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Sittara Collection에 의해“Family… take a moment. Just breathe. Right where you are. There’s something sacred about now. This moment. Not yesterday, not tomorrow — now. Because now is all we’re guaranteed. And it is in this very moment that I need to ask you something...
Are you living... or are you just existing?
See, there’s a difference. One is marked by purpose, the other by routine. One is ignited by vision, the other consumed by survival. And if we’re not careful — if we don't pause long enough to really examine the direction of our days — we can spend our entire life moving, but never progressing.
That’s why I’m here tonight. Because I believe heaven wants to interrupt your rhythm. To remind you: You don’t have time to waste your life.
Not when the world is waiting on the version of you that shows up bold. That shows up healed. That shows up surrendered. And not when there is still breath in your lungs — which means, family, purpose is still calling.”
Purpose is not a destination — it's a daily decision. This truth shifts everything. Because for so long, many of us have been taught to view purpose as a final point — something far off in the distance, something we might reach “one day” if all the right doors open, if everything aligns, if we make the right choices. We imagine purpose as this big moment — the stage, the spotlight, the breakthrough. But what if that’s not it at all? What if purpose isn’t just found in the mountaintop, but in the mundane? What if purpose is less about where you're going and more about who you're becoming, right here and now?
We don’t stumble into purpose by accident. We walk into it — intentionally, obediently, and often quietly. It begins with a decision. Today. To show up fully where you are. To steward what’s in your hands. To speak when it’s easier to stay silent. To choose integrity when no one is watching. To give your best in places that don’t look glamorous. That is purpose in motion. It’s not always loud. It’s not always noticed. But it’s always meaningful. Because it aligns with who you are becoming — and not just what you’re producing.
The problem is, many people miss this because they are waiting for purpose to feel perfect. They think they’ll feel "ready," that purpose will arrive with clarity, confidence, and applause. But often, it doesn’t. It comes with resistance. It comes with uncertainty. It comes with doubt and trembling hands. And it comes wrapped in responsibility. The truth is, you can’t separate purpose from obedience. You can’t separate it from daily surrender. From daily decisions that seem small, but collectively shape a life that is impactful.
We live in a generation that craves immediacy. We want to go viral, be known, be seen. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting your life to matter. But the danger is when we equate visibility with value. When we start believing that unless it's big, it’s not God. But God moves in small things. In daily faithfulness. In your character. In your conversations. In how you treat the people who can do nothing for you. Purpose isn’t waiting on a platform. It’s activated through process.
Sometimes your purpose looks like holding on when you want to quit. Like showing up for the people around you when you feel empty yourself. Like making the hard decision to break a cycle that’s been in your family for generations. That’s purpose too. Because purpose is not something you stumble upon. It's something you walk in — with intention. Every single day.
What if you saw today as a seed? What if the choices you make today are planting what you’ll reap in a season you can’t see yet? We’re often frustrated because the fruit isn’t visible. But fruit takes time. And purpose doesn’t grow in the spotlight. It grows in the shadows — in the hidden places where your yes still matters even when no one sees it. It grows in discipline. It grows in stillness. It grows when you choose to pray instead of panic. To serve instead of strive. To listen instead of defend. These are the moments where purpose is being built.
Many people think they missed their calling because they’re not where they thought they’d be. But what if you’re not late — you’re just learning how to listen? What if the most important part of your purpose is learning to trust God in the process? Not rushing through it. Not comparing your timeline to someone else’s. But deciding, every single day, that you're going to be present. That you're going to respond with faith, not fear. That you’re going to show up for what’s in front of you instead of chasing what’s not meant for you. That’s the daily decision of purpose.
Your decisions today are shaping the future version of you. The one who’s healed. The one who’s courageous. The one who’s free. But that version doesn’t come without process. It doesn’t come without resistance. And it doesn’t come without repetition. The repetition of showing up. The repetition of discipline. The repetition of truth-telling — even when that truth makes you uncomfortable. Because that’s how we grow into purpose. Not in a single moment, but through many consistent ones.
And here’s what’s wild: purpose won’t always feel purposeful. There will be seasons where it feels ordinary. Where nothing seems to be shifting. Where you wonder if you’re even making a difference. But don’t confuse silence with absence. Just because you don’t see the evidence yet doesn’t mean God isn’t moving. Don’t let a quiet season make you question your assignment. That’s the test. That’s the refining. That’s where the roots grow deep.
