Sometimes I imagine Jesus from the quiet scene in The Passion of the Christ, trying to level the top of a wooden table.
Months before His ministry began, maybe He wondered whether the rich man buying His table would like His craftsmanship. Maybe that sale would help feed Jesus’ family for weeks. We know He grew up poor. And His work must have meant a lot to Him. But I also imagine Him pausing, sometimes, looking down at His fingers, noticing tiny splinters of wood.
The same fingers that once created the universe. The same fingers that placed each and every star in the sky.
The same fingers that drew the boundaries of the ocean and said, “This far you shall come and no further.”
And now, He looks at those same fingers and sees a wooden splinter in it.
He could have looked toward Heaven and said,
“Hey? this isn’t my purpose. I’m the Son of God.”
He could have walked away.
But He didn’t.
The Bible teaches us that at just twelve years old, Jesus already knew what His purpose was. When His parents found Him teaching in the temple, He said:
“Didn’t you know I would be in My Father’s house?”
Yet for eighteen more years, knowing His identity and purpose, He did nothing spectacular.
No miracles.
No sermons.
No crowds.
He just built tables, chairs, and cupboards for people who likely dismissed Him because He was “from Nazareth.”
Did He know that at age thirty He would heal multitudes of people?
Feed thousands with just a few loaves and fish?
Raise His friend back from the dead?
Did He know that at age thirty-three He would hang from a wooden cross, breathing the scent of wood again, just as He had throughout His youth?
I often wonder how someone who knew His purpose in life still waited thirty years… doing work that was never His final calling.
Wrestling With My Own Purpose
Lately, I’ve been wrestling with my own purpose.
On paper, life is fine. Stable, even.
But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more to life than all this.
Everyone I know is in a race to get rich, become the “best versions of themselves” and to be happy in what they do so that they can leave behind a legacy.
But what good is legacy when your soul refuses to be still?
Lake Joe
Last year, I worked at CNIB Lake Joe, a camp for people who are blind or deafblind, in Muskoka, Ontario. I handled their communications, but more importantly, I lived among the guests.
Everything there was accessible.
But more than that, everything there was human.
One night around 9:30 PM, while I was alone in the office, a woman slowly walked in.
“Is anyone here?”
“Yes,” I said. “This is John, how can I help?”
I recognized her. Earlier that day I had guided her back to her room after she lost her key.
She took a deep breath.
“I locked myself out again… and the replacement key is inside.”
I looked at the clock. I still had work to finish, but it didn’t matter.
“I have a master key. I’ll walk you back.”
“Are you on my left?” she asked.
“Yes.”
When she held my arm, her grip was tight, not just to walk, but out of fear. We walked slowly. She kept apologizing.
“Hey,” I told her gently, “you’re not in trouble.”
We reached her room. The key sat beside the lamp. I handed it to her.
Then I saw her eyes for the first time in the light.
There was this inexhaustible variety of gratefulness in her eyes.
“Thank you for being patient,” she said.
“Most people get upset walking an old lady back and forth.”
And in that moment, I understood something:
This moment right here, this is what life is about.
She didn’t know my race, appearance, age, or beliefs.
She didn’t know it was my first week.
She only needed an extra second from a stranger. Someone to be patient and gentle with her.
She gave me something that night I will never forget.
What Actually Matters
Now I sit in meetings with clients about coverage numbers, press releases, growth metrics, and making rich people richer and all I can think about is how many people out there need a touch of patience in their lives. To be treated with love, gentleness and kindness.
I once told a close friend at the camp who wasn’t fully sighted:
“You see more than most people ever will. You have such a beautiful heart.”
CNIB Lake Joe didn’t change me because of the scenery, the food, or even the community, even though they were beautiful. It changed me because the guests had something sighted people often lack:
perspective.
The Carpenter Before the Christ
Right now my life feels like the carpenter years.
Jesus spent nearly three decades doing work that wasn’t the culmination of His purpose, yet He did it faithfully. Completely. Without resentment.
Similarly, God has placed a purpose in my life as well: to nonverbally show others what Christ does in people’s lives when they enter His real presence.
I may not be seen doing it.
I may not make money doing it.
I may not gain popularity or status.
But He sees me, and that is where my purpose lies. Besides, my home is not here. My wealth is not here, where it can rot and become meaningless the moment I die. My legacy is elsewhere, far beyond this earth.
A Question For You
What is your purpose in life?
Is it your job?
Getting married?
Success?
Self-improvement?
The endless grind?
Lake Joe taught me to see the person before you see their cane. In other words, to understand someone before you judge their circumstance.
Now, when I pass someone on the street who may need help, I pause; not because I’m trying to be a ‘good guy,’ but because I’ve stopped assuming someone else will step in. Sometimes, that someone else is you and me. That person you see on the street, share with them your smile. Maybe, that’s all you could afford at that moment, but kindness and love are far more valuable than money and status.
Your purpose in life is unique. As a Christian, I have realized that God is so intimately involved with us, He has marked out exactly what you need to do in life. From the moment you are born, until you breathe your last breath, He knows it all. He chases after you for a personal relationship so that He can guide you to fulfill that unique purpose. We are not a mistake. You are not a mistake. God has chosen you and has called you by name.
If Jesus waited 30 years before His divine purpose began, you and I are just getting started.
There is still time to make a difference!
And remember, Jesus loves you. He would never expect you to do anything He wouldn’t have first done Himself.