You only get a small dancing window

Last Sunday, during church, it occurred to me that my dancing window has now closed.

I was reminded of this as a couple of small children twirled around during the service.

Now - with my kids being 12 and 8 - the days of twirling around with my daughters, carefree during the church service, and behind me.

But I miss those shame-free days.

When the girls just liked the music.

When they just wanted to jump about.

This blasé dancing is a gift to the church.

As a parent, you’re able to catch a glimpse of the joy our a Heavenly Father must have when He watches His spiritual children.

As a church, you’re able to see what child-like faith - the kind which Jesus requires - looks like.

But, this time, like a lot of things retrospectively in parenting, was fleeting.

And, for me, the window of dancing has creaked closed.

Quality over quantity comes at a cost

I’m not massively attached to every word I write.

I do write a fair few of them.

I’d like to think that a decent slice of them are, at least, put together in an okay manner.

But, I’m not often pushed against a word or time limit.

I can, usually, ramble on until I’m done.

But, this isn’t the case if you’re submitting an academic response.

And it’s not the case if your sermon must conclude before the following service in the same worship space begins.

When backed against a fairly firm deadline, sometimes words need to be sacrificed.

Yesterday, I looked over an essay which could have used a good pruning.

It was fair in the content, but it always seems had a major way to be improvised.

Cut. One. Third.

The task involved a response to the driving question, but with the caveat that they needed to use two examples. This student had used three.

One should have been jettisoned and the allotted words used to strengthen the other two paragraphs.

But, this would come at a cost.

A cost that you need to delete your work.

A cost that your effort won’t see the light of day.

A cost that your your long diatribe can be improved with e shorter, tighter, response.

In the context of a sermon, this may come at the cost of words which you feel are “inspired.”

You may need to set aside words which you worked hard to craft and weave together.

But, sometimes, pruning is the best thing for your message and your audience.

Teaching losers

Now, to be fair, the vast - VAST - majority of students I teach are wonderful. Truly.

But, I also teach losers.

Despite the instinct to want to see the best in the students before you, while there many not be many, they are unmistakable.

At least to adults.

To fellow teens, they may appear cool.

These are the students who skip school.

They talk back.

The are purposefully defiant.

They antagonise other students.

Again, they are the extreme minority.

In fact, there’s only a handful of true losers who pop into my mind.

But, given enough time - and without a significant change in behaviour and attitude - they will become losers.

For, they won’t earn the marks to get into university.

They will have few options after schooling.

They won’t have developed a work ethic to hold down a quality job.

They will struggle to maintain significant relationships.

And when they are 22 they will look into the mirror and see a loser.

They will wonder how they spent the last 6-8 years.

They will wonder how they wasted their start in adulthood.

I know…

I was a loser.

I wasted my time in my senior years of high school.

I didn’t work hard.

I didn’t study effectively.

I was more interested in the canteen than the classroom.

At one point, I seriously considered redoing my final years of high school again.

Fortunately, after 21, the opportunity to be a mature-aged student at university is a viable option for those with the drive and effort.

For those who lose at school, all is not lost.

You can commit to study.

You can commit to a trade.

You can commit to your profession.

But, for those who waste their (and everyone else’s) time during high school, they are a loser.

They just haven’t fully developed into one yet…

Transferring skills from the old gig

Being the start of the new school year, and teaching three subjects for the first time - including one completely from scratch, I’ve been quite busy.

One job I’ve unexpectedly picked up this year is that of transition coordinator (the one who oversees the integration of the incoming year seven’s and organising the peer support program which helps the new cohort).

Even though I’m only a week into the new task, there are many things familiar with the job.

Training leaders (who vary wildly in their capabilities).

Setting and enforcing leader expectations.

Juggling timetables and conflicting demands.

Organising small group input.

Communicating with schools.

Entertaining large groups of pre-teens.

All of these I used to do in youth ministry.

Many of them I also did last week during peer support.

The longer I teach, the more I find that my previous profession bleeds into my current job.

Group dynamics.

Pastoral care.

Meaningful banter.

Theological knowledge.

Communication strategies.

All of these, either intentionally or coincidentally, were gleaned during my time in ministry.

Now, in the secular workforce, they are receiving another trundle.

If the direction of expertise went the other direction - secular to ministry - then I’m sure that it would be seen as “tilling the soil for the Lord’s work.”

Why can’t it work in the opposite direction?