This too is Calling

You may not have chosen this season. You may have chosen marriage, children, ministry, a profession. You may have discerned your gifts. You may have imagined how you would serve God in visible, meaningful ways.

But you did not choose dementia. You did not choose disability. You did not choose chronic illness. You did not choose the accident.

And yet here you are.

For many caregivers, there is a quiet question that lingers beneath the surface: Is this my calling? Or did my real calling get interrupted?

There is often guilt attached to that question. A subtle sense that you are no longer doing the “important” work. That your life has narrowed. That your impact has shrunk. That you are serving one person instead of many.

But what if this is not an interruption of your calling?

What if this, too, is calling?

Vocation is not glamour

In Calling All Years Good, Kathleen Cahalan reframes vocation in a way that is deeply freeing. She writes, “Vocation is the call to love God and neighbor in all of life.”

That definition is both simple and disruptive.

Vocation is not limited to paid work. It is not confined to public roles. It does not disappear when productivity changes. It encompasses the whole of our lives.

We tend to associate calling with platform. With influence. With productivity. With visibility.

But vocation, biblically understood, is not first about role. It is about response. It is about how you love the people and responsibilities God has placed in front of you.

Sometimes those responsibilities look like preaching or leading or building. Sometimes they look like medications, appointments, midnight wake-ups, and quiet endurance.

The measure of calling is not visibility. It is love.

When love becomes repetitive

We often read the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37) as a powerful, singular act of compassion. A man stops. He binds wounds. He pays for lodging. He goes out of his way.

We read Jesus washing the disciples’ feet (John 13:1-17) as a stunning moment of humility.

But what if that were not a moment? What if that were your Tuesday? And Wednesday. And Thursday.

What if washing, lifting, cleaning, comforting, and sitting became your daily rhythm?

When Jesus knelt to wash his disciples’ feet, He did not see it as wasted time. He did not see it as beneath him. He did not measure the moment by how many people were watching or whether it would expand his influence. It was an act of love.

And then he did something even more striking. He told his disciples to do the same.

“If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet” – John 13:14.

He dignified that kind of service. He sanctified it. He called it the way of his kingdom.

There is nothing in that passage that suggests this kind of service is secondary or symbolic only. Jesus did not present foot washing as an occasional illustration. He presented it as an example to be imitated. If anything, the authority of the One kneeling makes the act even more significant.

At the same time, the calling is not limited to literal foot washing. The point was never the water basin itself. It was the posture. The humility. The willingness to take on the work that love requires.

If we would never look at imitating Jesus in preaching or leadership as less spiritual, why would we assume that imitating him in steady, embodied care is lesser work?

In many ways, you are washing feet in a deeper and more sustained way. When you become a caregiver, you are not stepping outside your calling. You are responding to it in a deeply personal way. Caregiving is not symbolic. It is embodied love.

It is steady. And steady love is not lesser love. In fact, steady love may form the soul more deeply than dramatic love ever could.

When my ministry changed

There was a season in my own life when ministry, as I had known it, stopped abruptly.

My son was in a life-threatening accident, and in a moment, our family’s world narrowed to hospital rooms, ICU monitors, doctors’ reports, and rehabilitation plans. My wife and I were no longer planning sermons or coordinating events. We were helping him walk again. We were managing pain. We were watching vital signs. We were praying through tears.

In a traditional sense, it felt like an interruption. But before God, that was my ministry.

For that season, my calling was not primarily public. It was intensely personal. It was to stand beside my son. To support my wife. To stay present.

And in that “interruption,” I learned some of the most powerful, life-giving lessons of my life. I saw God move in ways I will never forget. I experienced dependence on him in ways I had never known before. I discovered that formation does not pause when ministry narrows. In some ways, it intensifies.

That season was not less formative. If I am honest, it was more formative. What looked like a detour became holy ground.

Discernment in the middle of it

We often think of discernment as choosing between options. But sometimes discernment is simpler and more demanding.

Sometimes it is asking, “Who is God asking me to love right now?”

You may not feel especially gifted for caregiving. You may not feel patient enough or strong enough. You may not wake up each day feeling called.

But calling is not always about emotional certainty. It is about faithful response.

If this is the person entrusted to you, if this is the season you are in, if this is the love that is required of you, then God is not absent from it. He is forming you in it.

And when the days feel long, it may help to do something simple: at the end of the day, name one act of care you offered. One moment of patience. One small sacrifice. Not to congratulate yourself, but to recognize it for what it is.

Personal ministry. Kingdom work offered quietly to the Lord.

Even a whispered prayer between tasks, a single breath offered to God in the middle of exhaustion, is not insignificant. It is participation. Formation often happens in moments so small they are easy to miss.

For those who feel invisible

There are caregivers reading this who feel unseen. You have put your dreams on hold. You have rearranged your schedule. You have absorbed stress that few understand. And sometimes you wonder if any of it counts.

Scripture is clear about something we often forget: God does not overlook love expressed in service. He does not ignore faithfulness because it is hidden. He does not measure your calling by audience size.

The work of sustaining another human being is not secondary to the kingdom of God. It reflects the heart of the One who sustains us all.

This, too, is calling

If your days are structured around someone else’s needs, if your prayers are whispered between responsibilities, if your ministry looks like lifting, cleaning, sitting, waiting, and staying, hear this clearly: This is not an interruption of your spiritual life. This is your spiritual life. This is not a pause in your calling. This too is calling. You are not less because your obedience is quiet.

In many ways, you are being formed in ways that only quiet obedience can produce.

And long after the applause fades from more visible ministries, the love you practiced in hidden rooms will remain.

Because love is never wasted. And neither is your calling.

Johnny is the lead evangelist for the Central Jersey Church of Christ. This article is shared with permission from his Substack, MetaForge Formation.