When the Gifting Wants The Glory

Recently, a young man I know sent me a message that’s stuck with me ever since. I don’t have it word-for-word (this is me paraphrasing from memory) but the tone was unmistakable: a young artist in tension.

He said something like this:

Hey Aaron, I just wanted to reach out because I’ve been struggling. My whole life, people have told me I’m gifted in music. I know what I want… I want to be an artist. I want to be a professional musician and singer.

But it’s hard. I struggle with pride. I struggle with wanting to be known, to be noticed, to be successful. There’s this deep hunger in me for success, but also a deep pull toward ministry. I want to use my gift for God… but let’s be honest, performing is often about glory. Attention. Being seen.

I keep fighting this pride in me. I know I’m good at what I do. But I want to glorify God with it, not myself. Still… I don’t always know how. What do you think, brother? What should I do?

Now, as someone who’s spent the better part of his life creating… writing, preaching, designing, recording… I felt an immediate kinship with the struggle. That tangle of calling and ego, gifting and temptation, ambition and worship... I’ve known it well. Still do.

So, I wrote him back. I’d like to share what I wrote, because I think this problem speaks to all of us: musicians, writers, creatives, worship leaders, and even pastors… Anyone who frequently creates things for others but also wrestles with their own desire to be seen and appreciated for it.

What follows is my letter to him. Or, more accurately, my letter to anyone standing at that same fork in the road.

Brother, I would say that you’re asking all the right questions.

The questions do not come with easy answers …  but they do certainly reveal your heart. A lesser man would just do the thing. Take the gifts, take the attention, take the glory. You? You’re wrestling. I am encouraged by that.

You said something in your message to me that really stuck with me:

“I struggle with pride. I struggle with wanting to be known, to be noticed, to be successful.”

I want you to know I see you. I’ve been there, and you’re not crazy for feeling that way. That tension you’re carrying is not proof that something’s broken. It’s proof that you’re awake.

And, look…of course you have this issue. Who doesn’t? This is the soup we’re swimming in, man. It’s in the air we breathe. Since we were kids, we’ve been fed this gospel of success: that unless you make it, unless you’re famous, unless your art explodes, it didn’t matter… it wasn’t real … and, if your music only ever echoes in small rooms or earbuds instead of stadiums, what was it all for?

That is a lie. A culturally-engineered soul-crushing lie.

But it’s loud. And seductive. And it will stalk you every time you touch a guitar string, a keyboard, a canvas… whatever your craft is.

You’ve got people in your life saying you should pursue this gift. And hey, maybe they’re right. You are gifted , don’t think I haven’t noticed. :)

You’ve got a spark. But here’s the thing: the presence of a gift does not always mean it’s time to wield it. Or that it’s meant to be wielded that way.

There are gifts I carry too that are on the shelf right now. It’s not that I don’t want to use them… I do! But in His infinite wisdom, God has whispered, “Not yet.”

And there are other gifts I’m leaning into specifically because He has made it clear: “Now’s the time for this.”

So if you’re looking for the will of God, Brother, you won’t find it in applause. You won’t find it in what people say or in how viral your next song goes. You’ll find it in the still, quiet place. In the listening. In the seeking. In the waiting. In the laying down of your crown, over and over and over again.

If He tells you “yes,” then run like fire. Not for the fame. Not for the followers. But for the sake of the art — and for the One who gave you the hands and the heartbeat to make it.

But if He says “no” or “not now,” it won’t be a punishment. It’ll be mercy.

And just so you know… if the answer is “yes,” don’t wait for a burning bush. There’s a beautiful, frustrating truth I’ve learned: God often guides by giving us just enough light to take the next step. Not the whole staircase. Just one foot in front of the other.

Like Abraham… wandering forward into an unknown land, not because he had the whole map, but because he trusted the One holding the compass.

The fight with pride? It doesn’t go away, by the way. I wish it did. But it’s more like a thorn that reminds you daily: “This is not about me. This is not for me. This is worship.”

Every time you write, perform, or produce, you’re at a fork in the road. One way bends toward glory for you. The other bends toward glory for Him. The beautiful thing is that when you go His way, there’s still joy. There’s still wonder. There’s still meaning. And it doesn’t fade when the lights go out.

