I have a new car.

Not just any car, but a Mustang convertible.
I’ve wanted one since I was ten years old, and—after more than a biblical generation (yes, over 40 years!)—I finally have one.

The weather hasn’t exactly been convertible-friendly lately, but yesterday I took it out for a drive to Nashville, and today I wandered from one used furniture store to another, hunting for office furniture. Long drives. Good miles. Open sky.

And friends… it drives like nothing I’ve ever owned.

My Saturn Vue—a trusty mid-size SUV—has been faithful and dependable. I bought it after a serious car accident years ago, and it’s done everything I’ve asked of it. I know that car like the back of my hand—when a tire is low, when to tap the brakes, how far I can push the gas light. It’s never flashy, but it has always shown up and done what I needed it to do. A reliable workhorse.

But the Mustang? Oh, it’s something else entirely.
I sit lower. The hood stretches out in front of me. It hugs the road with ease, like it’s on rails. It corners with sharpness. It feels like it’s gliding. Like a thoroughbred trained to run. There’s power in it. Precision. And joy. I didn’t buy this car for utility—I bought it for pleasure. A little reminder to myself that joy is part of balance, too.

And as I often do, I started thinking while driving.

Both vehicles serve a purpose. They were made with different strengths and intentions, but both are exactly what they were created to be. The Saturn has protected me, and now it will be passed on to my stepdaughter—safe and steady. The Mustang, meanwhile, is my reminder that life is to be savored too. I’ll take it from facility to facility, bearing the weight of serious work while feeling the wind and letting a little light in.

But the question that stuck with me was this:
Am I living out the purpose for which I was created as faithfully as these vehicles are?

What was I made for?
What am I moving toward?

If I believe my ultimate purpose is to know, serve, and glorify God—then my life decisions, daily choices, and internal compass must be pointed toward that goal.

Paul knew his purpose with clarity. He wrote:

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Finally, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness…” (2 Timothy 4:7-8)

His entire life was built around one mission: knowing and serving Christ.
He didn’t just drift into purpose—he pursued it.
And Barnabas, in Acts 11:23, reminded the early church to “remain true to the Lord with purpose of heart.”

That phrase gets me. Purpose of heart.
A heart determined. Anchored. Focused on what matters most.

It doesn’t matter if I’m a metaphorical sports car or a dependable SUV.
What matters is this: Am I living out the purpose for which I was called—and for which Christ paid the highest price?

Am I responding to His voice the way my vehicle responds to the road—sensitive, willing, responsive to every nudge?

Paul wrote:

“[For my determined purpose is] that I may know Him… that I may progressively become more deeply and intimately acquainted with Him.” (Philippians 3:10, AMP)

That’s the kind of life I want.
Not one just filled with accomplishments or checklists or good intentions—but one that’s pointed straight toward knowing Him. Not just knowing about Him, but knowing Him—deeply, personally, and daily.

Because if I don’t know where I’m going, how will I ever know if I’ve arrived?

So today, I’m asking Him again:
Lord, make Your purpose my purpose.
Help me live the life You dreamed for me.
Help me know You more and more every day.

Whether I’m driving a Saturn or a Mustang, leading in serious spaces or soaking up moments of joy—may it all be part of knowing Him, loving Him, and following where He leads.