Less of Me, More of Him… and Somehow, More of Me Too

Photo above: From one of my favorite MESSY memories so far this summer…

Last night after Bible Study I ended up in one of those lingering parking lot conversations that feels like church after church. The kind where you stand with the trunk open, keys in hand, and suddenly it’s 10 p.m.

A new friend—one of those people who quickly becomes a favorite face in the room—was sharing about a former season of her life when she was a volleyball coach and mentor. It was a sweet time of investing in others, but she’s not in that season anymore. She’s in a new one now. One filled with gratitude, yes—but also a little longing.

We laughed and nodded at the strange ache of letting go of something that once felt so deeply you.

We started talking about the shift that happens when the things that once defined us—or at least made us feel like ourselves—don’t fit as easily in the new season.

We’ve all had those “who even am I right now?” moments.
The identity wobble of a new role, a closed door, or a holy redirection.
It’s for the woman who just graduated. The one who changed jobs or got married. The one who had to say goodbye to something she loved. The one who’s waiting on what’s next.

I remember feeling it when I came home from China, having poured so much of myself into missions and cross-cultural ministry. When that season ended, I didn’t just feel unsure of my calling—I felt unsure of me.
(Spoiler: God knew who I was the whole time.)

I felt it again when I got married. I had prayed for years for Adam and was so grateful to finally step into that covenant. But after being April Smith for 29 years, becoming April Sawyer wasn’t as seamless as I expected. I had to learn how to be me with someone else. I didn’t lose myself, but I did have to rediscover who I was in this new, beautiful “us.”

And then, enter kids.

Tiny humans who somehow take all your time, most of your sleep, and a significant portion of your dignity—and still manage to steal your heart completely. This season is beautiful and messy and sacred. But it's also short. And even in its sweetness, it sometimes feels like I’ve set aside so many parts of myself that I hardly recognize the woman in the mirror between preschool drop-offs and snack negotiations.

Case in point: This week, I unknowingly walked around the movie theater—with poop on the front of my button-up. From a blowout. I kept smelling something and thinking, Huh, weird, while I casually chatted with strangers like I wasn’t wearing toddler excrement as a badge of motherhood.

Nothing says “I’m not who I used to be” like offering popcorn to your kid while covered in their bowels.
Glamorous? No.
Holy? Maybe.
Humbling? Absolutely.

But here’s the strange, upside-down truth I keep bumping into—and maybe you’ve felt it too:

The more I try to hold onto “me,” the more I lose my peace.
The more I release, the more I receive.
The more I say, “Less of me, Lord,” the more I actually become who I really am.

Not erased. Not diminished. Just… re-formed.

I think that’s what John the Baptist meant when he said,

“He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30)

It’s not just about behaving better or being less selfish.
It’s about loosening our grip on all the roles, titles, and timelines we think define us—and letting God do the defining.

It’s about realizing that God’s math is weird in the best way.
Less of me + more of Him = more of the real me.

I’m not who I was at 25. Or 29. Or even last year.
And I won’t be who I am now forever either.
But every time I’ve walked through a door I didn’t expect—or had one close when I really wanted it to stay open—I’ve eventually seen it:

God is not just the Author of our stories. He’s the Editor, too.
He knows which chapters to cut and which ones to expand.
He knows when to use a red pen.
And He has this way of surprising us with plot twists that lead to deeper joy.

So if you're in a season where you feel like you’re losing yourself—whether it’s in singleness, marriage, motherhood, ministry, job loss, job gain, transition, or toddler tantrums—I hope this encourages you:

You’re not lost.
You’re being re-formed.

And in the process of letting go, you may just find more of who you were made to be.

Less of you.
More of Him.
And somehow… more of you too.