I’m proud of you for asking this question. I think Jesus is too.

But Bro… let me press a little deeper.

I know your heart wants God to get the glory. I’ve heard you say it. Not in the cliché way people say it when they’re fishing for praise, but in the kind of way that tells me you mean it.

You really do want Him to be lifted up through your music. I believe that. I see it in you.

And yet… you’ve also told me you wrestle with pride. That you know you’re talented. I suspect that, like most artists (myself included), there’s this low hum inside you that whispers you could be something. That success wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe you deserve it. Maybe it’s even owed to you, in some unspoken way.

That’s not abnormal. That’s not some moral failure. That’s just the ache of being an artist.

And honestly, who wants to be a starving artist forever? No one dreams of busking on the sidewalk while people walk past, unmoved. We all want to matter. To be heard. And there’s something uniquely painful about pouring your soul into your craft and watching the world yawn in response.

I get it. Goodness, do I get it. :)

My time here in Oklahoma has been one of the most frustrating seasons of my life.

Back in California, I had open doors. I had invitations. I had opportunities. People wanted to hear what I had to say. I didn’t realize how much I had started to tether my identity to that constant affirmation. To being wanted.

Then I moved here. And suddenly? Door after door was shut. People saying, “Not yet,” or “We’re good, thanks.”

And I can’t lie to you… that hit me hard. I thought I had laid down my ego, but turns out it had been riding shotgun the whole time. I just hadn’t noticed.

I learned quickly that obscurity does not make you holy by default.

It only tells the truth about what you already love.

It forced me to reckon with the question:

Why do I do this?

Why do I teach?

Why do I write?

Why do I preach?

Is it because I see myself as an artist? A pastor? Because I love crafting sermons, like poetry wrapped in theology, woven with metaphor and fire? Do I do it because I want the rush of an audience leaning in? Do I do it because I like being the guy with something to say?

Or…

Do I do it because there’s a fire shut up in my bones (Jeremiah 20:9), and I can’t not say it?

Do I do it because I believe, with trembling and certainty, that God gave me something to give… not to be applauded, but to bless?

It’s the contrast between chasing the pull of the audience… and following the call of God.

And that, Brother, is the crossroads you are standing at.

So here’s the challenge. I want you to imagine something.

Someone walks up to you holding a crystal ball. And inside that crystal ball, you see the future … your future. And they say:

“You’re going to set off on this music career. You’re going to pour your heart into it. And it will bless people. But not thousands. Not millions. Just hundreds.

Scattered across the years. Some in living rooms. Some at camps. Some in headphones on long drives in the dark. You won’t know their names. They won’t know yours.

You won’t be a star. You’ll never go viral. You’ll never be famous. One day, you’ll end up as the worship leader at a small church in a town no one’s ever heard of.

And your music? It will be holy. It will be healing. But it won’t be celebrated. It won’t be seen by the crowds. Only by the One who sees everything.”

If that was the path… would you still walk it?

Would you still say yes to the gift?

Would you still write the songs?

Would you still play with passion for an audience of twenty — or one?

Would you still trust God to provide, even if there’s no spotlight, no stage, no moment that feels like you made it?

Would you still do it if the only glory went to Him?

Because this is the road Jesus Himself walked. Glory deferred. Power restrained.

Kenosis.

A voice that could have commanded crowds choosing instead to whisper truth to fishermen, outcasts, and the overlooked.

The cross was not a failure of vocation.

It was obedience without applause.

So I ask, again… Would you still do it if the only glory went to Him?

That’s the question.

That’s the furnace.

That’s the refining fire every artist must walk through.

And I don’t ask this to crush you… I ask because I love you. Because I want your art to be free. Because I want you to be free. Not chained to applause, not yoked to outcome. Just surrendered. Just faithful.

And the crazy, beautiful, upside-down secret of the Kingdom?

That kind of life… the hidden, surrendered, faithful kind — is the one God uses to shake the world.

So, Brother.

What if God is already asking you this question?

And what if your answer could shape not only your art… but your soul?

Let’s keep talking.

With you in the wrestling,

-Aaron

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