Finding Purpose Beyond Productivity

For most of my life, I have been very good at doing.

Give me a list and I can make another list to organize the first list. Give me a project and my mind immediately starts figuring out how to get it done. There is always something that needs cleaning, cooking, fixing, planning, planting, writing, organizing, or worrying about.

Okay, worrying probably shouldn’t be on the list.

But I’m pretty good at that one too.

We grew up in a world that admired hard work. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I still believe there is satisfaction in a job well done, a garden tended, a meal prepared, a home cared for, or work that matters.

The trouble comes when somewhere along the way, what we do becomes tangled up with who we are.

And I think that can sneak up on women especially.

We spend decades being needed.

We raise children. We work. We care for homes. We volunteer at church. We take care of aging parents. We help with grandchildren. We remember birthdays and appointments and where somebody put the thing they swear they left right there.

We become accustomed to measuring our days by what we accomplished and our value by how useful we were.

Then life changes.

Maybe retirement comes.

Maybe the children don’t need us in the same way anymore.

Maybe our bodies begin informing us—rather rudely, I might add—that they are no longer interested in keeping the schedule our minds have planned.

And suddenly we can find ourselves asking a question we never expected to ask:

If I’m not doing all the things I used to do, what exactly am I here for now?

When “I Can’t” Starts Sounding Like “I’m Not”

This is where things can get tricky.

There is a surprisingly short distance between:

I can’t do as much as I used to.

and

I’m not as valuable as I used to be.

Those are two completely different statements, but if we’re not careful, they begin to sound like the same thing.

I know how frustrating it is when the mind has a full day’s agenda and the body apparently did not receive the memo.

There are days when we can accomplish quite a bit.

And there are days when getting dressed and figuring out what we’re having for supper feels like a respectable day’s work.

Give yourself grace.

Because productivity is a terrible measuring stick for human worth.

It always was.

We just didn’t notice it quite as much when we were checking things off the list.

God Never Asked Us to Earn Our Worth

One of the things I am learning in this season of life is that God doesn’t love me more on my productive days.

And He doesn’t love me less on the days when very little gets done.

That sounds obvious when I type it.

Living like I actually believe it is another matter entirely.

Ephesians 2:10 tells us:

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.”

I love the order of that verse.

We are His workmanship first.

The good works come afterward.

We don’t work ourselves into becoming valuable to God. We don’t earn our place by staying busy enough, serving enough, accomplishing enough, or proving that we’re still useful.

Our value begins with belonging to Him.

That changes the question.

Instead of asking,

“What can I still accomplish?”

maybe we begin asking,

“Lord, how would You have me live in this season?”

Those are not the same question.

Maybe Purpose Looks Different Now

I think we sometimes expect purpose to be something impressive.

A ministry.

A business.

A book.

A mission trip.

A big project with a color-coded binder.

And purpose certainly can include those things.

But maybe we have made purpose much too complicated.

Maybe your purpose today is calling the friend who has been lonely since her husband died.

Maybe it’s sitting with a grandchild and listening—really listening—to something that seems insignificant to you but is enormous to her.

Maybe it’s praying for people who don’t even know you’re praying for them.

Maybe it’s encouraging the tired young mother at church instead of telling her how quickly these years will pass.

Maybe it’s making soup for your neighbor.

Maybe it’s finally learning something you’ve always wanted to learn simply because God gave you curiosity and you are still alive.

Maybe it’s creating something beautiful.

Maybe it’s tending tomatoes.

Maybe it’s sitting quietly on the porch with a cup of coffee and noticing what God has made.

And maybe some days your purpose is simply allowing yourself to rest without feeling guilty about it.

Rest is not a character flaw.

There Is Wisdom in These Years

Our culture has a strange relationship with aging.

It spends an enormous amount of money trying to help us look as though we haven’t done it.

But Scripture doesn’t treat age as something embarrassing.

There is something we possess now that we simply could not have possessed at 25.

Perspective.

We’ve survived things we once thought might destroy us.

We’ve watched prayers answered—and some answered very differently than we expected.

We’ve made mistakes.

We’ve learned that some things we worried ourselves sick over weren’t worth five minutes of the worry we gave them.

We’ve discovered that people matter more than perfectly clean houses.

We’ve learned that life can change on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

And hopefully, we’ve learned a little more about the faithfulness of God.

That wisdom has value.

Not because we have all the answers.

Goodness knows I don’t.

But perhaps part of our purpose in these later years is simply being willing to walk beside someone who hasn’t traveled quite as far down the road yet.

Not preaching.

Not fixing.

Not beginning every sentence with, “Well, when I was your age…”

Just walking beside them.

There is ministry in that.

You Don’t Have to Reinvent Yourself

There’s a lot of talk these days about reinventing yourself after 60.

And if you want to start a business, learn pottery, write a novel, travel the country in an RV, or finally figure out how to make sourdough bread, have at it.

But you don’t have to become a whole new person to justify this chapter of your life.

Maybe this season isn’t about reinvention.

Maybe it’s about rediscovery.

Who are you when you’re not trying to prove anything?

What brings you joy?

What makes you curious?

What have you pushed aside for years because somebody else needed you?

Where do you feel close to God?

Who might benefit from what you’ve learned?

And perhaps most importantly:

Who are you when you aren’t accomplishing anything at all?

That last question can be uncomfortable.

But I think there’s freedom on the other side of it.

A Different Kind of Fruitfulness

Jesus said in John 15:5:

“I am the vine, ye are the branches.”

Branches don’t strain themselves trying to produce fruit.

They stay connected to the vine.

Maybe that’s a picture worth carrying into this season.

Our calling isn’t frantic usefulness.

It’s faithfulness.

It’s remaining connected to Christ and trusting Him to decide what fruit this particular season should produce.

And fruitfulness at 68 may look very different from fruitfulness at 38.

That’s okay.

Different isn’t less.

Slower isn’t less.

Quieter isn’t less.

You are not past your purpose because your pace has changed.

So What Is My Purpose Now?

I’m still figuring that out.

Maybe you are too.

But I’m beginning to believe purpose isn’t something we find once and then spend the rest of our lives accomplishing.

It changes with the seasons.

There are seasons for building and seasons for tending.

Seasons for leading and seasons for encouraging.

Seasons for doing and seasons for simply being present.

And maybe this particular season is inviting us to loosen our grip on productivity long enough to discover something we should have known all along:

Our worth was never hiding inside our to-do list.

We are daughters of God before we are workers, mothers, wives, caregivers, volunteers, homemakers, business owners, or anything else we may have spent our lives doing.

So yes, keep creating.

Keep learning.

Keep serving where God gives you the opportunity.

Plant the flowers. Write the story. Make the quilt. Take the trip. Love your people well.

But on the days when your list remains unfinished and your energy runs out before your intentions do, remember this:

You haven’t become less valuable.

You haven’t become less necessary.

And you certainly haven’t outlived your purpose.

Perhaps we’re simply learning to measure a meaningful life differently now.

Less by how much we accomplish.

More by how faithfully we love.

More by how generously we encourage.

More by how closely we walk with Christ.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the purpose all along.