My Providential Sabbatical: Lessons I Learned in a Season I Didn’t Choose

I didn’t plan for a sabbatical. I didn’t apply for one or schedule one (or even want one). 

But God, in His providence, gave me one anyway.

When I resigned from my previous church, I stepped away from more than just a job. I stepped away from a church I had poured nearly eight years into—friendships we had built and dreams we had nurtured for the future. And almost overnight, I found myself in a strange place where all of that had evaporated like water in an Arizona June.

But over the last few months, I’ve come to see that this season, though unchosen, has been a gift. It's not one I would’ve asked for, but one I’ve come to appreciate. Through it, God has taught me to wait, to rest, to trust, and to hope. 

When I say "taught" and "learned," I don't, of course, mean to suggest that these are lessons I've aced, never to repeat again. Rather, I mean that I've "begun to learn" in ways I didn't before. 

I Have Learned to Wait

Waiting is never one of those things we'd choose for ourselves. No one thinks, "I'm gonna head down to the local DMV so I can just wait for 45 minutes." But in our sanctification, waiting is a crucial building block in our faith. We learn to trust God's faithfulness, wisdom, sovereignty, and goodness, even when stuff doesn't happen on our timetable. Waiting strengthens our faith like weightlifting strengthens our muscles.

Over the last several months, I've had to wait. If you don't know, the pastoral candidating process is deliberate and slow, and full of waiting.

I’ve had to wait for God’s clear leading. 

I’ve had to wait for responses from search committees. 

I’ve had to wait for interviews. 

On another level, many of the days have slowed down significantly. I’m the kind of guy who sets up systems and processes for getting everything done that I need to get done each week. It’s quite strange to go from having every hour accounted for to waking up with little on the agenda.

In waiting, I’ve learned to slow down and appreciate the simple gift of time. Life is short, and everyone wishes they had more of it. But then we get frustrated when we have long days that seem to drag on. I’ve begun to appreciate the opportunity to wait, which has led me to a second blessing.

I Have Learned to Rest

I knew that I was busy as a solo pastor in a small but growing church. But I didn’t realize how dangerously busy I was. I found a strange comfort in having the weekly routines of ministry plan my days for me and give me a sense of purpose.

The sense of panic I felt the first week or so out of the pulpit shocked me. It was the panic of not knowing what I was supposed to do with my day. There was no sermon to prepare. No men to disciple. No services to plan. No events to lead. That, coupled with the pain of leaving behind so much of my life, led to several long weeks of some kind of depression.

I slept a lot. 

I hit the snooze most mornings. 

I stopped writing. 

I slogged through Bible reading. 

I lost interest in studying.

My outlook on the future was bleak. 

But stepping off the ministry treadmill helped me realize just how exhausted and stretched thin I had become.

I’ve learned to rest, not in my position or productivity, but simply in being in Christ. In being an ordinary church member. In loving my kids and doing normal human stuff. 

I’ve come to see this time of rest as a precious gift. 

The rest has been so refreshing and life-giving. It has been a blessing to my soul to have multiple weeks with little preaching. 

To just learn to rest in my identity as God’s son, not my calling as a pastor. 

To simply enjoy the gift of family and the opportunity to spend uninterrupted, focused, and dedicated time with my sons. 

To linger in God’s presence in prayer. 

To read Scripture—not with a sermon brewing on the back burner, but simply to nourish my own soul. 

To read good books for the same reason.

It's taken some time to get here, but I am resting in Christ (Matthew 11:28-30) in the deepest way I have in years. I am eager to step into the next chapter of ministry. 

I Have Learned to Trust

Let’s face it: it’s frightening to lose your source of income and stability. To lose relationships. To think about selling and buying a house in this real estate market. 

I’ve never been one to struggle much with anxiety, but early on in this season, I faced numerous nights of utter panic, wondering how I would provide for my family. 

Sure, my church gave severance. Yes, we did have an emergency fund. But what if something else went wrong? What if it takes me three years to find a church? What if I have to replace all the tires on both cars? (That one actually happened.) What if...? 

I’ve had to counsel myself with the counsel I’ve offered others many times. It has been humbling to realize how vulnerable I am to the sin of anxiety and fear.  

I’ll never forget the day in early February when it became clear I would need to step away from my church. I looked out the window of the church while the deacons were deliberating in the other room and watched a huge flock of birds fluttering about, without a care in the world--and I was reminded of Jesus' words in Matthew 6. Getting out into creation, seeing God’s handiwork, and remembering God’s promises truly can calm the troubled soul amid uncertainty.

Likewise, gathering with God’s people week after week—and simply being a part of a healthy church community, which God so graciously has given to us at Christ Fellowship Baptist Church—has done more than I can explain to bolster my faith. It’s been like a leaf blower on the fading embers of a fire. 

I’ve also found strength in the great hymns of the faith. The words of previous generations of saints who have walked through far darker nights are a potent reminder of the never-ending faithfulness of my God.

I Have Learned to Hope

Thinking about the future can be frightening—until you recognize that the road ahead will one day cross the Jordan into the Promised Land, the new heavens and the new earth. 

I’ve thought a lot about death and eternity over the last few months—not in a dark, “Sam needs therapy” kind of way, but in the Ecclesiastes sense: the kind of reflection that reorders your values and clarifies what matters most. Losing something valuable is a reminder that, because of death, nothing is permanent...unless Jesus rose from the dead. 

Nothing matters if there is no resurrection from the dead. But everything matters if there is.

If Jesus actually walked out of the tomb on Easter morning, I have no doubt that He will redeem all the sorrow, heartache, pain, darkness, and fear in the lives of His people. And one day, from the radiant shores of the other side of the Red Sea, we’ll look back and see how the choppy waters of past pain sparkle for His glory.

Conclusion

This sabbatical wasn’t planned. It wasn’t expected. But it was providential. And I’m slowly seeing that it was deeply necessary. God has used this season to strip away what I leaned on too heavily—and to refresh what matters most: His Word, His presence, His people, and His promises.

Even if I don’t know exactly what’s next, I know this: God’s grace doesn’t expire when your job title does. His care doesn’t pause when your plans fall apart. And even when the road ahead feels unclear, the Shepherd knows the way.