For the last eleven years, I’ve traveled regularly to help facilitate and lead LIFT Gatherings—events full of prayer, teaching, conversation, and genuine encouragement for Christian educators. And it is a deeply fulfilling ministry. People come tired and leave refreshed. They share their burdens and find hope. I’ve been blessed to witness everything God has done.

However, one day after a particularly busy stretch of weekends on the road, I noticed something odd. I felt discouraged. Not burned out, exhausted, or unhappy with the ministry. Just…pouty, and I couldn’t explain why.

When a friend casually asked, “How are you doing?”

I surprised myself when I answered, “I feel alone.”

But as soon as I said those words, I knew they were true…

Traveling for LIFT Gatherings can be lonely at times. It often looks like early morning departures, navigating crowded airports, eating quickly and often alone, arriving in an unfamiliar town, then checking into a motel and spending hours praying, listening, and preparing. The morning of an event, I usually eat breakfast alone and then head to the venue to help set up.

Then everything changes.

People arrive, and conversations spark. I listen to stories, pray with individuals, laugh with groups, and speak the words I sense God wants me to share. The room feels alive during those few quick hours. I experience that rare kind of connection in which strangers become brothers and sisters in a matter of minutes.

And then it ends. Hugs are exchanged. Cars pull away. Chairs are stacked. The building empties, and I return to the motel. With a full heart and mind, I lie awake long past midnight, replaying conversations and interactions from the evening. And when morning arrives, the solitary journey back home commences.

Honestly, writing this feels depressing and a little…whiny. After all, nothing bad was happening. The ministry was effective, and people were encouraged. It was meaningful work. But meaningful work can still feel lonely.

So, the loneliness lingered, tagging along like a small, persistent cloud.

Until a 4 a.m. wake-up call changed everything…

I woke suddenly and couldn’t fall back asleep. That sometimes happens when something is stirring within me. Instead of wrestling with my random thoughts, I slipped out of bed and walked into the living room to sit with the Lord.

There’s a particular stillness to the early morning. The world feels paused, as though God has cleared the schedule for conversation. David says it this way in Psalm 63:6, “On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night” (NIV). 

As I settled into the chair with my Bible, John 10 immediately came to my mind.

I’ve always loved this chapter. It contains the familiar imagery of the Good Shepherd calling His sheep by name—the sheep who hear His voice and follow Him. It’s a deeply personal picture of belonging and guidance, and I’ve returned to it many times over the years.

I began reading the first few verses slowly:

“…anyone who does not enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in by some other way, is a thief and a robber. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.…”

I paused. I’d read this passage countless times, but that morning a detail leapt off the page: “The gatekeeper opens…”

I thought, The gatekeeper?

I had never really noticed him before. At that moment, I realized the story actually had four characters. The thief—the obvious villain who sneaks in another way, intent on harm. Easy enough to understand. The sheep—dependent, vulnerable, needing protection. I recognized myself there without hesitation. The Shepherd—Jesus Himself, calling by name and leading His people into life and obedience. 

Then, there was the fourth character, the gatekeeper.

I thought, But what about the gatekeeper? Why mention him? He’s not the focus, or the hero, or the leader the sheep follow. He’s just the one who opens the door. So why mention him at all?

What transpired over the next thirty minutes as I sat in my living room that early morning changed the trajectory of my life… 

The Holy Spirit convicted me and affirmed that I was called to a servant’s role, but had been longing for a shepherd’s welcome. And servants don’t get pouty when they do unseen things. That’s the job…they work hard so the Shepherd can be seen!

Gatekeepers gather the sheep, prepare the moment, and open the gate when the Shepherd arrives. 

The sheep don’t linger to admire the gatekeeper. They don’t celebrate his faithfulness or analyze his technique. 

They don’t stop and say, “Excuse me, Jesus, can You wait just a minute? I want to talk to the wonderful gatekeeper before I follow You.” 

Instead, their eyes lock onto the Shepherd, and rightly so—they were made for Him.

I vividly imagined sheep moving past the open gate next to me, focused entirely on the Shepherd ahead. They didn’t ignore me out of disrespect; they simply had found the One they were made to follow. And then, in that mental picture, Jesus glanced back over His shoulder toward me with a knowing smile. 

I could hear Him say to me, “Mike, you are a gatekeeper. I see you. Your purpose is to bring people together so they can encounter me.”  

This revelation lifted a burden and set me free from my feelings of loneliness. I had been chosen and appointed to walk in a unique calling, and it had a name: gatekeeper! 

I wasn’t traveling alone to perform ministry. I was opening doors so others could meet the Shepherd. The late nights, the solitary breakfasts, the quiet preparation—all of it was part of my calling.

That morning’s insight replaced my discouragement with gratitude. From that point on, instead of evaluating each trip by how personally connected I felt afterward, I began asking myself different questions: Did the gate open? Did the sheep encounter the Shepherd?

If people encountered Jesus, then my work was complete, whether I boarded the return flight with companions or alone. And interestingly, my sense of loneliness faded quickly after that—not because my circumstances changed, but because my expectations did. I wasn’t alone between gatherings. I was walking ahead of the next gate.

__________

Truthfully, we are all gatekeepers at different times and in different ways. Every time we help someone move closer to the truth, hope, healing, or deeper faith in the Shepherd, we are serving as gatekeepers. It’s tempting to linger there and measure our worth by whether people stay connected to us. But true joy is realizing they were never meant to…they were meant to follow the Shepherd.