I knew. I knew the moment she told me.
“Well, that’s going to happen,” I said with that sense of intuitive certainty I’ve had a handful of times in my life.
And it did.
What was the “that” in question? It involved my wife, Jennifer, pursuing a pastorate at a small church in California. For 24 years, she had been an associate and then executive pastor at our large church in Colorado Springs. For several reasons, we were on the front end of asking if maybe there was a new season of ministry coming for her. At the same time, a mentor emailed, asking if she’d be open to throwing her hat in the ring for a pastor position at a church in Carmel, California.
As I said, we lived in Colorado. So did both sets of parents. And my sister. And the kind of roots that had grown deep after 20 years of marriage and 30 years in the same community.
But it was one of those moments where I just had a sense — call it a holy hunch — that God was on the move. There was a real chance He might be moving us — calling us across the country, away from what was known and familiar and comfortable, into something unknown, uncertain and uncomfortable. In short, the kind of thing God does in our lives from time to time.
“Be open”
That initial “Would you be open to throwing your hat in the ring?” conversation was in October 2023. It turns out in her own walk with God, Jennifer had had a prompting to “be open.” And so, after spending an anniversary weekend in Las Vegas seeing U2 at the Sphere (so good, by the way), we discerned together that God was opening a door to consider this possibility.
Jennifer is an ordained minister in an evangelical Presbyterian denomination (we’ll save the “women as pastors” debate for another day, OK?). With Presbyterian processes, bless our predestined hearts, a day is like a thousand years. Jennifer formally submitted her application in early November. She did not receive the call to our current church until late June, after which we made the trip out here for her “candidating sermon” followed by a congregational vote in late July.
Friends, when you’re considering turning your life upside down, waiting nine months for an answer is a long time.
Day after day I would come home from my job at Focus on the Family’s Plugged In, where I’d worked for 21 years, and we’d look at each other. One of us would ask, “What’s going to happen?” The other would reply, “I don’t know.” We’d sit and pray some version of, “Lord, here we are, here’s what we want, here’s how You might be leading. Your will be done.” Then we’d occasionally eat a lot of ice cream, lest you think us overly spiritual. (I gained about 20 pounds in that nine-month stretch. Suffice it to say, the ice cream thing happened more than once.)
I have struggled with intense depression and anxiety in various seasons of our marriage. There have been stretches of deep darkness where I have fought to discern God’s presence in my life. This, however, was not one of those stretches. In fact, there was something exhilarating about unclenching our fists and relinquishing the urge to be in control. Instead, with hands open, we were in a position to receive what God had for Jennifer, for us and for our family. And we had a deep peace, too. I had a feeling it was going to “work out,” but until we crossed that finish line, we didn’t know for sure.
But what about your job?
Great question. I have worked at the same place for more than two decades, most recently as a department director. In my role, I had overseen some significant endeavors and areas of growth.
Being in a posture of relinquishment, of openness, meant that I had to trust God with my work, calling and identity, too. Part of me felt like I was just starting to see some exciting things come to fruition under my leadership, and that letting go of my role and title would be hard.
Another part of me, if I’m being honest, was pretty tired from juggling a myriad of responsibilities in that role, plus raising three teens at home with my wife. I thought that perhaps the contribution I needed to make had been accomplished.
For me, then, the process of relinquishment as my wife went through the calling process involved trusting that God was leading throughout every aspect of our shared, parallel roles. If she got the job, my role at Plugged In would change. Some of that change would be a relief; some of it would be a significant loss. And if she didn’t get the job, it would be an affirmation that my season as director of the department had not yet reached an end.
She got the job. Now what?
I guess I should have included a spoiler warning above, because she obviously got the job. Jennifer moved with my daughters — both in high school — around August 1 last year so they could start school. Meanwhile, I was left behind to get the house ready to sell and to help our son get to college for his freshman year.
I added another 10 pounds or so of stress weight in the two long months it took to get the house ready. You know that scene in “Bridget Jones’ Diary” when Renee Zellweger eats a half gallon of ice cream while the song “All by Myself” plays in the background? Yeah, that was September and October for me.
Anyway, fast-forward to today. I still work for Plugged In, but no longer in the director role. On any given day I might swing through a wide range of emotions related to that, from relief to a sense of loss of a significant role.
Finding my place and purpose
As a man, it’s easy — perhaps almost automatic — to find my sense of identity in what I do, in my work. Taking a voluntary step out of leadership to work more in the background of something I had the privilege to direct has been challenging.
Sometimes I’ve watched what’s happening from a distance (and from the sidelines) and felt keenly the loss of significance that comes from not being the guy calling the shots. I still have a place at the table, but it’s a place about 1,300 miles away.
Not surprisingly, I’ve worked through layers of isolation and disconnection. As someone who’s pretty extroverted, getting up and going to my office space in the garage at times feels dreary. I regularly tell my wife that I feel both tired and disconnected. New relationships are forming, and that’s been great. But it takes time. Starting over in a new place at the age of 54 is disorienting.
On any given day, I might go for a walk (the ocean’s only 10 blocks away) and talk to God about all of this. I might ask: Who am I? What did we do? How did we end up here?
Asking God questions like these tends to open my heart to Him, and I’m able to pour lots of things out as I articulate my emotions. Mercifully, my moments of disorientation and struggle have not devolved into second-guessing where He has so clearly moved us as a couple ministering together. This is where we’re supposed to be, where I am supposed to be. And the changes I’m moving through in my work and relationships are part of the process of being obedient.
We’re in this together
All of that said, my wife and I share a sense of calling and ministry to our new church that has proven incredibly lifegiving. Jennifer has the formal role and responsibility, obviously. But as we prayed and discerned this process (and as members of the church did the same), we had a deeply unified sense that God was calling us to love and shepherd this congregation together. It’s been remarkable to see God’s provision along the way and to step into a new season of ministry together that’s been the most satisfying we’ve experienced as a married couple.
Looking back on this process, I think I (and we) keep coming back to those two little words: “Be open.” Sounds easy. But as a card-carry member of the control freaks club, I have to say that I don’t naturally relish relinquishing control. Still, something amazing happens when we do let go: Our hands are open to receive what God has for us. And I think a big part of what He has for us as we trust Him is less about the outcome and more about experiencing His character and provision along the way.
Being open means He may well invite us to leave familiarity and comfortable spaces behind. He may call us into endeavors that don’t, from a human standpoint, make the most practical sense. He may call us into places that mean losing something important even as we have an opportunity to join Him in something new.
Moving to California has felt crazy at times. But it’s also opened the door for us to begin a new season of ministry that I’m certain God’s orchestrated. What an amazing thing to receive what God has for us, together, as we keep practicing that posture of openness to what He is doing in and through us. As we walk in trust together, we realize once again that it’s not about having it all figured out.
Copyright 2025 Adam Holz. All rights reserved.