Every decision you make from a place of conviction matters. Every time you choose to walk in integrity when compromise would be easier — that’s purpose. Every time you choose to be present for your family, your work, your assignment — that’s purpose. Every time you choose to forgive when bitterness feels more justified — that’s purpose. Because purpose is formed in the private places. Not in the applause. Not in the outcomes. But in the obedience.
And it takes courage. Because it’s easier to wait for the “big” thing. It’s easier to keep postponing our yes until the conditions feel ideal. But what if the very thing we’re waiting for is on the other side of our consistency? What if the door we’re asking God to open is one we’re not prepared to walk through because we keep neglecting the discipline of today? Purpose is not a product of perfection. It’s a product of perseverance. Of grit. Of grace. Of daily alignment with truth.
You don’t wake up one day and suddenly “arrive” at purpose. You walk into it step by step. And often, those steps feel small. But they matter. Because how you do anything is how you do everything. And the habits you form in the shadows will echo in the moments when the lights are on. Don’t despise the days of preparation. Don’t minimize the seasons that stretch you. Because they’re not distractions — they’re development.
Sometimes your purpose will offend people. Sometimes it will cost you relationships. Sometimes it will require silence when you want to speak. Or action when you want to stay still. Purpose will stretch you beyond your comfort. Because growth doesn’t happen where it’s easy — it happens where it’s necessary. And every day you choose purpose over passivity, you’re becoming. You’re maturing. You’re aligning with the version of yourself that heaven had in mind when you were created.
Purpose is not a destination. It's not the end of a journey — it’s the journey itself. And it’s shaped by daily choices. Daily posture. Daily surrender.
Comfort is the silent killer of calling. It doesn't show up loud or obvious. It creeps in quietly, disguised as stability, disguised as “normal,” disguised as wisdom sometimes. It tells you, “You’re fine right here,” even when everything in your soul is screaming for more. Comfort isn't always about laziness — it's often about fear. Fear of failure. Fear of exposure. Fear of rejection. Fear of stepping into the unknown. And instead of calling it fear, we label it “waiting for the right time,” or “being realistic,” when deep down, we know we’ve settled.
The human heart craves comfort because it craves control. We want to feel safe, protected, and secure — and that’s not wrong in itself. But when comfort becomes the goal rather than the tool, we lose something sacred. We lose movement. We lose vision. We lose fire. And eventually, we lose ourselves. Not in one dramatic fall, but in subtle compromises. In small decisions to stay where it’s easy instead of going where it’s necessary.
Calling will always demand something from you. It doesn’t just ask for your talent — it asks for your surrender. It asks for your willingness to be misunderstood. To be stretched. To go where you’ve never gone before, not because you’re ready, but because you’re willing. And comfort doesn’t like that. Comfort will always try to convince you that your convenience is more important than your conviction. It will whisper things like, “This is good enough,” or “Don’t make things harder than they need to be.” And if you’re not careful, you’ll listen.
You’ll begin to trade potential for predictability. You’ll choose routine over risk. And over time, you’ll start to convince yourself that maybe your calling wasn’t that deep to begin with. That maybe you misheard God. That maybe what you’re doing now is enough. And yes — contentment is holy. Gratitude is essential. But there is a difference between contentment and complacency. One says, “I’m thankful for where I am, but I’m still open to where God is leading.” The other says, “I’m staying here because I’m afraid to leave.”
And fear dressed up as wisdom is still fear.
You have to know the difference between peace and passivity. Because not every quiet moment is peace. Sometimes it’s the silence of your soul ignoring the sound of conviction. Sometimes it’s the stillness that comes from being stuck. Calling is disruptive. It breaks routines. It interrupts comfort. And that’s not always exciting — it’s actually uncomfortable. But the discomfort isn’t a sign you’re doing something wrong. It’s a sign you’re growing.
Growth and comfort cannot coexist. One has to give. And calling will always stretch you because it is rooted in becoming. It’s not just about what you do — it’s about who you become in the process. And to become, you have to be willing to leave behind the versions of yourself that fit in comfort but no longer align with purpose. That’s hard. That means outgrowing some relationships. It means shedding some habits. It means letting go of timelines you created for yourself. But calling demands that. Because calling is costly.
