Seminary was hard for me. I attended a school that challenged me mentally and stretched me theologically. It was exhausting work. But by God’s grace—and my wife’s amazing support—I graduated in 2011 after nearly five years of rigorous study. With an M.Div. degree in hand and a head full of ideas, I was ready to change the world! 

Some of my fellow graduates had grim prospects of being hired. They were busy candidating for positions at churches filled with people they’d never met. I was grateful to have a job waiting for me back in central Florida at a church full of loving, familiar faces. I couldn’t wait to unleash all the training I’d received and prove myself! 

To say I had unrealistic expectations would be an understatement. So nothing I write here is a dig against the church that brought me back on staff. This was after the economy tanked and many churches were forced to lay off employees. Nevertheless, I had grandiose ideas of preaching, teaching, counseling, and training others for ministry.  

But God had other plans. I was given a whistle, some dodge balls, and a group of loud children to coach. “Coach Tommy” was my new, post-seminary title. Those kids weren’t interested in hearing about how our sanctification relates to our justification, or how Athanasius saved the world from the Arianianism heresy. They cared more about obtaining the presidential physical fitness award for sit-ups completed in a minute.  

Most of my days looked pretty much the same. I began each morning teaching P.E. outside. The dew soaked my feet. The sun baked my head. By lunch, I’d have a splitting headache, soggy feet, and a sunburnt neck. After lunch, I’d teach logic to 7th and 8th graders (my other school gig), when their bellies were full of starch and carbs. 

For the last stretch of my day, I’d leave the classroom to go sit in an office I shared with another pastor. There, I’d draft the weekly church newsletter and work on Sunday School lessons for the church. That was my life. 

The takeaway? First of all, I was disappointed. I felt small. Small life. Small ministry. Small opportunities. Small service. Small office. And a small paycheck to boot! 

I was hearing glory stories from the seminary peers I once pitied. Some had landed incredible jobs serving in large churches. They were preaching and counseling regularly. They were impacting and changing lives. They were living the dream! 

Me? I was refereeing dodge-ball games every morning in wet grass. I was having conferences with confused parents who wanted to know why their 7th grader—who never took notes or completed the assigned homework—was failing my class. 

I couldn’t see how God, who had called me to a seminary 3,000 miles on the other side of the United States, away from everything and everyone familiar, to live on a shoestring budget in a tiny apartment for nearly 5 years, could do this. I couldn’t unravel the mystery of how he could equip me to engage in ministry and yet send me back to FL as a PE coach and logic teacher. What the heck, God! Seriously?    

So I began to compare my small achievements and efforts to that of my seminary peers. And it produced something really ugly in my heart. I began to despise the work I was doing. That’s a terrible place to be in life, but ten years later, it’s a place I’ve found many, many Christians to be. 

Around the same time, we had our 4th child. We’re in the middle of potty-training and changing diapers. We were exhausted all the time, not to mention broke and accumulating more debt. I wanted to serve God and change the world—not this. 

Then I heard a sermon by Doctor Martyn Lloyd-Jones about how we so often look for God to work only through extraordinary measures, and miss His miraculous operations in the day-to-day grind of our lives. He quoted a verse in Zech 4:10 “For who has despised the day of small things.” His passing comment arrested my attention and gripped my heart. I began to study that passage and was astonished again to discover how the Bible, written so long ago in a culture foreign to us, grapples with our struggles.

What was going on in Zechariah 4? God’s people were rebuilding the legendary temple…sort of. Nothing was more important for the identity of a Jew in that time than a temple. It was a place to gather together with God’s people in God’s place. A place where God dwelt, where sacrifices were offered up, and glory came down.

The work of rebuilding is slow and painstaking. In fact, it will take 20 years to complete. The work gets interrupted, stalled, and halted. There is opposition to deal with both internally and externally. But finally, the first stage is complete. The foundation is complete. Many celebrated this. They embraced the day with joy. 

But for others, it was anticlimatic. Lackluster. it was small—really small. Underwhelming, unimpressive, and unremarkable. Nothing to write home about. In their eyes, nothing to celebrate. In fact, some began to weep. They were devastated. 

They’ve been in captivity for decades, returned to a wrecked city, and this foundation represents their new lives. Normal. Ordinary. Nothing like the former glory. Crushing.

But God has a word for his people. This verse in Zechariah—along with the other corresponding  passages in the minor prophets—offer astonishingly relevant insight into our underwhelmed and disappointed hearts. Whether it’s your health, your career, your family, your relationships, your ministry, or maybe just the year 2020, God tells us in no uncertain terms, “Guard yourself against despising what may seem ‘small’ in your eyes.”

The verse actually ends on a surprising note. "For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice.” God is saying, “Trust me. This may appear small, insignificant, and unremarkable right now. But the day is coming when you will rejoice in it. You’ll celebrate what you once despised.” 

I preached that verse last Sunday and a young man who was once a P.E. student of mine was sitting in the congregation. He came up and hugged me after the message as we shared a few laughs and memories from my “Coach Tommy” days.  

He reminded me of some “big” moments from those “small” days. The seemingly mundane moments where a kid was encouraged, a prayer of thanks was offered, a correction issued, or a class watched in silence as I received the call that my grandmother died. Those moments all mattered to God and to those kids. I’m sad that they didn’t seem to matter to me at the time.

God loves small beginnings. After all, that’s what we celebrate every December, isn’t it? The incarnation. God became “small” and arrived in a manager. Many despised His arrival, but later, they rejoiced. And so can we.