At a recent meeting of my spiritual directors’ peer group,
we spoke honestly about brokenness.
Not just the kind that comes from sin—
but the kind that comes from change,
from longing,
from the quiet ache of being unseen.
One of my peers, an Episcopal deacon, is retiring from active ministry.
He’s served faithfully.
Now he’s turning toward his businesses—he has at least three.
I admire his clarity.
His courage to name the season he’s in.
I’m discerning a shift too.
Preparing to retire from my job—
not to step away,
but to step deeper into ministry.
To give more of myself to the Church,
to the people,
to the call that’s been growing louder in me.
But something stirred in me when I saw his church’s website.
They call him “Reverend.”
The churches I serve call me “Deacon.”
I don’t even know if they realize I’m a reverend.
My mother doesn’t.
She says I’m a deacon.
But when she speaks of my late father,
she names him as a licensed and ordained minister.
It’s a small thing.
But it stings.
And yet—
God does not forget who we are.
Scripture reminds us:
God’s response to our brokenness is always relational.
He seeks us.
He walks with us.
Even in exile,
He plants seeds of redemption.
The cracks become places where grace seeps in.
St. Paul urges us to present our bodies—
not to impurity,
but to righteousness.
Not for recognition,
but for sanctification.
The gift isn’t in the title.
It’s in the transformation.
We are not defined by what others call us,
but by the One who calls us His own.
Jesus says He came to set the earth on fire.
Not with comfort,
but with holy division.
A division that exposes what is shallow,
what is inherited,
what is easy—
and invites us into what is true,
costly,
and eternal.
So I stand in the tension.
Between being named and being known.
Between retiring and re-firing.
Between the ache of being overlooked
and the joy of being claimed by God.
And I remember:
the cracks in me are not flaws to hide.
They are places where grace enters.
Where fire catches.
Where sanctification begins.
Prayer: Where Grace Enters
Lord Jesus,
You see the cracks I try to hide—
the places where I feel unseen, unnamed, unfinished.
Yet You call me still.
Not by title, but by love.
Not for what I do, but for who I am in You.
In the quiet ache of transition,
in the longing to give more,
let Your fire find me.
Let it burn away what is shallow,
and kindle what is true.
Make my brokenness a vessel of grace.
Let the places I feel forgotten
become the very ground where You plant redemption.
I offer You my life again—
not for recognition, but for sanctification.
Not to be known by many,
but to be Yours, fully.
Amen.
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