You can’t carry comfort and calling at the same time. One will always weigh down the other. And we know this — somewhere inside, we all feel it. That pull. That ache. That quiet voice reminding us we were made for more. Not in a prideful, self-centered way, but in a deeply spiritual one. We were created with intention. Designed to carry something unique. And yet, so many of us bury our gifts beneath layers of comfort and call it “humility” or “timing,” when really, it’s just fear of failure.
But what if failing in your calling is better than succeeding in your comfort? What if the risk itself is holy? What if stepping into the unknown is the exact act of faith God is waiting on? Not for the outcome, but for the trust. Because calling isn’t just about what you do for God — it’s about what God does in you when you say yes. And every yes takes you further from comfort and closer to transformation.
Comfort tells you to settle. Calling tells you to sacrifice. Comfort wants convenience. Calling asks for commitment. Comfort stays the same. Calling grows. And every day you get to choose. You get to decide which voice you’re going to listen to — the one that makes you feel safe or the one that calls you higher. And the voice of comfort is seductive. It’ll make you feel like you’re being wise, when really you’re just being safe. But safety has never been the birthplace of purpose.
Look at every story of faith in Scripture — there’s always a moment of disruption. A moment when comfort had to be left behind. Abraham had to leave everything familiar. Moses had to return to a place of failure. Esther had to risk her life. Peter had to step out of the boat. None of these moments made logical sense, but they made spiritual impact. Because calling is not logical — it’s obedient. And obedience doesn’t always come with clarity. Sometimes it just comes with a stirring in your spirit that says, “There’s more than this.”
And that “more” requires movement. It requires boldness. It requires a decision to do the thing afraid, to walk even when you can’t see the full picture, to trust that God’s provision is waiting on the other side of your obedience. But you’ll never know what’s possible until you stop protecting your comfort. Because comfort may feel like protection, but over time it becomes a prison. A cage made of excuses, distractions, and perfectly logical reasons why you can’t move forward yet.
But calling doesn’t wait for your convenience. It waits for your courage. It’s ready whenever you are. It’s not waiting on your perfection, your preparation, or your ideal circumstance. It’s waiting on your decision. And that decision has to be made over and over again. It’s not just one big yes — it’s a thousand small ones. Every day you wake up and choose to lean into the stretch. To say yes when it would be easier to say no. To stand firm when your knees are shaking. To pursue growth even when it hurts.
And it will hurt sometimes. Because shedding comfort feels like shedding skin. It exposes you. It makes you vulnerable. But vulnerability is the birthplace of authenticity. And authenticity is where calling breathes. You can’t carry your calling and hide at the same time. You have to show up. As you are. In the process. In the mess. With the questions. With the trembling. Because God isn’t looking for your polished performance — He’s looking for your willingness.
Willingness is what unlocks doors. Willingness is what births change. Willingness is what takes you from potential to purpose. But willingness won’t thrive in comfort. It needs space to be stretched. It needs moments that test it. And those tests often come when you’re most tempted to shrink back. That’s when you have to remind yourself why you started. Why you believed. Why you can’t go back. Because once you taste calling, comfort will never satisfy you again.
Comfort may offer peace, but it cannot give fulfillment. Only calling does that. Only walking in divine alignment with who you were created to be will give you the kind of peace that surpasses understanding. The kind that remains even in the tension, even in the storm. Because you’ll know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be — not because it’s easy, but because it’s right.
Your life is a message — make it worth reading. Whether you realize it or not, every day you’re telling a story. Through your choices. Through your words. Through the way you show up when no one’s watching. You are writing something with your life. And the question isn’t if you’re communicating — the question is what you’re communicating. What are people reading when they look at the way you live, not just when things are good, but when things are heavy, when life isn’t fair, when you're being tested?
So many people wait for a platform to share their message, but what they don’t realize is that the platform is built in the private. It’s built in the moments of discipline, the daily decisions, the unseen faithfulness. You don’t need a mic to make an impact. You don’t need followers to be effective. What you need is alignment. Integrity. A life that matches your words. Because the most powerful messages aren’t always spoken — they’re lived. They’re revealed in how you handle pain, how you navigate conflict, how you treat people who have nothing to offer you.
