Just the other day, I had a chance to talk with a world-renowned expert on purpose.
It was inspiring. It was encouraging.
And… I still pushed back.
She said something that, at first, sounds noble and even biblical: “Purpose is best when realized for the sake of others.”
Now, maybe that sounds right to you. It’s been preached from pulpits, printed in devotionals, and etched into countless church mission statements. But something in me clenched when I heard it. Not because I’m against serving others—my life is full of that—but because I’ve lived what happens when you believe your only reason for existing is to give yourself away.
For years, I couldn’t get beyond the idea that I was only as valuable as what I did for someone else. It’s a belief I think a lot of people of faith carry: “I don’t matter except for what I do for others.” It has good intentions, sure. But it’s also, I believe, one of the reasons so many Jesus-loving people wrestle with depression, anxiety, and burnout.
So I challenged her.
And now I want to challenge you.
Why do you exist?
Is it really just for the sake of others?
Is it only so you can make people happy, or even just so you can worship God?
I know that sounds shocking, but here’s the thing: God didn’t create the world because He needed applause. He isn’t insecure or needy. And He didn’t create you as some sort of ministry vending machine whose job is to produce more servants.
That’s not love. That’s assembly-line theology.
I believe God created you because He wanted someone in His image to share His love with.Because He values you—simply because you exist.
That’s it. That’s enough.
Your purpose is to be you.
To be loved as you.
From that place—sure—you might choose to pour your life into loving Him back or helping others. But those things are the reaction to your purpose, not the purpose itself.
This past week, my family and I were in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. We went to Anakeesta, where you can ride up to the mountaintop and see for miles—sometimes even into North Carolina.
We sat in these big rocking chairs, taking in the view. My kids? They lasted about 2.3 seconds before asking what was next. I get it—they’re already living their purpose without overthinking it. They’re loved, safe, and known. They don’t have to question why they exist—they hear it from us, and they feel it in their bones.
Me? I needed that moment. I needed to see God’s creation and remember: He made this for me to enjoy. That’s how much He loves me.
And friend, He loves you that way too.
You don’t exist for me.
I don’t exist for you.
We both exist because the One who holds all value decided to give it to us.
I know—it’s hard to really believe that. I forget it too. But maybe if you start from this truth—I am loved because I exist—then your love for God and others won’t come from striving or desperation. It’ll come from a place of worth.
And that changes everything.