On letting go, finding a new season, and discovering that God’s purpose doesn’t have an expiration date.

One of the hardest things to accept in life is the realization that your time may have passed. Not because you have failed, not because you have nothing more to offer, and certainly not because you have become useless. Sometimes, the season that defined much of your life is simply coming to an end, and no amount of effort, determination, or desire can make it last forever.

I know this because I went through it myself, and I must admit that it was one of the more difficult transitions of my life.

I have spent nearly four decades in the financial services industry and close to two decades in the speaking, writing, and consulting arena. For much of my adult life, I was known as a financial planner, speaker, author, and personal finance advocate. I built a career around helping people make better financial decisions, advising organizations, writing books and articles, and speaking to audiences about money, business, and life.

It was a good run, and I am genuinely grateful for all the opportunities the Lord gave me. I met wonderful people, built meaningful relationships, traveled to many places, and hopefully made a difference in people’s lives. I enjoyed what I was doing, and for many years, I could not imagine myself doing anything else.

But somewhere along the way, I began to sense that something was changing.

I could not quite explain it, but I had this growing feeling that my season as a speaker, thought leader, and finance advocate was slowly coming to an end. It was an uncomfortable realization, especially when so much of my identity had become intertwined with what I did professionally.

At first, I questioned myself. Was I simply going through a career slump? Was I losing my relevance? Did I need to reinvent myself, develop new content, or find new opportunities? Perhaps I just needed to work harder and be more persistent.

Some well-meaning friends encouraged me not to give up. They reminded me of everything I had accomplished and told me that I still had much to contribute. Their words were encouraging, and I appreciated their concern. But somewhere deep inside, I wondered whether holding on was really the right thing to do.

There is a fine line between perseverance and refusing to accept that a season has ended. At that time, I honestly did not know which side of that line I was on.

I have seen people in the speaking and consulting industry struggle with the reality that their time in the spotlight has passed. I understand that struggle more than I care to admit. When you have spent years building a reputation, establishing credibility, and becoming known for something, letting go can feel like losing a part of yourself.

And I did not want to become someone who kept insisting on being relevant long after his season had changed.

Yet accepting that possibility was much harder than I expected.

Too Young to Retire, Too Old to Start Again?

I was in my late fifties, and retirement seemed like a strange idea. I still felt energetic, mentally engaged, and capable of doing meaningful work. I believed I still had a few good years ahead of me, perhaps even some of my most productive years.

The irony was not lost on me. I had spent a significant part of my career helping people prepare financially for retirement, yet I was struggling to prepare emotionally for the possibility of retiring from the career that had defined me.

I began entertaining the idea of returning to the corporate world. After all, I had considerable experience in financial services, management, business, and consulting. Surely, there might still be a place for someone like me.

But another thought kept bothering me: Who goes back to corporate life when he is already in his very late fifties?

Of course, people do, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. But I wondered whether it would really be the right direction for me.

I started having conversations with people about possible corporate opportunities, exploring whether there might still be room for me in that world. On paper, it seemed reasonable. It offered the possibility of financial stability, professional engagement, and perhaps a few more years of doing something familiar.

But something felt off.

I could not quite put my finger on it. The opportunities were not necessarily bad, and I certainly did not consider corporate work any less meaningful. I simply had this nagging sense that I might be trying to return to something God was already leading me away from.

Meanwhile, the possibility of entering full-time ministry had always been somewhere in the back of my mind. It was something I had considered over the years, but I had pushed it so far back that I rarely allowed myself to think seriously about it.

And even when the thought surfaced, I had a convenient reason to dismiss it.

I was too old.

I belonged to a church where many pastors and full-time ministers had entered ministry at a relatively young age. Some had been serving in full-time ministry for decades by the time they reached my age. I was approaching sixty and contemplating something many of them had started in their twenties or thirties.

I wondered whether I had missed my opportunity.

There were many nights when I struggled with these thoughts. I prayed, reflected, questioned my decisions, and considered the different paths before me. I was wrestling not only with what I should do next but also with the uncomfortable possibility that I needed to let go of something I had spent decades building.

Looking back, I think part of the struggle was my ego. I had become accustomed to being known for something, to being invited to speak, and to having people seek my opinions and expertise. I had to confront the possibility that my desire to remain in that world was not entirely about serving others. Part of it was about holding on to an identity that had become very comfortable.

Sometimes, the hardest thing to surrender is not what we possess but who we think we are.

A Dinner That Changed Everything

Eventually, I decided to reach out to my pastor and longtime friend, Dennis Sy. Dennis had been an important person in my spiritual journey for many years, and I trusted his wisdom.

I told him I was considering returning to the corporate world and asked him to pray for me as I sought God’s direction.

