From my vantage point at the back, her smile radiated and his hand punched confidently into the air as song lyrics proclaimed Jesus the King. They were two worshipers juxtaposed across my line of vision. These teens unashamedly and joyfully responded to God, their faith in Jesus on display, and it brought me to tears.

I had spent the worship service much like I spent it every week—passing out paper and markers, rummaging for other quiet activities to keep little hands busy and voices quiet, hearing bits and pieces of the sermon, bouncing a baby on my hip, and whispering variations of “Shh, time to stop talking, Pastor Shayne is praying.” In short, doing everything I could to keep my children from distracting others. 

Our small church didn’t have a children’s ministry, so everyone was together. I loved much about the arrangement. My children experienced all the aspects of church together, and they could tell you what the communion elements meant and why we celebrated it every week. They saw adults pray and sing. They got to listen to Daddy play guitar and preach sometimes. But I’d be a liar if I said it was easy. Sometimes I was bone tired, weary, and wished I could listen to the sermon without my four little “distractions” in tow. Sometimes I handed out markers with an overwhelmed, grudging heart. And more than once I wished I could send them along to their own classes and call it a day.

“Is it even worth it?” I asked myself. “Are they taking in anything? Am I teaching them they can worship too or just to be quiet so the adults can concentrate?” 

But Worship Isn’t About Me

So it was at the end of another such service when I noticed two teenagers simply and humbly worshiping. Neither was putting on a show or drawing attention to themselves. The teens’ sincerity struck a tender spot in my knotted up, weary soul, and spurred my own heart to respond. The worship service was not about me or whether I was inconvenienced. It wasn’t about being able to sit with rapt attention in the front row with a notebook and pen in hand. Worship is about God. And my heart needed to remember I could worship even when it wasn’t easy and didn’t look the way I longed for it to look. And how did my attitude seep through to my children? What were the messages I was sending? My self-focus almost missed something beautiful—the heartfelt responses of others around me and the opportunity to bow my own heart to God.

The body of Christ is such a marvelous gift. They probably had no idea anyone was watching, but I needed the testimonies of these young ones with their radiant smiles and raised hands. I needed them to encourage and to convict. 

The teenagers at our church were fantastic and not just these two. All of them sought ways to help and serve. They participated in community group and added thoughtful comments to the discussion. Their desire to grow in the faith shone brightly. They gave me so much hope for the next generation.

They gave me hope that my small people noticed them also. And they did. “When I’m a teenager I’m going to sing and play the guitar at church!” sweet voices chorused around the dinner table.

Disciples at Any Age

With Jesus’s parable about the sower at the forefront of my mind, I breathed a prayer that day (Matt. 13:1–8). “Oh that I would get to see my own children worshiping with joy and zeal! Lord, let the Word fall on good ground. Let its roots grow deep. Let it produce fruit one hundred fold.”

In the soil cultivating and seed planting days, we pray for rain. Harvest seems so far away.

Yet these teens were not so far removed from their childhood, and God was clearly at work. My children not only saw adults who loved Jesus, but they also got to observe disciples who were closer in age. These young friends were seed planters also, and they didn’t even know it. 

All the hours gathering with the church were not wasted. Surrounded by the body, my small people began to understand Jesus is not just a word, but a real, living person. He is the Savior whose body was broken and whose blood was poured out for them (Isa. 53:5; Matt. 26:26–28). He’s worth the focus of our affections.

Finally that same day, I knew a moment of grief for another teenage girl from the past. Exuberant and “on fire” for Jesus, she knew God could move mountains despite her largely untested faith. She was the girl serving any way she could, eager to go on mission trips, work at camp, and change the world. She dreamed of doing “big things for God.” Limitations? Nah. God could do whatever he wanted. I was that girl. At fourteen my life had turned a 180, and I’d never looked back. 

“Take my life and let it be consecrated Lord to thee,” I had prayed upon many a church stair. 

I grieved this past girl with fewer scars and big expectations, the girl with a fresh face, not yet battle worn. For a moment I missed the days when the Christian life seemed limitless. Big things were on the horizon. Opportunities abounded. I couldn’t wait to see what this wild and wonderful life held.

I also missed the freedom of young adult days, when limits and responsibilities still were few, when I could give myself to the ways I wanted to serve God. Life has a way of looking nothing like one expects, however. Even the things we long for, pray for, and dearly love seem lack-luster some days. Answered prayer may be a delight, but the life we craved may also be more difficult than we knew. We sing, “Father, use my ransomed life in any way you choose,” and mean it. But sometimes we wonder if what he chooses truly is best.

Time and trials refract our big dreams, bending them with changed perspectives. I can grieve that zealous, enthusiastic teenager, but also be thankful that “40 Something” year-old Ami is comprehensively different. And if I live long enough, the Ami I’ll be in my 80s will also be radically different than who I am now. Life lived brings maturity, wisdom, and more shades of gray—not everything is black and white. Mercifully, sanctification is progressive (Phil. 1:6).

Small Things Are Big Things

Perhaps God doesn’t have big things for me to do right now. Perhaps I need to learn faithfulness in the small things. 

Limitations aren’t always a bad thing. The King of the universe limited himself. The limitless one took on limits, fences, boundaries. Just like his brothers, he put on skin that sweat, stank after a long day, and needed washing. He put on a body subject to fatigue and illness. He limited his understanding so his brain would develop like the other children around him. Ultimately, he limited his power and refused to rescue himself in order that we could be rescued (Phil. 2:5–8).

Maybe my limits are also good.

Maybe I need to remind myself: Do small stuff for God. Despise not mundane faithfulness. In the upside down (or truly right side up) kingdom of Christ, small things become big things.

I’m not here to be a cynic or to rob my young friends of zeal or big dreams. Please keep dreaming guys! For truly nothing is impossible for God. You could indeed be a William Carey or Amy Carmichael. Or for more modern references, a Jackie Hill Perry or David Platt. 

The kingdom still needs dreamers, and the weary moms in the back need you.

But I’ll tell you, young friends, the plans God has for you probably look much different than the plans you have for yourself. The road will take unexpected turns. There will be more thorns and storms than you’d like to think. The valleys may be exceptionally deep. But there will also be more fragrant flowers and more ravishing sunsets than you can imagine. 

God’s path is hard. But God’s path is worth it. There are indeed higher joys and deeper peace found only as we learn to know Christ more (Phil. 3:8-10).

A Spectacular Plan

We like to tell youth, “God has a spectacular plan for you. He could use your life in mighty ways.” Young friends, we are not lying to you. But perhaps God’s spectacular plan, the mighty things he can do in and through you aren’t visible things. Maybe mighty isn’t always a public platform or large influence.

Maybe spectacular is a heart with bed rock, unshakeable faith. Maybe spectacular is one who gives the shirt off his back and does the unseen things, without commendation or applause. Maybe spectacular is the encouragement you give a weary mom with your honest worship.

So young friends, set your eyes on the cross. Since we know the spectacular is wherever Christ is, you can confidently lay your dreams at his feet. He may shape them, mold them, ask for them, or strip them away. But if he does, know you have a Father who is always good. He might take your dream, remake it, and hand it right back to you when the time is right. Or he might replace it with a different dream. Either way, his plan is better. 

Better doesn’t mean easier—a life always marked by sunshine and cool breezes—but it does mean he is there. And it does mean he is sovereign. And it does mean he is always kind. And it does mean you can trust him. 

Keep on worshiping with a sincere heart. Keep outwardly responding. Hang on to your enthusiasm and let God’s light shine through. There’s a weary mom at the back who needs you.