The Power of Small Moments

When I sat down to write this post, I honestly didn’t know where to start. I kept racking my brain, asking God what direction He wanted me to go. And in the middle of that wrestling, my dad came to mind.

My father passed away on March 13, 2021. He was only 56.

Even now, thinking about him brings a mix of emotions — the happy memories that make me smile, the painful ones that still sting, the moments I wish I could go back and ask him for advice, and the deep gratitude for the life we shared. Grief is strange like that. It hurts and heals at the same time.

But as I sat there remembering him, something became clear: What we remember about the people who shaped us is almost always found in the small moments.

Not the big events. Not the perfectly planned days. Not the highlight reel.

It’s the ordinary, everyday moments that stay with us.

And that’s where this post began.

In Deuteronomy 6, God tells His people to talk about His commands “when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” In other words, the small, unpolished, everyday moments.

And if I’m honest, those are the moments where I mess up the most.

I’m a dad who needs grace every single day. A husband who gets it wrong more often than I’d like. A ministry leader who teaches kids about Jesus while constantly needing Jesus myself.

But even in my weakness, I’m learning this: Kids have so much in their hearts.

They have questions. They have fears. They have hopes. They have thoughts about God, the world, and themselves.

And they want to talk about these things — with you.

They’re waiting for us to slow down long enough to listen. They’re waiting for us to ask one more question. They’re waiting for us to care about what’s going on inside them. Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is simply be present.

As a dad, I want my kids to remember that I loved Jesus — not perfectly, but honestly. I want them to remember that I loved their mom, even when life was stressful. I want them to remember that I apologized when I messed up, that I listened when they talked, and that I cared about what was happening in their hearts. As a ministry leader, I want the same thing for the kids in our church.

I want them to know that God sees them. That God hears them. That God cares about their questions. That God welcomes their honesty. That God is near, even when life feels confusing or dark. I want them to see adults who don’t pretend to have it all together, but who keep coming back to Jesus again and again.

When my kids look back someday, I hope they don’t remember a dad who was perfect, because that’s not who I am. I hope they remember a dad who kept trying. A dad who kept showing up. A dad who kept choosing grace, even when he needed it more than anyone else.

I hope they remember that I listened. That I cared. That I prayed for them. That I pointed them to Jesus, not by being flawless, but by being forgiven.

And as I think about my own dad, I realize that’s exactly what I remember about him too. Not perfection. Not a spotless record. But presence. Love. Moments. A life that mattered because it was shared.

And I hope the kids in our ministry remember the same thing. I hope they know and remember that they were loved, valued, and heard. That they had a place where their questions mattered. That they had adults who believed God was doing something in them right now, not someday in the future.

If you feel like you’re messing up more than you’re getting it right, you’re not alone. If you feel like you’re stumbling your way through parenting or discipleship, welcome to the club. If you feel like you’re constantly in need of grace, good. That’s exactly where Jesus meets us.

The gospel isn’t about perfection. It’s about direction. It’s about turning back to Jesus again and again.

And as we do that, in the small, ordinary, imperfect moments. Our kids are watching. They’re learning. They’re being shaped.

Not by our perfection, but by our dependence on Christ.

And that’s something worth remembering.

For His Glory,