Imagine the Future

Say this out loud —

The leadership team at a Fort Worth, Texas Church had reached the end of
a long season of decline. The seats were mostly empty. The debt was
overwhelming. And the memory of what the church used to be still
lingered—like a song they couldn't stop singing, even as the music
faded.

Then they entered a room designed for brave imagination.

They didn't start with strategy. They started with honesty. They named
what was real. They acknowledged the financial weight. They allowed
their grief, their fear, and their love for the church to rise to the
surface—without judgment.

And that's when the truth emerged.

The future they were clinging to wasn't really a future. It was a
memory. And the property that had once been their anchor had become a
barrier to what was next. Through tears, prayer, and courageous
conversation, they chose resurrection. They sold the building. Paid off
millions in debt. And prepared to move just a few miles away—not to
recreate the past, but to plant something new.

They imagined a church they might not live to see—a place for younger
people, new families, future neighbors. They imagined a future worth
moving toward, even if they wouldn't be the ones to fully enjoy it.

That's what override looked like for them: letting go of what had
carried them this far so they could clear the path for those who would
come next.

There's a thread that connects this story to Moses, standing on the edge
of the promised land, catching a glimpse but not crossing over. And to
Dr. King, declaring in one of his final speeches: *"I've seen the
promised land\... I may not get there with you."*

Override is not always immediate reward. Sometimes it's the sacred work
of planting seeds you may never harvest—but believing the harvest will
still come.

"In the last days, your young will see visions,
your old will dream dreams.
And the people will rise."
—Adapted from Joel 2:28

Think of one area where you've stopped imagining.
Name it. Then write a single sentence that begins with:
"What if..."
Don't filter. Let yourself wonder.
Then share it with someone you trust.

Where did I choose imagination today instead of resignation?
What future did I glimpse—no matter how faintly?
Who else caught a glimpse because I said it aloud?