The illuminating Company
I remember being 12 when my Aunt Peaches told me I was a singing baby. She said every time she visited my mom, I would hum myself to sleep once the lights were off. I didn’t believe her until my mom confirmed it… and that same night, when she walked past my door, she smiled and said, “You see, your Aunt Peaches is still right.”
That same year, I sang my first solo in the seventh-grade chorus. For the first time, I felt the weight of applause… my peers, their parents, all affirming the gift in me as I stood shyly beside my mother.
By eighth grade, my choir teacher placed the male solo for “525,600 Minutes” in my hands for graduation. Again, the attention, the love, the celebration. This time, with my whole class and their families watching.
Junior year carried me farther. My a cappella choir traveled to London, and I sang solos in historic cathedrals. The beauty of the space matched the awe in the room, and once again, after the music, people pressed in with their compliments, my director standing beside me.
At the time, I didn’t know it was all rehearsal. Every stage from school auditoriums to churches overseas… was practice for the life that came next. College graduation only widened the doors. Whether I was directing, singing backgrounds, or leading my own band, the pattern continued: there was always a moment when I was given the spotlight, and always a flood of attention when the song was done.
The tricky thing about gifting is remembering that it is from God and is given to reflect His glory. We call it differently across texts and tongues. For me, the language that fits is simple: God is the original Illuminating Company. He is the source of the light. He installs it, nurtures the discipline to wield it, and gives it purpose… to point people back toward the One who first lit the room. The irony, the trap, and the oldest human temptation is to forget that the bulb was installed by someone else. Lucifer was made radiant to reflect glory; pride turned that reflection inward and led to a fall. That story isn’t only an ancient cautionary tale… it’s a daily hazard for anyone who draws others with light.
Because when applause becomes currency, when applause becomes identity, that light can stop pointing outward to reflect God and begin to live inside us as a thing to hoard. His gift becomes our kingdom.
This is not to moralize every decision about art, commerce, or career. God’s provision can and does use marketplaces. We are not banned from earning, from growing, from stewarding our craft into a life. But there is a posture to protect: returning the light. The gift is a mirror. When someone hears a song that softens their heart, when a line of writing opens a door in someone’s shame, when a design whispers permission to breathe… those moments are not about our portfolios, they are invitations. They are opportunities to tilt the light back to its Maker and let gratitude do the work of orientation.
The practice is concrete and everyday. Pray before you sign. Speak gratitude publicly, often, and without sarcasm. Name the source when someone asks where the light comes from. Build contracts and careers that serve your family and your conscience, not just the noise. Teach the younger ones in your orbit that applause is a visit, not a citizenship. Let pride be corrected by the small humiliations that keep you teachable. Let humility be the default setting when the spotlight hits.
And when the offers come dressed as salvation… “This will make you famous” or “This will make you rich,” …remember that Lucifer’s pitch came with an accompaniment of power and prestige. The world still sells versions of that fall. So we need guardrails: accountability partners who will tell us the truth, practices that reorient our focus, and a theology of stewardship that helps us choose the long light over the flash.
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