Living in a town like Columbia, it’s easy to feel like we’re constantly getting fire-hosed with information. Between the demands of classes, jobs, family, the energy of downtown, and the never-ending scroll of our digital lives, there’s a kind of background noise that follows us everywhere — voices telling us who to be, what to buy, what to chase, and how to measure whether our lives are “working.”
And under all that noise, there’s a question that has a way of resurfacing — usually when things get quiet: What am I here for?
If you’ve ever felt the tension of that question, you’re not alone. Our culture treats purpose like a treasure hunt. We’re told that if we can find the right career, reach the right level, and gain the right influence, the “why” of our lives will finally click. We’ve become a people who prize what we know and what we’ve achieved over who we actually are.
Even the research world has noticed how powerful purpose can be — it’s linked to better health, stronger relationships, and greater resilience. But here’s the problem: Our world is good at telling us purpose matters and surprisingly bad at telling us where to find it.
As a pastor and a follower of Jesus, I’ve come to believe purpose isn’t something we manufacture through effort. It’s something we receive. It’s a gift before it’s a goal.
I think about my dad, a master woodworker. As a kid, I watched him take rough boards and turn them into something beautiful. He didn’t start with a finished piece; he began with raw material and a vision.
When we look at people through a biblical lens, we don’t see random accidents or human machines. We see craftsmanship. Scripture even uses a word that carries that idea: poiéma, which is often translated as “workmanship” and is where we get our word “poem.” In other words, you’re a work of art in the hands of a master.
So, what does that change?
It reshapes how we see things. Three simple words help unpack what I mean: up, in, and out.
First, we look up. We reorient our lives toward the source of life itself. Instead of letting our value be handed to us by algorithms, achievements, or comparisons, we remember that our worth isn’t something we earn — it’s something we’ve been given. If God is Creator, then you are not disposable. You are intentional.
Then, we look in. Because if we’re honest, the loudest voice isn’t always out there — it’s in us. The internal critic. The old wound. The shame that still echoes. But if you are God’s workmanship, then the lies you’ve believed about your inadequacy start to lose their authority. You were knit together with care. Your personality, your wiring, and your story are not outside God’s desire to redeem and use.
Finally, we look out. This is where purpose gets practical — and where Columbia’s nonprofit community comes alive. You weren’t created to sit on a shelf and be admired. You were made to be poured out in love toward others. And here’s what I’ve noticed: The people who serve most faithfully in our nonprofits, who show up week after week at the food bank or the literacy program or the shelter, aren’t doing it to fill a résumé. They’re doing it because they’ve discovered something freeing — they were made to be given away.
Whether you’re a student, a scientist, a parent, an artist, a leader, or you’re still trying to figure out what you are, your purpose comes alive when your life becomes a gift to the person in front of you.
This week, when you grab lunch, walk the trails, or grab a cup of coffee, turn the volume down just a little. You might realize the voice you’ve been searching for has been calling you “masterpiece” all along.
