Between Flesh and Fire

Every person I’ve ever met carries a quiet desire to change the world.

Some whisper it. Some chase it. Some bury it beneath the weight of fear, failure, or the voices of others. But it’s there, lingering in the heart — that deep hunger to do something that matters. To leave behind more than footsteps in the sand. To prove, in some way, that we weren’t just here to exist, but to make life brighter for someone else.

Faith tells me that we already matter. That before we ever spoke a word, drew a breath, or dreamed a dream, God had already carved out a purpose for us. A divine purpose, stitched into our being, unique and unrepeatable.

But the world tells a different story.

Society says your worth is measured by wealth, by real estate, by the car you drive, the size of your following, the number of people who clap when you walk into a room. Politics says your worth is tallied up in a ballot box, decided by the majority who believes your life and your purpose count.

And caught between faith, society, and politics — it’s easy to lose sight of truth.

For me, there’s a war in my mind. A tug-of-war between a fire I know God placed inside me and the hunger that whispers: Do more. Be more. Prove it.

I wake up every day with an ache to accomplish, to create, to build, to leave my fingerprint on this world. And yet, I question: on what scale am I measuring this hunger? Am I chasing divine purpose, or am I feeding my flesh with the need to be seen, remembered, applauded?

Lately, one thought has circled endlessly in my mind: What’s next?

The strange thing is, I can see the big picture. Ten years from now, I can imagine the perfect life in a perfect world — a home, a family, a career rooted in passion and calling, land to steward, a rhythm of peace and abundance. I can imagine it all.

But when I try to picture the next few months, I can’t. The image is blurry, the road ahead hidden in fog. It feels impossible to imagine something as simple as where I’ll live next year, what city I’ll be in, or what new beginning I should chase.

How can I see so far ahead, but not the very next step?

And here’s the truth that weighs heavy on me: I don’t even want to go back home to Hawaiʻi — the place that raised me, the place my soul calls home — because I feel like I haven’t finished what I started here. I feel like the hunger hasn’t been satisfied. Like there’s still more work to do, more battles to fight, more growth waiting for me in the unfamiliar.

But I don’t know if that’s me talking — my restless, striving self — or if it’s God’s hand nudging me forward into a purpose greater than my own imagination.

Is this hunger my flesh or my faith? My desire or my destiny?

I don’t have the answers.

I only have the ache, the fire, the questions that keep me awake at night.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe purpose isn’t always about certainty. Maybe it’s about walking, even when the path is foggy. Maybe it’s about trusting that the same God who painted the big picture of my life will also fill in the next few brushstrokes when it’s time.

But still, I ask myself — and maybe you’re asking too:

If we all have this hunger, if we all crave to matter, if we all long to change the world in some way...

How do we know when we’ve done enough?

With 'Uhane, From Me to You

'Uhane Hawai'i