Here is a poem by John Milton (1608-1674). Please read it at least three times before giving up, it's worth it:

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He returning chide,-

''Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?''

I fondly ask:-But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies: God doth not need

Either man's work, or His own gifts, who best

Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state

Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed

And post o'er land and ocean without rest:-

They also serve who only stand and wait.

I am pondering it as I seemingly wait - longing for God to use me, and wondering, ''Am I just not hearing, or worse, not really listening? Or am I at least, truly, standing and waiting?'' I pray it is the latter.