I have a friend—let’s call him Jack—who sees things that don’t exist. He’s not delusional, nor is he some pie-in-the sky visionary. Jack is practical and down-to-earth. He builds barns for a living. On weekends, he is busy constructing a new house for his wife and daughter.
           Jack’s family currently resides is one of two houses still standing in a ghost town on the west Texas plains. His office and warehouse are located in the town’s former cotton gin. We’ll call the place Deep Well.
            The remote setting once served as headquarters for a large, historic ranch. When the ranch dissolved in the 1920’s, farmers moved in and established a village with a school, stores and a blacksmith shop.  
            Today, a lone county road skirts the edge of Deep Well’s six dirt streets. Remnants of the school and businesses blew away long ago. Two churches remain intact but the hoots of barn owls are the only hymns sung inside their walls.  
            Welcome to Deep Well.
             If you stroll the village with Jack, he’ll point out specific lots where he intends to build homes for his crew and their families. He has plans for a charter school, a museum and a village hall.
            As I mentioned, Jack sees things that aren’t there. He honed this knack during a two-year job stint in Houston from which he returned like Ezra back from exile. Now, where others see emptiness, Jack sees promise.
            A few months ago, Jack decided to restore the steeple on one of the churches. I looked on as his crew welded a new frame, attached a cross, then raised it up and placed it above the front door. Sunlight glinted off the burnished metal. One of the workers bowed his head in prayer.
            Welcome to Deep Well! A place where hope conquers despair and a glorious Kingdom is under repair.