You’re Looking for Purpose

I’ll be honest: for most of my life, I’ve assumed the next thing would finally be the thing. The next goal, the next milestone, the next season. But every time I reach one, I feel the same quiet ache, the sense that I’m still looking for something I can’t quite name. 

I’m not alone. Harvard researchers found that nearly 60% of young adults feel their lives lack meaning or purpose (1). We told a generation they could be anything, but we forgot to tell them why. Viktor Frankl, who survived the Nazi concentration camps, often quoted the line, “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how” (2). Most of us have plenty of hows. It’s the “why” we’re missing. 

That search isn’t new. When the apostle Paul arrived in Athens, he found a city “full of idols” (Acts 17:16), including an altar inscribed “To the unknown god” (Acts 17:23). Athens had a god for everything, and its people still worried they’d missed one. 

Scripture tells us why. God “has put eternity into man’s heart” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). That’s why enough never feels like enough. We feel it at a funeral, holding a newborn at 3:00 a.m., or standing under a sky full of stars. That longing isn’t a malfunction. It’s a homing signal. 

Paul tells us where it points. God arranged history so that people “should seek God,” and “he is actually not far from each one of us” (Acts 17:27). The purpose we’re looking for is closer than we think. 

A God You Have to Carry 

Paul preached that sermon in the shadow of the Parthenon, the temple built for Athena, the city’s patron goddess. Inside stood a 40-foot statue of her covered in gold and ivory. Athena needed a house, sacrifices, and even a new robe woven by the city and carried up the hill in a parade. 

The city’s leaders even treated her gold as an emergency fund. About 135 years later, a ruler stripped it to pay his soldiers. The goddess who was supposed to protect Athens couldn’t protect herself. The best surviving statue of her now sits in a museum with no gold, no arms, and no head. 

That’s what idols do. They can’t carry you. You have to carry them, and eventually they cost you everything. 

I’d like to think I’m nothing like the Athenians, but I’ve treated God like a vending machine more than once. I showed up, I served, I gave, so now He owes me. When life falls apart, I feel like He broke a contract. When I fail, I keep my distance until I’ve done enough good to come back. 

That isn’t relating to a Father. It’s managing a deal, and it’s exhausting. But God isn’t “served by human hands, as though he needed anything” (Acts 17:25). I’m not keeping Him going. He’s keeping me going. 

Letting Go of the Counterfeit 

God doesn’t fill hands that are still full. Here are a few ways I’m learning to let go. 

Name your idols. An idol is any wrong place we take the good longings of our souls. Ask God to show you where you’ve done that, whether it’s money, a relationship, approval, or a habit you’d rather keep hidden. 

Check for vending-machine faith. Notice how you respond when life falls apart or when you fail. If you get angry at God, or hide from Him until you’ve earned your way back, fear is driving your faith instead of love. 

Open your hands. Paul told Athens that God “commands all people everywhere to repent” (Acts 17:30). Repentance simply means turning around. It’s releasing what can’t save you so you can receive the One who can. 

Listen to the ache. The next time you feel that restless longing, don’t rush to numb it with another purchase or another scroll. Treat it as an invitation, and ask God what He’s drawing you toward. 

Rest in what’s already done. Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). If your faith has left you tired and proud, or tired and ashamed, that isn’t Jesus. Religion is about what’s in our hands. The gospel is about the scars in His. 

Your Purpose Is a Who, Not a What 

When Paul spoke of the resurrection, some people mocked and others put it off (Acts 17:32). But a few believed, including Dionysius, a member of that very court. Today, the headless Athena stands in a museum on a street named after him. 

That gives me hope. The unknown God isn’t unknown anymore. He has a name, a face, and scars. All things were created through Him and for Him (Colossians 1:16), which means my purpose comes down to two words: for Him. I still reach for counterfeits more than I’d like to admit, but He keeps meeting me in the dark. 

So let me ask you: what have you been carrying, hoping it would give you purpose? This week, take five quiet minutes to name one counterfeit, open your hands, and give it to Him. Then ask Him to show you one person in your life who’s still searching. 

Sources: 

(1) Making Caring Common Project, On Edge: Understanding and Preventing Young Adults’ Mental Health Challenges (Harvard Graduate School of Education, 2023). 

(2) Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning (Beacon Press, 2006).