Why We Are Here

“Why are we here?” I asked my children, waiting for the rehearsed answer to come to their lips.

We were at my parents’ house instead of our own for Saturday chore day, attempting to tackle a lengthy list. Yet here I found all three of my kids wandering in the basement looking for supposed hidden treasures. They excitedly showed me an industrial yellow mop bucket they wanted to keep because the wet floor warning symbol matched another piece of trash they had found on a walk and drug home months before. They had completely neglected their father’s words and were storing up a reprimand rather than a reward.

“To serve and protect,” my oldest quips, giggling at his own tired joke. I was not amused. Elijah was still focused on having fun above all things. He had already gotten in trouble for chasing his sister with his insulin pen, equipped with excuses to why he was justified to do so. And when he wasn’t aggravating and fighting with her, he was constantly being distracted by the call to play outside or listen to Adventures in Odyssey (all good things in their own right).

He wasn’t the only one. Aubrey, who had begun doing the tasks for which she volunteered with such precision and excellence, kept leaving things unfinished. I kept finding her huddled in a corner, penning another colorful story about a girl and her dog—so encouraged by the recent praise from a teacher for her creative writing skills.

And Joshua, only seven, but fully capable of so much, claimed ineptness at every criticism. He wasn’t thrilled to accept any assignment, and so the natural call of play kept pulling him into fighting fictional foes around the house.

But I was angry at their ease of distraction—with good reason. At this point, my dad was in hospice care at his home. He had a brief upswing after coming home from the hospital (being in ICU after a single chemo treatment), but was now starting a rapid decline, soon to leave this world within a few days. The cancer was quickly robbing his body of nearly every ounce of energy, and he was finding it difficult to even stay awake and alert this day. His pleasures were restricted to small mealtime treats and bowls of Jell-O, short and labored conversations through failing ears and lips, news of another generous meal delivered, a brief salutation from a long-time friend checking in, and the aid of his grown children in bathroom relief.

My mother, still recovering from back surgery, was trying desperately to cling to any semblance of control. She maintained outward positivity, admitting that it all just did “not seem real.” Anxiety was obviously stewing beneath the surface. She was on the verge of loosing her husband and rock for over fifty years, thus shattering every vision of the future that she held.

So I had brought my whole family to show some love by attending to some chores that had been neglected in their large home, clutter and memories spilling from cabinets and closets. But I instead found my children united in rebellion and far from their duties. So instead of praise for their assistance, I had to shame them with a sobering message of truth—for their benefit.

“Why are we here?” I asked again.

“To love and to serve,” came the delayed and lackluster, asynchronous chorus.


O that we would hear this; that I would hear this. Is this not where my Heavenly Father continues to find me—far from the people I was sent to minister (John 20:21), off duty (2Ti 2:3-4) and in search of silly old pieces of trash that I call treasure (Mat 6:19-20)? Whenever I neglect His pleasure, I forfeit any future reward that He gives to good and faithful servants (Luke 19:17). I expend my energies in activities that please myself (Phi 2:4) and ventures that gain me praise from people (Rom 2:29), all the while forsaking the true battle in the heart that drags me into imaginary worlds where I actually think my physical thrashings have some kind of effectiveness at heroics (Eph 6:12).

Let us instead live in this reality: we have been sent to “love and serve” (Gal 5:13) as long as we remain in this world (John 17:15). This means we must “suffer in the flesh” with whatever duties He has for us, no matter how unpleasant and hard, pursuing His will and not our own desires (1Pe 4:1-2). There are people perishing (John 3:16-18) and time is short (2Sa 14:14; Psa 90:12).

So on His return, will He find us on mission or off wandering in the lower things (Eph 4:22-24)? Will He find us persisting in faith (Jam 1:5-8), or will He find us at play (Exo 32:6)? Will we receive accommodations of patient endurance (Rev 3:10), or will His thundering voice have to rebuke our incomplete deeds (Rev 1:15; 3:1-3, 15-19)? Will we be found faithful and deserving of a reward (1Co 4:2; 1Pe 1:7), or will we, although getting to return home with Him, suffer great loss in our negligence (1Co 3:15)?

This is the time to love and serve a dying world that so desperately needs to see love lived out (1Jo 3:18). So may our eyes always be on the Father (John 5:19) and our bodies at the feet of our Savior (Luke 10:39), always ready to hear and obey His commands to “speak” (2Ti 4:2) or “do” (1Co 16:14) or “go” (Mat 28:19-20) in His loving name (1Jo 4:10).

So I remind you today, “Why are we here?”