He responded by suggesting that we talk about it over dinner.

When we finally met, I shared everything that had been weighing on my mind. I told him about my uncertainty, my struggle with accepting that my season in the speaking industry might be ending, and my thoughts about going back to corporate life. I also shared the questions and apprehensions that had been keeping me awake at night.

Dennis was unusually quiet.

Those who know Dennis will understand why that was noticeable. He is a funny person who enjoys joking around, but that evening he mostly listened, allowing me to process everything I was going through. After hearing me out, he smiled and suggested that perhaps it was time for me to enter full-time ministry. I did not know how to respond. Was he serious? Was he joking? Did he really mean that someone my age could still enter full-time ministry?

Because Dennis has a wonderful sense of humor, I genuinely could not tell whether he was making a serious suggestion or simply being his usual playful self. So I did what any confused person would probably do. I did not give him an answer. We finished our dinner and parted ways, but his words stayed with me.

That evening, my mind was flooded with questions. Was God really calling me into full-time ministry? Was I prepared to let go of the professional life I had built over several decades? What would happen to the comfortable income I had grown accustomed to? Could I really start something new at my age? Would I fit into a ministry environment where many of my colleagues would be considerably younger?

The questions kept coming, and I found myself tossing and turning in bed.

At around three or four in the morning, unable to sleep, I finally picked up my phone and sent Dennis a text message asking whether he had been serious about what he said during dinner.

After sending the message, I put my phone down and finally managed to get some sleep.

When I woke up, there was a reply waiting for me. Yes, he was serious, and we should talk. And, as they say, the rest is history.

That exchange began a process that eventually led me into full-time ministry. What I had spent so much time pushing to the back of my mind was now becoming a real possibility, and what I once considered too late was becoming a new beginning.

From Strength to Strength

As I reflect on that season, I cannot help but think about Arthur C. Brooks’ book, From Strength to Strength: Finding Success, Happiness, and Deep Purpose in the Second Half of Life.

Brooks writes about something many successful and accomplished people struggle to accept: the abilities, circumstances, and opportunities that made us successful during the first half of our lives may not sustain us in the second half.

He discusses the distinction between fluid intelligence, which is associated with quick problem-solving and innovation, and crystallized intelligence, which draws upon accumulated knowledge, experience, wisdom, and the ability to teach and guide others.

His central argument is that rather than desperately trying to extend the first curve of our success, we should learn to embrace a second curve, one that may be less about personal achievement and more about wisdom, relationships, service, and deeper purpose.

For years, my professional life revolved around building expertise, expanding my influence, developing my reputation, and achieving results. None of those things was inherently wrong. In fact, I believe the Lord used that season to accomplish many good things.

But I had to confront an important question: Was I prepared to move from being known for what I accomplished to finding fulfillment in what I could contribute to others, even if it meant stepping away from the platform I had become accustomed to?

Brooks’ insights helped me understand that growing older does not necessarily mean becoming less useful. It may mean becoming useful in a different way.

And for me, that second curve was becoming clearer through ministry.

Today, much of what I learned over nearly four decades in the marketplace continues to shape how I minister to people. My experience in business, finance, leadership, and even my failures has given me perspectives that I can now use in discipling people, encouraging business leaders, mentoring others, and helping people understand how their faith should shape every aspect of their lives.

I have come to realize that perhaps those decades were not merely a career I was meant to enjoy. They were also years of preparation for something I had not fully anticipated.

What I thought I was leaving behind, God was allowing me to carry into a different assignment.

There Is a Season for Everything

Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.”

I have read that verse countless times, but it means something different when you are the one being asked to embrace a changing season.

We generally welcome new beginnings. We celebrate promotions, new ventures, expanding opportunities, and greater responsibilities. But we are not always as enthusiastic about endings, especially when the ending involves something we love and have invested so much of ourselves in.

Yet the same God who gives us beginnings also remains sovereign over our endings.

I have learned that accepting the end of a season is not necessarily an admission of defeat. Sometimes, it is an expression of faith. It means trusting that God is not finished with us simply because something familiar is coming to an end.

And I want to be clear about something. Entering full-time ministry did not mean that I had finally moved into a more spiritual or important vocation. I have always believed that our work in the marketplace matters to God. Business, finance, teaching, consulting, and entrepreneurship can all be expressions of worship and service to Him.

This was not about leaving a lesser calling for a greater one. It was about responding to what I believed God was asking of me in this particular season of my life.

That distinction is important because not everyone experiencing a career transition is being called into full-time ministry. For some, the next season may involve mentoring, teaching, entrepreneurship, serving their families, or simply learning to live with a different pace and set of priorities.

