Something to Do, Someone to Love, Something to Look Forward To

Purpose is the why behind what we do—our deeper motivation. Direction is the how—the path we take to express that purpose in action. Without purpose, our steps may be aimless. Without direction, even purposeful intent can wander. Together, they form a compass and a road.

For me, direction in life flows from a conviction that life is meant to be meaningful and others focused. Early in my twenties, I walked away from a more conventional career path to pursue Christian ministry. That decision wasn’t driven by money or ambition but by a longing to live a life that reflected my deepest values—faith, hope, and love.

People have always been central to my sense of direction. I want to know people, really know them—what matters to them, where they hope to go, and who they are becoming. I don’t see people as means to an end. They are the end. Relationships aren’t detours from meaningful work; they are the work.

I believe in the goodness of God—not as a vague hope, but as a grounding presence. God gives me a sense of purpose that transcends immediate outcomes. This belief anchors my direction, even when life is uncertain. I hold to the hope that the story is bigger than me and that the arc of that story bends toward redemption, justice, and grace.

I often think of George Washington Burnap’s words: “The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, someone to love, and something to hope for.” For me, these essentials are not only a description of happiness, but a map for direction. I live to do meaningful work, to love and be loved by others, and to live in hope—both for this life and beyond.

I don’t need the whole map—
just the compass that points toward
people,
purpose,
presence.

I turned down the ladder once—
for something quieter,
something deeper.

I have always believed
that people are not
stepping stones
but stories.
Not interruptions,
but invitations.

I have seen how meaning
emerges not from achievement
but from attention—
to who is in front of me,
to what matters most

God is the thread I follow—
not always seen,
but always pulling,
through silence,
through sorrow,
through joy.

There are days when the story frays
or goes in circles—
but even then,
I walk with the knowledge
that the end is not mine to write,
only to live into.

So I keep walking—
not for perfection,
not for applause—
but because
there is something to do,
someone to love,
and a hope that holds.