Is This It? My Struggles in Living a Life of Purpose

All through the centuries, a question has haunted the thoughts of mankind: What is life?

The ancient Romans believed life lay in victory. The Greeks believed it was a chance to pursue wisdom. In terms of modernity, we find the decoy of purpose loitering on the a common theme: Succeed. Pursue your dreams. Do your best. Be happy. And die without regrets.

But in the day to day grind, these all follow basically the same cycle: we are born (hopefully into a promising situation), we get an education (and it better be good – with a degree or it doesn’t count), we get married (to the person of our dreams), we have a family (two perfect kids…right?), our kids grow up (and live near by, of course), and then we pass our last living moment with those we love at our side (but only after we’ve lived happily ever after).

Recently, I’ve been struggling with seeds of discontent.  In the cycle above, I’m only on the latter end of the education part, and I constantly wonder what I’m missing out on – what plans the Lord has for me in the future that are (must be!) better than what He has for me today.

I thought life would begin just over the next hill…if only I could reach the top. Then, through a series of wonderful people God placed in my life at just the right time (and a few lengthy conversations with my parents) I began to discover that that feeling never ends. That no matter where you are, you will always long for something greater. That whether your sixteen-years-old, or forty-six, you struggle with wondering when your life will truly begin. You always long for that moment when you will be able to reflect on your daily life and think: This is it. I’ve reached it.

At first, the realization seemed almost depressing. Life all of a sudden seemed so very small. This is it? What are we anyway? A midge in eternity, flesh and blood and bones which inhales and exhales for 70-80 years and then is no more. Yet within that vapor of a time, cradled within the heart of mortality, is a soul that screams for greatness, purpose, and meaning.

We work and live and die in part of a vicious cycle of working and living and dying. The passing note of our harmony is our whole focus in life, and then we are gone, often times with hardly an echo to reflect our passing.  Life seems so small near the entrance of eternity! Like the first step on a long and endless road. Like the first stroke across the ocean. Like the first breath of silence before the breaking of a storm. Life – which is really just a means to an end, becomes an end in itself. And then its gone.

As I said before, I thought about this, and was saddened at the thought…and confused. And I think most people are confused. And people have been confused since the beginning of time: when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit because they thought it would give them power and fulfillment. When a tower was built to the heavens because the earth didn’t seem like enough. When the Son of God was crucified, because people thought the Messiah that brought life and freedom couldn’t be the lowly servant riding on a donkey – he had to prove his victory, power, and glory in warfare and strength – in the company of great kings, not common fishermen. When millions of innocent people died because an evil man named Hitler decided that life meant power and perfection. When more millions of innocent people die every year because mothers decide life wouldn’t be everything they wanted if they have to give life to a child.

This confusion. It’s rampant. And it made me wonder if all the so called “answers” our culture glorifies – everything from dreams, to happiness, to success – is really not an answer, but more people simply trying to find the truth.

For school, I was recently assigned certain portions of The Decameron* by Giovanni Boccaccio. In this book, we are immersed into a city of death, despair and misery, tormented by the Bubonic Plague which is taking the lives of thousands each day.  Somewhere in the midst of these miseries, ten young people, who have all lost their families to the Black Death, decide that continuing to live in the midst of this calamity will only bring certain destruction. They must flee the city. They must forget everything that happened. They must pass the rest of their lives – whether the hours be many or few – in finding their true happiness, because who knows how long they each have left?

So that’s what they do.

The Decameron is a collection of the stories they told in their efforts to amuse themselves and forget the devastation of their city and the misery of their lives. The stories, for the most part, are light hearted, which at first seemed strange to me. After all, if I had just lost my family to a horrible disease, was in the middle of death and misery all around me, and was certain my end was near, the last thing on my mind would be to embellish my sense of humor. But as I continued, this started making more sense – worse yet, I found I was guilty of doing the same.

Human nature is not inherently selfless, noble, or hopeful. We may imagine that it is. We may imagine that we are. We praise those who, during their last moments, displayed these amazing virtues despite the outcome, and we are often times confident that in the same situation, we would do the same. But in the day to day grind, when push comes to shove, when every moment is spent in the midst of a living chaos, human nature presses one thought deep into our hearts and mind: life. Not their life. But our life. My life.

If I was living in the middle of the Black Death, I might imagine how I would help those around me, even at the very likely risk of me taking ill myself and dying in agony. Imagination is friendly like that. Imagination makes me the person I want to be. And who knows? I know as a fact that there were people living there that did just that, and if God had granted me the grace, I may have been one of them. But down in the depths of my heart, I know that in my own human nature, I would probably attempt only to hide and forget.

As one author commented: “It all makes sense. As everyone outside is dying, you and a group of your friends gather together in a bunker. You tell funny stories. That is all you can think to do – distract yourself by entertaining yourselves until you die.”1

But I wouldn’t have to be living in the midst of one of the worst plagues in history to experience this un-heroic nature. I live it right now. I may not have immanent death approaching me in a horrible disease – at least, not that I know of – but unless our Lord returns sooner, death is in my future – possibly closer than I imagine.

Life is short. And what am I doing to make it worth living?

To be honest, I don’t know the answer. I often am still confused. Frequently, when I ponder what I’m missing right now, I realize that the fulfillment I’m looking for will never be found on this earth. When I feel this way, the words of C.S. Lewis always come to my mind:

“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

So is this it?

No.

This is not our home. And while I struggle to look outwards to Christ, instead of inward to my own sin and struggles, while I am discontent with life, wondering what is in store for me over the next mountain, while I strive to live life with all I have in me and at the same time struggle to understand what that means, I find that life’s purpose and meaning and fulfillment is right where it has always been.

From the first time man tried to find fulfillment in himself in the Garden of Eden, to the struggles of a teenage girl living in our present day, the answer has always been the same: Christ.

It’s not in us. It’s in Him.

“It is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be ashamed, but that with full courage, now as always, Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death.

For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (Philippians 1:20-21)

And suddenly, life’s purpose is found in that glorious truth.

Soli Deo Gloria,