Imagine

As I watch the news, heart heavy from the weight of yet another senseless act of violence, I find myself pulled into reflection. It’s become too familiar—a scroll through headlines soaked in sorrow, voices raised in fear, the names of the lost becoming echoes in a world that seems to have forgotten how to listen.

And then I hear the words—soft, simple, eternal:

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace…

John Lennon’s voice rises like a prayer, not just for one moment, but for all time. A plea. A vision. A dream we’ve yet to fully dare to live.

What would it be like, truly, to wake up in a world where borders didn’t divide us, where flags didn’t fly over graves, where pride wasn’t measured in firepower, and where no mother had to bury her child because of politics, hatred, or fear? Could we really be one people, not separated by geography, race, or belief—but bound by our common breath, our fragile hope, our shared humanity?

I close my eyes and try to imagine it. Streets where strangers smile instead of recoil. Schools where every child feels safe. Cities that ring with laughter instead of sirens. Homes that never tremble from the aftershock of gunfire or grief.

It sounds like a dream too delicate to hold. And yet, maybe that’s exactly why it must be held—tightly, tenderly, fiercely. Maybe peace is not something we inherit but something we imagine first, together, and then build with weary, willing hands.

So today, in the face of all this hurt, I choose to imagine. I choose to believe peace isn’t a fantasy, but a future. One we can create—not with guns or governments, but with grace. Not with fear, but with love. Not someday, but now.

Because as long as we can imagine, there is hope. And where there is hope, there is a path.

Even through the darkness, especially through the darkness, we dream.