The Palace of Purpose

How I Almost Missed My Calling…

“You know you are in trouble when you die and no one hands you a clipboard.”

That’s what hit me first.

No wings. No harp. No welcome committee holding a “You Made It!” sign. Just… a palace. A really big palace. Think: if Versailles and Google HQ had a baby, and then dipped it in light.

People were everywhere, glowing, laughing, creating, serving. Not with stress, but with joy. These weren’t employees. They were thriving.

One person was arranging what looked like soul bouquets (don’t ask, I still don’t know). Another was chatting casually with the King, the King, like they shared inside jokes. And me?

I was just… watching.

No one stopped me. But no one invited me in either. I didn’t have a job. Or a robe. Or a name badge.

I loitered in paradise.

Eventually, the silence got loud. So I approached the guy with the clipboard,  the Manager. You could tell he ran things. The kind of person who organizes sock drawers by shade.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I have been here for a while. Everyone’s got something to do. I want to serve too. I want to see the King.”

He looked at me, kindly. “That’s a worthy desire. What experience do you bring?”

“I… went to church. On and off. I read inspirational quotes. Sometimes I shared them. On Instagram.”

He smiled. Not mocking, just… sad.

“This is a place of purpose. But not a place of practice. That was Earth. That was your life.”

I swallowed. “So what was I supposed to be doing?”

He didn’t list qualifications or titles. He asked me questions:

• “Whose burdens did you lift?”
• “What gifts did you grow?”
• “What did you build?”
• “Would anyone say, ‘I am closer to the King because of you’?”

And I realized…

I had spent my life adjacent to purpose. I watched people serve. I thought about helping. I meant to volunteer. But I never actually stepped in.

I was a spiritual spectator.

The Manager pointed toward a quiet place outside the palace, peaceful, distant.

“That’s where the spectators go. You are welcome to sit there, as you always have.”

My heart sank.

And just when I thought it was over…

The King appeared.

No fanfare. No fireworks. Just presence. Love that felt heavy.

He looked at me with eyes that had waited.

“You are not the only one,” he said.

And then, against every rule, every assumption, He gave me a second chance.

✨ “Go back,” he said. “This time… train like you mean it.”

And suddenly, I was awake, in a hospital bed. Heart pounding. Monitors blinking. Nurses yelling. Life roaring back into me.

I had another shot.

And I didn’t waste it.

I signed up. I helped. I stumbled through it. I asked, “Where can I serve?”, not, “Is this convenient?”

I stopped spectating. I started training.

💡 What This Story Is Really About

Purpose doesn’t begin in palaces. It begins in PTA meetings. In food banks. In awkward emails asking, “Can I help?”

The tragedy isn’t a lack of talent. It’s a life where talent never gets used. Because someone thought they weren’t ready.

But we never feel ready. That’s not how calling works.

❤️ Ask Yourself This Week:

• What’s one gift I have buried out of fear?
• What’s one place I have been watching that needs my hands, not just my heart?
• If I died today… would I have anything to offer the King?

🎯 Your Turn

This week, step up. Messily. Imperfectly. Honestly.

Offer your time. Your story. Your gift.

Because the only thing worse than failing… is never trying.

And here’s the good news:

You don’t need to be perfect to participate. You just need to be present.

Let’s train like we mean it. ✊

✍️ Written by Hélène

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