A weekly blog about relationships, belief, and personal growth, written from a position of hope.
If I told you that you could have anything you want, how would you answer? I've thought about this question a lot the last two years when thinking about goals. I think I've figured it out, but it's not the really fast sports car or the lake house I once pinned on my vision board.
It's one word—peace.
When I think about my final days, when I consider what "rust and moth destroy," when I ponder what's added value and given meaning to my life, I'm reminded that all I really want—and what I think we all really want—is peace.
What does that actually mean, though? Here is what it means for me...
First and foremost, I want my paradigm of God to be secure.
I want to feel like my life is in line with the purpose my Creator has set before me. I've learned this doesn't look like having every single detail figured out with complete certainty, but it does look like planting my flag somewhere. It's the roadmap, the compass to True North, the guiding principles for how to live.
Second, I want my relationships to be healthy and growing.
With my family and my friends no issue is left untended and no hurt unmended. The unrest, the tension, the anxiety from relationship problems is one of the quickest ways I lose that sense of peace. Like anything, if it isn't growing, it's dying.
Third, I want my finances to be in order.
The investing mindset of "set it and forget it" is relevant to most of my finances. Sure, I have to recalibrate periodically, adjust my strategy, and learn from my failures, but the peace comes from having a system, not by obsessing or the opposite of being careless.
In a few simple ideas, peace is:
The awesome Porsche, the beautiful lake house, making money...they're not bad things. In fact, I would be glad to encounter a few of those before I pass away. But they're secondary, icing on the cake, a fun bi-product of a life focused on the right things.
So what do you really want?
You haven't missed your calling
From where I sit in this hospital waiting room
Accept the invitation to live
The lighted window
It was worth it
The subtle sounds of a life together
Made for the now-what
When holidays are hard
Sharing in our suffering
To my doubting friend
Ten years down the road
How long, Lord?
A season of doubt