The Beautiful Conundrum of Calling: What It Really Means to Live Worthy

How Moses's messy identity crisis became the key to his greatest purpose—and what that means for the rest of us.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the word "conundrum." Merriam-Webster defines it as "an intricate and difficult problem," and honestly, that feels like the perfect way to describe calling in our current moment. Whether you're sitting in a cubicle wondering if this is "it," lying awake at 2 AM questioning your life choices, or feeling like everyone else got a clear memo from God while you're still checking your spiritual spam folder—the whole concept of calling can feel like one giant, beautiful, frustrating conundrum.

As part of our ongoing series "What Lies Beneath," we've been exploring how to move from the clouded to the clear as followers of Jesus. We've talked about how spiritual formation is like an iceberg—only 10% visible above the surface, while the real work happens in that 90% underneath. Today, I want to dive deep into one of the most complex parts of that underwater work: discernment and calling.

But here's what I've learned: the conundrum isn't a bug in the system. It's a feature. And Moses's story shows us exactly why.

When Your Identity Crisis Becomes Your Calling Card

Let's pick up where we left off with Moses last week. We've got this guy standing in front of a burning bush, and God drops this massive assignment on him: "Go back to Egypt. Confront Pharaoh. Lead my people out of slavery."

Moses's response? Basically, "Surely you don't mean me, God." But here's the thing—God absolutely meant him. Not despite who Moses was, but because of it.

Think about Moses's story for a minute. This man had one of the most complicated identity formations you could imagine. Born Hebrew to an oppressed people. Hidden for three months to keep him alive. Adopted by Pharaoh's daughter—literally raised by the oppressor's family. Nursed by his own mother until he was weaned, then returned to live as Egyptian royalty.

Before he was even five years old, this child had experienced more trauma and identity confusion than most of us face in a lifetime. He knew he was Hebrew, but he wasn't experiencing their oppression. He was raised Egyptian, but he knew deep down he didn't belong there either.

That identity crisis showed up in his actions. When he saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, he killed the Egyptian in rage. When he saw two Hebrews fighting each other, he confronted them. The passion for justice was there, but it was coming out in harmful, violent ways because he hadn't done the deep work of understanding who he really was.

So he fled. Spent 40 years in Midian tending sheep, probably thinking his story was over.

But God had other plans.

"God called to Moses out of the burning bush saying, in effect, I know the question about your identity has been a little confusing for you, but I have always known who you are."

Ruth Haley Barton puts it beautifully in her book Strengthening the Soul of Your Leadership. She suggests that God was essentially saying to Moses: "You are a Hebrew. No matter where you live, no matter who raised you, no matter how anyone tries to beat it out of you, no one can take that away from you."

I believe some of us needed just that word today.

God didn't call Moses despite his messy, complicated identity. God called him because of it. His experience of displacement, his knowledge of both worlds, his deep sense of justice that had gotten him in trouble—all of it became essential to who God was calling him to be.

Conundrum #1: Our individual calls are inextricably linked to who we really are. And sometimes we haven't done the work to fully know ourselves.

The Worthiness Trap

Even after God makes it clear that Moses is the chosen one, Moses spends the rest of Exodus 3 and most of chapter 4 arguing with God about why he's not qualified. He doesn't think he's worthy to lead. The Israelites won't listen to him. They won't believe God sent him. He can't speak well enough.

To which God essentially responds: "I made your mouth, boo."

Moses lays out fear after concern, after hesitation, after pushback—all rooted in the unworthiness he felt. And at every turn, our good God reassures him. "I'll be with you." "I am who I am." "I will stretch out my hand and strike Egypt with all my wonders." "I will help you speak and teach you what to say."

God reminds Moses that he made him, knows him, and has not made a mistake choosing him for this moment.

Conundrum #2: We often don't feel worthy of whatever calling we sense, no matter how clear it seems.

This worthiness struggle is real, family. And it can take time—like a lifelong practice of leaning deeper into trust of God. Sometimes it requires arguing with God (God can handle it). Sometimes it means finding trusted community who can remind you of your worthiness while encouraging you to grow.

Cole Arthur Riley says it perfectly in Black Liturgies: "I know who I am. The sound is unmistakable. The question is, am I safe enough? Am I well enough? Am I loved enough to be able to admit it?" We need safe places to confront the gaps in our worthiness and practice trusting God.

