I remember being in a church youth space where, after high school, all the young people were encouraged to only go to Wayne State. Not “consider different colleges,” not “dream big and explore your options,” but only Wayne State. On the surface, it sounded practical. Affordable. Close to home. Safe.

But underneath it, I couldn’t ignore what it felt like.

It felt like a ceiling being quietly placed over our futures.

In a space that preached faith, purpose, and God’s limitless power, our academic and professional dreams were being limited to a single path. There was no talk of Ivy League schools, out-of-state universities, creative careers, or global opportunities. No language of “you can go anywhere.” Just “this is where you should go.”

When this happens in a predominantly Black youth space, it raises a deeper question: Why are our dreams being managed instead of expanded? Why are we being prepared for survival instead of possibility?

Church is supposed to be a place where vision is cultivated, where young people are told they are chosen, capable, and called to greatness—not quietly guided into what others deem “realistic” for them.

Faith without imagination becomes another form of limitation.

And when imagination is limited along racial lines, it stops being guidance and starts feeling like profiling—deciding what kind of future is “appropriate” for us before we ever get the chance to decide for ourselves.