The point is not that we all need to do something dramatically different. The point is that we need to hold our plans loosely enough to allow God to direct our steps.

John the Baptist understood something about the relationship between his identity and his assignment when he said of Jesus in John 3:30: “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

John understood that his ministry was never ultimately about himself. His role was to point people to Jesus, not to hold on to his own prominence. I am not comparing my circumstances with John’s unique calling, but there is a principle of humility here that continues to challenge me.

For so many years, I had become accustomed to being visible, being heard, and being recognized. But following Jesus sometimes means becoming comfortable with the possibility that our visibility may diminish while our faithfulness deepens.

Perhaps what God wanted to change in me was not merely my career but my understanding of what it means to be fruitful.

My Time May Have Passed, but God’s Purpose Has Not

I am now at a stage in life where I think more seriously about what truly matters. The desire to accomplish things has not completely disappeared, and I doubt that it ever will. I still enjoy writing, speaking, teaching, and sharing what I have learned. I still have ideas and aspirations, and I still believe I have much to contribute.

But something has changed.

I no longer feel the same need to hold on to the professional identity I spent so many years building. I am increasingly comfortable with the idea that I do not have to remain relevant in the same way I once was.

That does not mean I have stopped valuing the past. I remain deeply grateful for it. I simply do not want my past accomplishments to prevent me from embracing what God has for me today.

Psalm 92:14 offers a beautiful reminder about the righteous: “They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green.”

The promise is not that we will remain at the peak of our professional success or that we will always enjoy the same recognition and opportunities. Rather, it reminds us that fruitfulness is not restricted to our younger years.

There is still meaningful work to be done, relationships to invest in, wisdom to pass on, people to disciple, and ways to serve God and others.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened had I insisted on holding on to my old career simply because I was afraid of losing my identity or financial comfort. Perhaps I would have found another professional opportunity and continued doing reasonably well. There would have been nothing inherently wrong with that.

But I might have missed the opportunity to discover the joy and fulfillment I am experiencing in this new season.

I do not want to romanticize the transition. Entering full-time ministry came with real adjustments, financial considerations, uncertainties, and the humbling experience of becoming a beginner again at an age when many people are already thinking about retirement. And ministry is not always easy. It comes with its own challenges, pressures, and responsibilities.

But there is a deep sense of peace in knowing that I no longer have to spend my remaining years desperately trying to preserve a version of myself that belongs to an earlier season.

I can be grateful for the man I was without being compelled to remain that man forever.

Learning to Let Go

If there is one lesson I have learned from this journey, it is that we should not be afraid to acknowledge when our time in a particular season has passed.

There is dignity in knowing when to step aside, wisdom in recognizing when something has run its course, and freedom in no longer needing to prove that we are still as relevant or accomplished as we once were.

I believe one of the dangers of success is that it can quietly convince us that our value is tied to our achievements. And when those achievements begin to fade, we fear that our value is fading along with them.

But the gospel tells us something entirely different.

Our worth is not determined by our professional relevance, the size of our audience, the positions we hold, the income we earn, or the recognition we receive. Our identity is ultimately found in Jesus Christ, and our lives belong to Him.

I spent decades teaching people to manage their resources, plan for their future, and become good stewards of what God had entrusted to them. Today, I am learning that stewardship also involves knowing when to release something, including a career, a title, or a platform that once occupied such a significant place in our lives.

Perhaps that is one of the most important lessons of growing older. We eventually realize that we cannot hold on to everything, and we were never meant to.

There is no shame in accepting that your time has passed. The tragedy would be allowing your attachment to the past to blind you to what God is doing in the present.

I am grateful for nearly four decades in financial services and close to two decades of speaking, consulting, and advocating for financial literacy. Those years shaped me, provided for my family, allowed me to serve many people, and taught me lessons I continue to carry today.

But I am just as grateful that the Lord did not allow my story to end there.

Looking back, I realize that I was asking the wrong question. I kept wondering whether I still had a place in the world I had known for so long, when perhaps I should have been asking where the Lord wanted me to serve next.

I thought I was running out of time, but God was teaching me that my life was never ultimately about my timetable.

It is okay to accept that your time has passed, because the end of one season does not mean the end of your purpose.

And perhaps the greatest freedom comes when we finally understand that we do not need to hold on to yesterday’s success to remain faithful today.

I am no longer trying to extend my old season. I am learning to embrace the one God has given me.

After all, my life was never supposed to be about how long I could remain successful, relevant, or recognized. It was always supposed to be about how faithfully I could follow Jesus.

My time in one season may have passed, but my time to serve the Lord has not. And as long as He gives me life, I pray that I will continue to bear fruit, not for my own recognition, but for His glory.