Thirty Minutes at a Time
Thirty minutes doesn’t seem like a lot of time.
But thirty minutes is 1,800 seconds.
1,800 seconds to create, discover, build, and connect.
1,800 seconds to try something new, learn from a mistake, encourage someone else, or discover something about ourselves.
And most days, I wish it could be sixty minutes.
But I’m learning that it isn’t always about how much time we have. Sometimes it’s about what we choose to do with the time we’re given.
I learned a long tome ago, that time management is important. We use timers and other little reminders to let the kids know when our time is almost up. Slowly, they’re learning how to manage those thirty minutes.
But I’m learning something too.
Thirty minutes may not seem like much, but there is a lot that can happen in 1,800 seconds.
Especially when we’re intentional with them.
With my younger classes, it isn’t unusual for them to look at each other, give a thumbs-up, and say, “Good job!” or “Way to go!”
Fourth and fifth graders are a little different.
Telling a room full of fourth or fifth graders, “Turn to your neighbor and tell them they did a good job,” can get you some interesting reactions.
I tried it with one particular class recently just because I wanted to see what they would do. They’re a pretty close group. I told them the other day that they argue like siblings. And they really do.
They’re a great group of kids, but goodness, they can fuss with each other like brothers and sisters.
When we finished our activity, I said, “All right. Turn to your neighbor and tell them they did a good job.”
There were some laughs.
A few looks.
That immediate 4th grade reaction made me wonder for just a second, Okay, maybe that was a mistake.
But then I started watching.
Some of the kids I probably would have least expected to take it seriously were patting each other on the back. Some gave high fives. Some actually looked at the person beside them and told them they had done a good job.
And I thought, Okay.
Maybe that wasn’t a mistake after all.
Because maybe one person heard “good job” that day who really needed to hear it.
Maybe somebody heard it who doesn’t hear it very often.
I don’t know.
But for whatever reason, I had felt impressed on my heart to have them do it, and after that initial laughter died down, I was really glad I had.
With my younger kids, we do something similar almost every day.
There’s a blue line on the floor in Room 108. When they come into class, they line up on the blue line and wait for instructions. And when our thirty minutes are over, they come back to that same blue line before they leave.
When they come in, I’ll ask, “All right, you’re on the blue line. What do you need to do?”
Several of them still answer, “We need to be quiet!”
And I remind them, “No. We need to be ready to listen.”
There is a difference.
At the end of class, we come back to that same blue line. Before they leave, I’ll tell them to look at somebody around them and say something kind about what they created.
“Tell somebody they did a good job.”
“Tell them you like their origami hat.”
“Tell them something you noticed about what they made.”
And I started listening.
I heard the expected, “Good job!”
But then I heard things like:
“I really like the colors you used.”
“That’s a really pretty rainbow.”
“That’s so neat.”
And some of these kids weren’t even sitting at the same table.
They had noticed.
That matters to me.
Because every child needs encouragement.
Actually, every person does.
We live in a world that can make almost everything a competition. Go to a Little League ballpark and you’ll see it. Go to school. Go to work. Scroll social media for five minutes.
Somebody has to be the best.
Somebody has to win.
Somebody has to have the most.
But everything in life doesn’t have to be a competition.
We have to teach our kids how to celebrate someone else’s accomplishment, even when that person is better at something than they are.
We have to teach them that somebody else doing well doesn’t take anything away from them.
And I think we teach that by practicing it.
These last few weeks in Room 108, that has been pressed on my heart more and more.
And strangely enough, it hasn’t stayed in Room 108.
I’ve found myself looking for opportunities to encourage adults too.
Not just walking around telling everybody, “Good job,” but intentionally noticing people.
Seeing something they’re doing well and saying it.
Recognizing effort.
Acknowledging kindness.
Letting somebody know that what they’re doing matters.
Because being intentional matters.
And our kiddos need to see us doing it too.
Encouragement is learned behavior.
Celebrating someone else is learned behavior.
Seeing people is learned behavior.
And if we want children to become adults who notice people, encourage people, and cheer for people, then maybe we need to show them what that looks like now.
I definitely don’t get it right all the time.
There are days I leave Room 108 thinking, I should have handled that differently.
I should have noticed that.
I should have said this instead.
And there are plenty of days when my prayer is simply, “God, help me do better tomorrow.”
But the longer I spend with these kids, the more I realize something.
I may be the “teacher” in Room 108, but I’m learning too.
There really is something special about kids.
Sometimes, in our effort to teach them lessons that will last far beyond the thirty minutes they spend with us, they end up teaching us something too.
This week, they reminded me to notice people.
To say the kind thing out loud.
To celebrate somebody else’s win.
To cheer when someone else succeeds.
Because maybe the most important thing we create in Room 108 won’t be something they can carry home in their backpacks.
Maybe it will be the kind of person they are becoming.
And while 1,800 seconds may not seem like much time, I’ve realized it only takes a few of those seconds to make someone feel noticed, appreciated, or encouraged.
Sometimes those few seconds are the ones that matter most.
And thirty minutes at a time, that matters.