We live in a world full of noise — everyone trying to say something, prove something, build something. But in the middle of that noise, what cuts through isn’t volume, it’s authenticity. People are tired of perfect. They’re tired of curated. They’re craving real. And the most compelling message you can offer the world is a life that is deeply, unapologetically surrendered to becoming who you were created to be. A life that points not just to your success but to your source.
You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not. In fact, the more honest you are about your journey, your struggles, your failures, the more your message carries weight. We’re not inspired by people who’ve never been broken — we’re moved by people who’ve been broken and kept going. Who’ve been hurt and still chose healing. Who’ve faced fear and walked in faith anyway. That’s what makes your life powerful. Not perfection, but progress. Not image, but impact.
The truth is, people are watching you. Not in a pressure-filled way, but in a purposeful one. You influence more people than you know. Your family, your friends, your coworkers, your community. Some of them may never step foot in a church. Some of them may never read a self-help book or go to therapy or listen to a podcast. But they will read you. Your reactions. Your values. Your presence. And what they read may shift the way they see the world. It may challenge them. It may heal them. It may call something out of them that they forgot was there.
And this is why stewardship matters. Not just over your gifts, but over your life. Over your time. Your energy. Your attention. Your healing. Your words. Because everything you do flows from the life you’re cultivating. If you’re constantly pouring from a place of emptiness, your message becomes hollow. But when you live from a place of overflow — from a place of wholeness — your message carries anointing. It carries truth. It carries power that doesn’t come from charisma, but from character.
You get to decide what kind of story you’re writing with your life. Will it be one of fear or one of faith? One of bitterness or one of forgiveness? One of hiding or one of honesty? Your life will reflect what you choose to prioritize. It will reflect what you believe — not just what you say you believe, but what your actions confirm. If you say you value peace, does your life reflect boundaries that protect it? If you say you want purpose, do your habits align with that pursuit? If you say you want growth, are you willing to confront the parts of you that still resist change?
It’s easy to blame circumstances for the narrative we’re living, but the truth is, we are not just readers — we are co-authors. You don’t control everything, but you do control how you respond. You control what you hold onto and what you release. You control what you dwell on, what you speak, what you create. And all of that becomes part of the message you’re sending. Not just to others — but to yourself. Every decision you make is reinforcing a belief about who you are and what kind of life you’re building.
When you start seeing your life as a message, you live with more intention. You stop waiting for “someday” and start realizing that what you’re doing now matters. The way you love people now matters. The way you forgive now matters. The way you discipline yourself now matters. Because those aren’t just isolated acts — they’re threads in the fabric of your story. They’re evidence of the transformation that’s happening within you. And they’re preparing you to handle more, to lead more, to impact more.
Sometimes we want our lives to scream purpose, but we’re still whispering in obedience. We want the headline without the hard work. But the best stories aren’t rushed. They’re written with patience. With editing. With refinement. And often, the most powerful chapters are the ones you didn’t plan. The ones that came through grief. Through uncertainty. Through the things you never would’ve chosen, but that grew you anyway. Those are the parts that teach you what kind of strength lives inside you. They reveal who you really are. And that part of your message may be what someone else needs to know they can survive what they’re walking through.
You don’t need a perfect past to have a powerful future. What matters is what you do now — the decision to take responsibility for your story, to reclaim it, to own it. To stop living on autopilot and start living on assignment. You weren’t just created to exist. You were created to reflect something divine. To carry something eternal. And your life has the capacity to leave a legacy that outlives your name. Not because of your accomplishments, but because of your alignment with something bigger than you.
Your life should make people think. It should make people feel. It should make people wonder what you’re anchored in. Not because you’re loud about it, but because you live in a way that makes peace look possible. That makes freedom look attainable. That makes excellence look holy. The way you show up for your calling, the way you recover from pain, the way you handle disappointment — all of it speaks.
Every day you’re given breath is another opportunity to write something beautiful. To change the tone. To shift the plot. To break the cycle. To declare with your life that the story doesn’t end in defeat. That healing is possible. That purpose can rise from the ashes. That ordinary lives can carry extraordinary meaning. You don’t have to wait for a miracle moment to start living that way. The moment is now. The message is in motion. And every step you take from here writes the next sentence.
