Yesterday I went on a website that had the names of some classmates from my high school. I was amazed at how many names I recognized, and how a hazy image of each person came back in my mind. These people were important to me at one time. What would I want them to know about me now? I would want them to know about my accomplishments. Why? Am I just talking about vain pride here? I don’t think so. I think I would want them to know that my life counted for something beyond just myself.

Or how about that annual Christmas letter? Don’t we always put in there something that made the previous year significant for each one in the family? Why do we do that?

Think about this: Do you have a desire to be significant—to make a difference in someone’s life, even if it’s just one person’s? Do you ever think about leaving something behind—something that will make life different for some relative or friend? What would you want written as your epitaph? One of the most common epitaphs in graveyards is the phrase, “Gone but not forgotten.” Why do we want to be remembered? Why not just pass on as if we never existed? Where do you think this comes from, this need to be significant?

I wrote a song once about my son that starts out: “Christopher knows Christopher’s toes.” I came up with this idea when he was six months old and sitting in an infant seat with his little feet sticking up in the air. And in a flash of a moment, I caught him noticing his feet as if he had never discovered them before. He was totally surprised to find that whatever these things were in front of him, they were attached to his body.

Have you ever stopped and noticed how intricate your hands are—how the joints work and how the flexible skin that covers your blood and tissue can take such a beating, and the way the thumb and fingers work together to do so many complicated tasks—and wondered how you could be an accident?

King David wrote: “You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13). In spite of whatever might seem pointless to you right now about your life, isn’t there something that speaks of a love behind it? If we were made, what does our maker think of us? When you make something, what do you think of it? Are you proud? Do you like it?

Have you ever thought about Jesus Christ and why His dying on a cross is such a big deal to Christians and Catholics? If you were important to God but there was something about you keeping Him from being able to love you, and if He sent His only Son to earth to die for you in order to remove that barrier—even if you didn’t understand why—how would that make you feel?

(NOTE: For lyrics to a song about this love as revealed through nature and on the cross, go to: HYPERLINK "http://www.fischtank.com/music/hysjmlord.cfm" http://www.fischtank.com/music/hysjmlord.cfm.

The song is “Have You Seen Jesus My Lord” by John Fischer, Senior Writer for Purpose Driven Life and author of these question helps.)

When I am aware of a purpose, it makes me more focused. Life isn’t just random. The little things I do fit into a bigger plan. Even if I’m not sure exactly what that plan is, I know God does and that adds more significance to everything.

And believing God loves me is probably the biggest thing of all. It’s hard, because I don’t think I always believe it myself. But when I realize God loves me unconditionally, it saves me from always trying to earn acceptance from other people. I think I can be more useful and less needy as a result.

If this is new to you, try it on. Try on the thought that God loves you—even the things about you that you hate. How would that change how you think about yourself? And if He made you with a purpose, wouldn’t you want to find out what that was? You owe it to yourself to at least go down this road and entertain the possibility. Because if it is true, it could be the greatest news in the whole world for you.

Psalm 139 A Psalm about our value to God.

Romans 8:31-39 The depth of God’s love for us.