I was once given a “Make It Happen Award” at work. It surprised me. I’ve never been the “charge ahead and take the hill” type. I’m not the loudest voice in the room. I don’t pound the table or dominate the agenda.
But making things happen can look different. Sometimes it’s a quiet conversation that shifts a direction. Sometimes it’s a well-timed “yes.” Sometimes it’s just staying long enough to see something through.
For me, it’s looked like…
- Bringing three neighbourhood congregations together into one regional church—not by forcing consensus, but by shaping a shared mission, writing the plan, and chairing the property development committee until new ground could be broken.
- Writing and running a Memoir Writing course that drew 120 people—many of whom had never shared their story aloud, let alone written it down. But they came, week after week, and something opened up: memory, meaning, voice.
- Leading a university residential college through COVID. No rulebook. Just real people, real fears, and the need to hold a dispersed community together with care, clarity, and the occasional flash of humour. We stayed connected, stayed kind, and found ways to keep growing.
- Saying yes to good ideas. The postgraduate study room? Not my idea. The Creative Space? Not my design. But I had the privilege of saying yes. Of backing people with vision and trusting them to build it. Sometimes making things happen means holding the door open and stepping out of the way.
- Encouraging a congregation to make room for new life. When one church was running out of momentum, I gently asked: what if we gave space to a new church plant in the college chapel? They said yes. Four years later, that seed has grown into three services and 300 people. Sometimes green shoots don’t come from trying harder, but from making room.
- Sitting in the gutter with a student who made a painful mistake. She’d been struggling—missing home, feeling the weight of expectations, and turning to alcohol to cope. We waited there while she sobered up. No lectures. Just presence. And then, when she was ready, we talked about the kind of future she wanted. And how she might get there.
- Introducing solar power to the college—not just to save money or look good, but as a quiet act of stewardship. A long-term yes to the future.
All of this has been about noticing what matters, clearing the path, and helping good things take root.
Not for the spotlight. Not for applause. Just because it needed doing.
Making it happen—without making a fuss.
It’s not a slogan. It’s simply how I’ve tried to live.
And as I begin to hand things on, I’m more convinced than ever:
The quiet yes, the steady presence, the trust to let others lead—
That’s how futures begin.
The Afterword 
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