Not Too Late

Sometimes, people confuse caution with fear. They mistake deliberation for delay, and they brand those who think deeply as those who move too slowly. I’ve heard the criticisms before—some thrown at public figures, others thrown at me. But I have learned to wear patience not as a weakness, but as armour. For when the time is right, I do not flinch.

I am not risk-averse. I am risk-aware. There’s a difference. I do not leap before I look—but once I have looked, once I have listened, once I have imagined the cost and counted it twice—then I will move with everything I have.

Years ago, I was serving as a minister in a parish of four churches. There was a dream floating around—idealistic, ambitious, improbable. A disused drive-in theatre. A regional hub for worship and community. At first, I wasn’t convinced. It felt premature, a vision reaching too far too fast. And so, I waited. Not to kill the dream, but to understand it.

While I waited, I worked. The church grew—doubled, then tripled. But growth has ceilings, and buildings have limits. I saw what I hadn’t seen before. I began to see not just what was, but what could be. And when the local council approved a land release that would flood the region with new people, I knew: the time had come. The dream I had once resisted became the path I could now see clearly.

When I brought it to the Parish Council, I braced for resistance. But there was none. Only trust. Only a quiet readiness. We sold everything—every church, every residence, every piece of land—and bought eight acres at the centre of the new region.

It was a risk. A massive one. It could have collapsed. It could have left us with nothing. But it didn’t. By the grace of God and the faith of a community willing to step into the unknown, it became something beautiful. A place of worship. A hub for community programs. A legacy—not for the next five years, but for the next sixty.

This wasn’t the kind of risk taken on impulse. It was the kind that comes from discernment. From waiting and watching. From asking not just, “Can we do this?” but, “Should we?” And when the answer came—yes, now is the time—I moved with resolve.

I do not regret that risk. Not for a moment. It taught me that real leadership is not about constant momentum—it’s about conviction. That churches, like people, are capable of extraordinary courage when they trust their leaders and believe in the vision. That timing matters.

And it taught me this: when you risk everything for the sake of others, for the sake of the future, and for the sake of the gospel—when you do that not in haste, but in hope—it is no longer just a risk. It is an act of faith.

And faith, when well-placed, rarely disappoints.

They called him “Too Late” this week—
as if waiting were weakness,
as if thought
must always rush.

But I am not slow.
I am deliberate.
I listen until the moment speaks.

Once, I said no
to a wild dream—
a drive-in turned church.
Too big.
Too soon.

Then came the crowd,
the creaking walls,
the land release.
And I knew.

I brought the vision.
No resistance.
Just trust.
We sold everything.
Bought eight acres
and a future.

It could’ve failed.
It didn’t.
It stands.

I am not too late.
I wait to know.
Then I risk it all.

And I do not regret
a single step.