I didn't want to be an actress; I never thought of being an

The words of Cicely Tyson, “I didn’t want to be an actress; I never thought of being an actress because, as children, there were three of us – I was the middle child – and we spent our time in church from Sunday morning to Saturday night,” reveal the mystery of destiny: that often our path is not the one we imagine, nor the one we prepare for, but the one that rises to meet us when we least expect it. In this confession, Tyson unveils the humility of her beginnings. She was not born dreaming of stages or screens, but was shaped in the sanctuaries of church, in the hymns and prayers that filled her childhood. Her greatness, though unplanned, was nourished in those early years of reverence, structure, and devotion.

The origin of these words rests in her upbringing as the daughter of devout parents, who raised her in the strict discipline of faith. For a child whose world was marked by pews, sermons, and worship, the glamour of acting was distant, even unimaginable. Tyson’s life teaches us that our environment often molds us in ways that prepare us for futures we cannot yet see. The countless hours in church gave her not only moral grounding but also the presence, dignity, and voice that would one day captivate audiences far beyond the walls of worship.

History shows us that many who shaped the world began not in pursuit of fame, but in the humility of service. Consider Joan of Arc, a peasant girl whose life was bound by faith and labor, never dreaming of leading armies. Yet in her devotion to God, she was prepared for a destiny beyond her imaginings. So too with Cicely Tyson: her childhood in church may have seemed ordinary, even restrictive, but it forged in her a strength of character that would later allow her to portray roles with authenticity, grace, and unshakable conviction.

Her words also remind us of the unexpected calling. Often we are led to believe that we must plan our entire path from the beginning, but Tyson’s life stands as proof that destiny may arrive unannounced. The middle child, unnoticed, shaped in silence, may one day rise to a place of influence because life itself has chosen her. In the rhythms of church, in the lessons of faith and family, Tyson learned patience, humility, and perseverance—virtues that later made her an icon of integrity in her craft.

The lesson is clear: do not despise the ordinary beginnings of your life, nor think that your current path defines your final destiny. The hours you spend in obscurity, in service, in repetition, may be the very soil in which greatness is planted. Tyson did not seek to be an actress, yet she became one of the most revered, precisely because she carried into her craft the weight of her upbringing, the fire of her faith, and the dignity of her roots.

Practically, this calls us to live each day with intention, even when our purpose is unclear. Whether you are studying, serving, working, or worshiping, know that these moments prepare you for what may one day unfold. Do not be impatient if your dream is hidden or if your path feels small. The Creator shapes destinies in the quiet years, and what feels like limitation today may tomorrow be revealed as the foundation of greatness.

So, beloved listener, take Cicely Tyson’s words to heart: the middle child in the pews of the church became a queen upon the stage. Do not worry if you do not yet see your future clearly. Live with integrity, absorb the lessons of your present season, and be ready. For when your calling comes—as it came to Cicely Tyson—it may arrive not through your plans, but through the wisdom of a destiny greater than your own.