Lost and Found

Angela and I were married in 1989 after knowing each other for only four months. Young, naive, and wildly optimistic, we built what looked like a beautiful life together. I earned my BA, then my Masters from seminary. Angela got her Masters and began teaching elementary children with special needs. We had three amazing daughters — Lindsey, Ally, and Sydney. I served as a full-time pastor for almost 20 years.

On the outside, everything looked great. Fruitful ministry. Growing family. All the marks of success.

But on the inside, something toxic was growing.

And I was completely lost.

I was a people-pleaser at heart. I was the guy who said yes to the wrong people (at church) because I didn’t want to displease them. It was more than “…please like me”. I wanted them to like being around me, in the hopes that they’d grow into the likeness of Christ. But still – it was people-pleasing nonetheless. And the more I said yes to the wrong things, I ended up saying no to the right things — things like Angela, Lindsey, Ally, and Sydney.

In the summer of 2002, I was more-than-ready for a six-week sabbatical. We bought a 1975 Winnebago called the Mini Winnie. It was an absolute piece of junk, but we packed up our three young daughters and drove to Yellowstone National Park at a top cruising speed of 53 mph.

One night, while traveling under the vast and limitless Montana sky with my family asleep in the back, I heard something that sounded like God’s voice telling me to quit full-time pastoral ministry.

So I responded like every mature Christian leader should.

I completely ignored it.

For three more years, I pressed on in ministry. It was STRIVING with a capital S. Things got worse at home. I was miserable. My family was suffering under my unwillingness to say yes to them. Anger was on the rise in me, because that’s what happens when your boundaries are out of whack.

Then came Monday Night Football, 2006. The Rams versus the Bears. The Rams started losing immediately, putting me in an awful mood. That mood carried into a garage-organization argument with Angela. One of us likes to keep things because we might use them someday, and the other thinks everything in the garage has a beautiful home waiting for it somewhere else.

That discussion elevated into the loudest, most consequential fight Angela and I have ever had. Everything that had been building for three years came pouring out. My kids knew it. My wife knew it. And finally, I knew it.

I had become the man I promised never to become.

The couch was uncomfortable that night.

The next day at Starbucks, Angela told me the hard truth: “I can’t do this anymore.” I told her what God had spoken to me three years earlier, then asked:

“What would you think if I quit being a pastor?”

I already knew her answer, and I certainly knew mine. So the next morning, I resigned. Not just from that church, but from having any church sign my paycheck.

Two months later, I woke up without a job, living on Angela’s teacher salary, in the middle of a complete identity crisis, and lying in the fetal position on the hardwood living room floor. I was completely and utterly lost.

If I’m no longer a pastor, then who am I?

The Question That Changes Everything

Have you ever asked yourself this question, then answered honestly?

If I’m no longer a __________, then who am I?

If I’m no longer a coach, a government worker, an athlete, a wife, a husband, a mom, a dad – then who am I?

What we’re really asking is a question of identity.

As I lay on that floor, I felt completely disqualified. How could God use a 42-year-old man with no job, no income, and no direction? How could Angela ever trust me again? How could my daughters know they’re more important than any other responsibility I carry?

In 1 Peter 2:9–10, the apostle writes something extraordinary:

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession… Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God.”

Notice those three critical words: “But you are.”

Present tense. Not you will be or you might become. You already are.

Being Formed Into Who We Already Are

Here’s the paradox that began to shape and reconstruct me – one that I hope does the same for you:

When I married Angela on September 9, 1989, was I a husband? Yes. But did I need to become a husband? Also yes. I needed to become who I already was.

When we brought Lindsey home from the hospital, was I a dad? Yes. But did I need to become a dad? Yes. Again, I needed to become who I already was.

The Apostle Paul uses a phrase 164 times throughout his letters: “in Christ.” And when you’re in Christ, certain things become immediately true about you:

• You’re already holy and blameless (Ephesians 1:4).
• You’re already adopted (Ephesians 1:5).
• You’re already redeemed and forgiven (Ephesians 1:7).
• You’re already marked with the Holy Spirit (Ephesians 1:13).

But the verse that spoke the loudest to me – and still does over 20 years later – was this:

“So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith.”
(Galatians 3:26)

If you’re in Christ, you’re a CHILD OF GOD.

Later that day, as I picked myself up off the living room floor, I wrote this in my journal:

And there it was, clear as day.

I had propped up my identity with good things, but not the thing. God was removing those good things – father, husband, pastor – and replacing them with the best thing:

I am a child of God.

Why is This So Important?

There’s a reason why this matters so much, and why it’s more than semantics. There’s a reason why we can’t earn this identity, and why it’s received rather than achieved…

It will be the last thing that’s true about us on our deathbeds, and will stay true of us into eternity. And the sooner we fully embrace this, the more freedom we’ll bring into the good areas that aren’t the best areas.

• You’re not a stay-at-home mom. You’re a child of God who happens to be a stay-at-home mom.
• You’re not a banker. You’re a child of God who happens to be a banker.
• You’re a child of God who happens to be a business leader, or retired, or in recovery, or figuring things out.

This may be nearly impossible for you to believe, but there will be a day when your job is a distant memory, a day when your business title no longer describes you, a day when the kids move out, or a day when everything that propped up your false identity comes crumbling down.

My daughters have all turned out better than I could have dreamed. Angela and I are best friends and the love of each other’s lifetimes. But on that day lying on the floor, I couldn’t see any of what God would do with the next 20 years.

All that mattered was that I was His child.

And that truth is always more than enough.