When You Don’t Feel Useful

Too much candy is gonna rot your soul.

There are seasons when I lose focus on who I am and what I’ve been called to.

It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s more like a slow drift, a subtle erosion of clarity. I start to look sideways, measuring myself against others, comparing results, wondering if I’m keeping pace.

And before I realize it, the questions begin to creep in:
Am I doing enough?
Am I making a difference?
Does any of this even matter?

I’ve lived long enough to know those are dangerous questions, not because they’re bad, but because of what they reveal. They tell me I’ve started to forget who I am.

In coaching, I see it all the time: in leaders, pastors, business owners, people who carry so much weight for others. There’s this ache that sits under the surface: a quiet fear of not being enough.

And when we feel that ache, we tend to try to perform our way through it.
We work harder.
We say yes to one more thing.
We scroll through other people’s “success” stories for some clue about how to fix ourselves.

But the truth is, we don’t need to fix ourselves.
We need to remember ourselves.

Because usefulness, the way the world defines it, isn’t the same thing as faithfulness.

I’ve been in church leadership long enough to see how easily this creeps in. A small congregation looks down the road at a larger one with its polished programs, full staff, and digital presence, and quietly wonders, What are we doing wrong?

The temptation is to imitate: to import the model, the music, the metrics. But imitation without discernment is a kind of amnesia. It forgets the gifts that make a community unique.

Not every church is called to be a megachurch.
Not every ministry is supposed to scale.

Sometimes the faithfulness of a place is measured not by numbers, but by names. The names they know, the people they show up for, the lives they quietly bless. I was challenged when I helped a small congregation defer their motion to dissolve. Why? Because they were genuinely caring for each other and their small rural community.

Our metrics might be a tad askew.

I often challenge smaller congregations wrestling with their identity to reflect on what is unique about them and who they are.

The same is true for us as individuals.

When I start to feel useless, it’s usually because I’ve allowed other people’s opinions or expectations to rewrite my sense of purpose (perceived or actual). I start to forget the texture of my own gifts: how I’m wired to lead, to listen, to build, to create.

It’s easy to lose that in a culture obsessed with outcomes.
The question is rarely, Who am I becoming?
It’s almost always, What am I producing?

The kingdom of God has never been built on efficiency.
It’s been built on presence.

The ministry of Jesus wasn’t a productivity strategy.
It was an unfolding story of love: one meal, one conversation, one healing at a time.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t compare.
He stayed rooted in who he was and where the Father had placed him.

I think of Jesus’ baptism often. Before a single sermon, before a miracle, before a following, there’s this voice from heaven saying, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17)

He hadn’t done anything yet. No accomplishments to point to. No resume of results. Just belovedness.

That’s where calling begins.
Before usefulness. Before effectiveness. Before we even step into the work.
And maybe that’s the invitation when we feel useless: to return to that voice that names us before the world ever measures us.

Of course, remembering that isn’t always easy.
That’s why community matters.

Over the years, I’ve learned I need people around me who help me stay rooted, those who remind me of what’s true when I start to drift. The ones who see the bigger picture when I’ve lost sight of it.

I was talking to one of those friends last night, and then I heard a long pause from them. After some silence, I said, “Okay, tell me what I’m missing!”
“Not missing, but have you thought about X or Y?”
“Oh. Right, that’s what I couldn’t see.”

If I could give any advice to a leader, or anyone trying to live faithfully in a noisy, competitive world, it would be this:
Find people who call you back to yourself.
Not the version the world demands, but the version the Creator delights in.

Because when we live from that place, that steady centre, usefulness takes care of itself.

In the Celtic tradition, there’s this beautiful understanding of anam cara, the soul friend. (My friend Ken wrote his thesis on this - he’s a wise man.) Someone who helps you see who you are in God, who reminds you that you belong when the world makes you doubt it.

That’s the kind of friendship and leadership the church needs more of. Not leaders who outshine each other, but who bless each other. Who say, I see what you bring. I honour it. You don’t have to be me to be faithful.

There is a colleague who, in many ways, is the opposite of me (quiet, generous, slow to react) and, in some ways, similar (bald, bearded - you know, dashingly handsome). When he speaks at a meeting, it is both rare and pure gold. His presence and style remind me to take a breath when I might think I know better.

That’s how communities come alive again, not through competition, but through celebration.

So maybe the next time you start to feel useless, when the doubts get loud or the comparison feels crushing, stop and ask:

Whose voice am I listening to?
Who told me I wasn’t enough?
Because I can promise you: it wasn’t the One who breathed life into you. (see Genesis 2:7)

The One who called you did so knowing exactly who you are, what you carry, and what the world needs through you.

And that, I think, is the quiet miracle of grace:
God doesn’t ask us to be useful like someone else.
Just faithful as ourselves.

Photo by Leo on Unsplash