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Addressed to a talented young friend of mine who wrote me wrestling with whether or not he should pursue music vocationally, and how he struggles with the tension between talent, pride, calling, and devotion.
Brother, You’re asking the right questions.
Not because it comes with easy answers — but because it reveals your heart. A lesser man would just do the thing. Take the gifts, take the attention, take the glory. You? You’re wrestling. That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you dangerous in the best kind of way.
You said something 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? It’s 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, then 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. Not because I don’t want to use them, but because God whispered, “Not yet.”
And there are others I’m leaning into, not because I was dying to, but because He made it clear: “Now’s the time.”
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.
It forced me to reckon with the question:
Why do I do this?
Why do I teach?
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 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 wrestle,
Aaron
The Crossroads of Calling and Glory was originally published in GoodLion Theology on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
