Max K.
Featuring Max Keating
If you’re reading this, your life has a purpose.
I was born with a life-threatening condition called intestinal malrotation. I don’t remember it, but I’ve been told the story. Three times, my parents were told to say goodbye. Three times, the same doctor was there to save my life. That should not have happened. Statistically, I should not be here.
But I am.
I grew up knowing that, and it stayed with me in quiet ways. People said I was here for a reason. I believed them, but believing it sometimes felt like carrying a weight I didn’t understand.
When I arrived at SMU, this weight felt heavier. Plans and majors. Applications and interviews. Introductions and resumes. The question of my purpose plagued me. It settled into the rhythm of my days. I met so many new people who already seemed to know where they were going. I kept moving, hoping the purpose might catch up to me along the way.
A few weeks into the second semester of my freshman year, a close friend invited me to a campus ministry. I didn’t go looking for a revelation. I just said yes because I trusted my friend. The room was simple. Folding chairs. A few songs. The people who learned my name did not rush me. No one handed me a slogan. I left with a quieter mind than when I arrived. I decided to come back next week, and then the next.
Later that month, a friend sent me a verse, Romans 8:38-39. I read it on my phone between classes, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
The words didn’t change my circumstances, but they changed the lens through which I viewed my life. If nothing in creation can separate me from the love of God, then purpose isn’t a prize waiting somewhere ahead.
It’s already here. It lives in the same creation that’s all around us. The morning light across campus, the trees swaying above the Boulevard, the small and steady goodness of being alive in a world that’s filled with God’s creation.
I do not have a grand reveal to offer you. I have a steady one. I was given a second chance in life as a child. At SMU, I’m learning to take that chance with gratitude instead of feeling pressured to have my life all figured out. I carry gratitude for the God who made creation and called it good. Gratitude for being a part of that creation today. Gratitude does not wait for perfect clarity before it moves.
If you’re reading this and the pressure to be extraordinary feels heavy on your chest, take a moment to step outside. You don’t have to find your place all at once.
Let the campus remind you that the world is beautiful. You are inside that world. You belong to it.
My intestinal malrotation can return without warning, and if I do not recognize it in time, I will die. Yet I do not live in fear. I live loved by a God who is all-knowing, all-forgiving, and ever-present. His love gives purpose to ordinary days and peace to uncertain ones. So, I notice what is good, love the people around me, and trust that the God who once saved my life continues to guide it.
Nothing in all creation can separate you from the love of God. Not confusion. Not a late start. Not the feeling that everyone else is already miles ahead. Isaiah 40:26 invites us to “Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens.” So, lift your head. Open your eyes to the beauty God has placed all around you. Say thank you for one small thing you haven't created yet to get to enjoy. Then take the next step in front of you.
You are not random. You are wanted. You are loved.
Max K., Southern Methodist University
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