapping.
We've created a generation of gifted people who believe their worth is measured in decibels. If the room isn't erupting, then God must not be moving. If the comments aren't flowing, then the anointing must have left the building.
But what if—and stay with me here—what if God is more interested in who you're becoming than what you're producing? What if He'd rather have a conversation with your character than a performance from your gift? After all, what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world—or even the whole sanctuary—but loses his own soul?
The Discipleship Deficit
Most gifted people aren't running from gift to gift—they're running from leader to leader, hoping someone will finally see past their talent and invest in their soul. They don't need another platform; they need a Paul. They don't need more opportunities; they need someone who'll ask, "Do you know Jesus?" Not "Can you use your gift for Jesus?" but "Do you actually know Him?" Because many will say to Him in that day, "Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name?" and He will say, "I never knew you."
Because at the end of the day, we're not called to be gifted. We're called to be like Christ. The gifts are just tools in the hands of a transformed heart. Be imitators of God, as beloved children—not imitators of performance, as gifted orphans.
The Love Test
So, here's the question that's going to make some of you uncomfortable: When the last note fades, when the crowd disperses, when the social media notifications stop buzzing—who are you then? And more importantly, who loves you then?
If your answer makes you squirm a little, don't worry. You're in good company. Even the most anointed among us wrestle with this. The difference is whether we're willing to address it or just keep performing our way through the pain.
(Shoutout to Torace Solomon for dropping truth bombs on the "We Need to Talk" podcast with Ezekiel Azonwu—apparently, we really do need to talk about escaping broken church leaders and corrupt religion.)
Now I'm curious... Have you ever felt loved more for what you could do than for who you are? And if you're in leadership, are you guilty of loving gifts more than people? Drop a comment below, but fair warning—this conversation might get uncomfortably honest.