When God Says "Choose Your Own Adventure"

But what if you've done the deep dive work? What if you're feeling pretty good about yourself most days, but you're still not hearing, feeling, or sensing any specific call? What if everyone else seems to have gotten the memo about their purpose while you're sitting there like, "God, are you there? It's me, wondering what the heck I'm supposed to do with my life."

Conundrum #3: Not feeling like you have a specific calling at all. Barbara Brown Taylor shares the most beautiful story about this in An Altar in the World. When she was in seminary, everyone else seemed to know exactly what their purpose was, but she didn't have a clue. So she found this perfect prayer spot at the top of a fire escape and went there night after night, asking God what she was supposed to do with her life.

She says she learned to pray like a wolf howls, like Ella Fitzgerald sang scat. And then one night, when her whole heart was open to hearing from God, God said: "Anything that pleases you." "What?" she responded. "What kind of answer is that?" "Do anything that pleases you," the voice said again, "and belong to me."

Sometimes God lets us choose. Because it's not always about the what of it, but about the how.

"Regardless of if God has given us a very specific thing to do, like Moses, or if God is telling us to choose, our collective call as followers of Jesus is to belong to God, to walk in the way of Jesus, loving God, loving our neighbor as ourselves."

The Relational Heart of Calling

Here's what I've come to understand about calling: it's fundamentally relational. The verb "to call" refers to the capacity living creatures have to call out to one another, to stay connected, to communicate something of importance. Calling is supposed to draw us toward one another, toward love, toward life, toward liberation.

Which is why calling misconstrued, mishandled, or misused is so damaging. I'm sure some of us have had the painful experience of being on the other side of someone's "calling." I certainly have—like the person apparently called to tell me to repent from being queer and come back to Jesus. But I never left. Accepting my sexuality brought freedom for me, brought me closer to God, brought life and life more abundant.

God is never going to call anyone to tell us something that harms us or causes death—death of our spirits, our emotions, our hearts, our bodies.

Ephesians 4:1-5 urges us not to take calling lightly: "I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle. Be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace."

We live a life worthy of calling not always through a specific what, but through being intentional about our how.

Finding Life in the Wilderness

I know some of you are in a wilderness season right now. Maybe you've felt very clear about your calling, but circumstances have completely shifted out of your control. New boss, new administration, sudden job loss, traumatic relationship change, housing insecurity, bank account dwindling. (I've honestly experienced all of those things at various times in my life.) It can lead to feeling lost, frustrated, helpless, and sometimes hopeless.

But God sees you, family. God sees us. Your cries, just like those of the Israelites, are reaching God. God has not forgotten about you. The desires in your heart matter to God, and a way through this current wilderness is coming.

But in the waiting, don't undervalue the moments when you can still lean into the how of our collective call as Jesus's people. The ways you can show love to yourself and to your neighbor. It matters big—so much so that Jesus named loving neighbor as yourself as the second greatest commandment (Matthew 22:39).

Sometimes living a life worthy of calling means reconnecting with your childlikeness. Playing. Giving into abandon. Being curious. Paying attention to what brings you delight, what cracks you up, what makes you feel truly alive. Taking you back to those moments before you started putting on the uniform that systems of oppression taught you to wear.

The Beautiful Both/And

Here's what I want you to remember: calling, whether individual or collective, specific or general, is meant to form us more deeply in the ways of Christ. It's meant to bring clarity to who we are. It's always relational, connecting us more wholly to ourselves, each other, and God. And it's meant to bring life and liberation. Living lives worthy of the call isn't always easy. But it also doesn't always have to feel awful.

Ultimately, living a life worthy of calling means being who we really are while trusting God to make us more than we can envision. It means doing the deep work to know ourselves—including the 90% beneath the surface. It means believing that God made us, knows us, and will be with us through it all. And it means remembering that sometimes the most revolutionary thing we can do is simply love well in whatever space we find ourselves.

The conundrum of calling isn't something to solve—it's something to live into. And in that living, we find that our most confusing, complicated, messy parts might just be exactly what God wants to use to bring healing to the world.

Reflection Questions:

What parts of your identity or story have you been tempted to hide or minimize? How might God want to use those very things as part of your calling?

When you think about "doing anything that pleases you and belonging to God," what comes to mind? What would change if you trusted that God delights in your joy?

If this resonated with you, I'd love to hear your thoughts. And if you're in a wilderness season, remember: you're not alone, and your story isn't over.