We’re Letting You Go - Fired — Roger Randall
God Stories is a growing collection of real-life testimonies—ordinary people
sharing how they’ve seen God present, active, and purposeful in their lives.
Learn more and share your story below.
I still remember the day it happened. The air felt normal, the hallway looked the same, and nothing warned me that my life was about to split open. I walked into the office thinking about the next project, the next meeting, the next thing I needed to accomplish. I had no idea that within minutes, everything I thought I had built—everything I thought I was—would be stripped away. They sat me down. No small talk. No gentle lead‑in. Just a sentence that hit like a hammer: “Roger, we’re letting you go.”
I felt the words before I understood them. Fired. Me. The guy who worked harder than anyone. The guy who delivered results. The guy who thought he was indispensable. I sat there stunned, trying to keep my face from collapsing. My mind raced—What did I do wrong? Why didn’t I see this coming? How could they do this to me? But underneath all that noise, something deeper stirred. Something I didn’t want to acknowledge. Something I had been ignoring for a long time. Pride.
I walked out of that office with a box in my hands and a storm in my chest. Anger. Embarrassment. Confusion. Fear. But the loudest emotion was humiliation. I had wrapped so much of my identity around that job—my competence, my reputation, my sense of worth. Losing it felt like losing myself.
I drove home in silence. No radio. No prayers. Just the sound of my own breathing and the ache of something breaking inside me. For days, I replayed the moment over and over. I wanted to blame someone. I wanted to justify myself. I wanted to believe it was unfair. But the more I sat in the quiet, the more God began to peel back the layers I had been hiding behind. I didn’t like what I saw.
I had been serving God, yes. I had been working in ministry, yes. But somewhere along the way, I had started believing my own press. I liked being the guy people counted on. I liked being the one with answers. I liked being the leader who got things done. I liked being admired. I didn’t say it out loud, but in my heart, I had begun to think, God is lucky to have me on His team.
That’s the poison of pride—it’s subtle, quiet, respectable. It hides behind excellence. It disguises itself as responsibility. It whispers, You’re doing this for God, while secretly feeding on the applause. Losing my job didn’t create my pride. It exposed it.
In the days that followed, God began to speak—not in thunder, not in rebuke, but in a steady, unrelenting whisper: “Roger, I want all of you. Not just the parts you’re willing to surrender.” I realized I had given God my work, my ministry, my effort—but not my identity. Not my need to be seen as capable. Not my desire to be respected. Not the quiet entitlement that said, If I work hard and honor God, He owes me success.
I had built a life that looked surrendered on the outside but was still fueled by self on the inside. The firing was God’s mercy. I didn’t see it that way at first. I felt wounded. I felt betrayed. I felt small. But slowly, God began to show me that He wasn’t trying to punish me—He was trying to purify me. He was removing something that was killing me spiritually, something I would never have let go of on my own. He was burning away my pride. There were nights I sat alone in the living room, lights off, asking God, What are You doing? Why did You take this from me? And every time, the answer came back in a way I couldn’t ignore: “Because I love you too much to let you stay the same.”
I began to see that God wasn’t after my performance—He was after my heart. He wasn’t impressed by my accomplishments—He wanted my dependence. He wasn’t interested in how capable I looked—He wanted me to know how incapable I truly was without Him. The more I surrendered, the more I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: freedom. Freedom from the pressure to prove myself. Freedom from the fear of failure. Freedom from the need to be admired. Freedom from the illusion that I was in control.
I realized that pride had been shaping my decisions, my relationships, even my ministry. I had been carrying a weight God never asked me to carry. And losing my job—painful as it was—became the moment God lifted that weight off my shoulders. As the weeks passed, something unexpected happened. I began to feel grateful. Not for the firing itself, but for what God was doing through it. I saw that He had used the very thing I feared most to give me the thing I needed most. Humility. Not humiliation—humility. Not shame—surrender. Not defeat—dependence.
I began to pray differently. Not, Lord, help me succeed, but Lord, make me more like You. Not, Use me to do great things, but Use me however You want. Not, Bless my plans, but Break my pride. And God answered. He opened new doors—better doors, healthier doors, doors I couldn’t have walked through with the pride I carried before. He restored my confidence, but this time it wasn’t built on my abilities. It was built on His faithfulness. He rebuilt my identity, but this time it wasn’t rooted in my performance. It was rooted in His love.
Looking back now, I can say without hesitation: Getting fired was one of the best things God ever did for me. Not because it changed my career, but because it changed my heart. God used that moment to purify the parts of me I had never surrendered. He used it to strip away the pride that was quietly poisoning my soul. He used it to draw me into a deeper, more honest relationship with Him.
I used to think the worst thing that could happen was losing my job. Now I know the worst thing would have been keeping it—and keeping my pride.
Today, when I tell my story, I don’t talk about the injustice or the embarrassment. I talk about the grace. The mercy. The transformation. I talk about a God who loves His children enough to refine them. A God who will use anything—even a firing—to make us more like Christ.
My story isn’t about losing a job. It’s about losing pride. It’s about surrender. It’s about freedom. And if God can use something as painful as being fired to purify a stubborn, self‑reliant heart like mine, He can use anything in your life too.
-Roger Randall
