Wholehearted and Finite: Teaching Effectively within a Theology of Limits and Calling

“Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going to work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering.”
—Romans 12:1, The Message

My career in education began in a high school English classroom, where I spent my first four years before moving on to college teaching. Travel back with me, if you will, to that first year of teaching. A year earlier, I had still been in college—where evenings meant staying up late to watch a movie, hang out with friends, and engage in the kinds of conversations that only college students have, debating life’s important questions. But one year later, in that first year of teaching, my evenings looked different: I’d work up until dinner, eat quickly, and promptly fall asleep on the couch while “reading.”

This rhythm didn’t just define that first year. It returned every time I taught a new class, which seemed to be every year, and soon, it became a habit: stacks of papers, high-energy days, the evening blur of reading, lesson planning, and grading. Teaching was invigorating and meaningful, but by the end of the week, I was usually spent.

The patterns I describe are all too common among educators. Early mornings, late nights, and weekends devoted to preparation, instruction, and evaluation—all contribute to a sense that one’s time is continuously claimed by the role.

In light of this, a passage from Romans 12 offers a compelling lens through which to reflect on the vocation of teaching. The apostle Paul’s exhortation, particularly as rendered in Eugene Peterson’s The Message, invites us to consider our daily habits:

“Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering.” (Rom. 12:1, The Message)

For those who teach, everyday ordinary life is deeply intertwined with work. Teaching shapes how we spend our time, our energy, even our thoughts. So, when Paul urges us to offer our whole selves to God, is he suggesting that we eat, sleep, and breathe our work? Is that what it means to place our lives before God as an offering?

Observing those who seem to give every moment to their work makes it plain that round-the-clock work isn’t what we are called to. If we try this approach, we may find ourselves drifting into one of two extremes. It’s possible that we might become teaching superstars— committed, successful, and admired. But beneath it all, we may also carry a subtle Savior complex, tinged with a sense of martyrdom: “Without my sacrifice, students wouldn’t have learned.” Or the other extreme is also possible. We might give so much time and energy to our work that we end up depleted—shells of ourselves, going through the motions, spiritually dry, even resentful. We begin to feel enslaved to our work, rather than called to it.

Here’s the tension: We want to be effective in our teaching. But what does that really mean for those of us in Christian education? Let’s look at Romans 12 again, now from another translation:

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.” (Rom. 12:1, NIV)

Or to paraphrase: “Offer your whole selves to God.” Thus, when we read the full verse from the NIV, the deeper question becomes: What does it mean to offer our whole selves to God when we do so in view of God’s mercy? And perhaps more provocatively: What if effective teaching is not about doing more?

Theological Reflection: Reframing Effectiveness through a Biblical Theology of Limits and Calling

It would be easy to read Romans 12 in isolation and think that we ought to focus solely on our work. But that’s not quite right. To understand what it means to offer our whole selves to God, we need to read Scripture in harmony with Scripture. When we offer our whole selves to God, we must begin with this question: Who is our Creator calling us to be?

It’s true that work is creational—something God instated before the fall. Work is part of his design for humanity, and therefore, it is very good. As we read in Genesis 1:27–28:

“God created humankind in his own image,
in the image of God he created them,
male and female he created them.

God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply! Fill the earth and subdue it! Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and every creature that moves on the ground.” (Gen. 1:27-28, NET)

Immediately after we learn that we are made in the image of God—and are to reflect him in the work he gives us—we learn something stunning about the character of God: He set down his work, and he rested.

31 God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

2 Thus the heavens and the earth were finished and all their multitude. 2 On the sixth day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. 3 So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested from all the work that he had done in creation. (Gen. 1:31-2:3, NRSV)

God rested, and he commands us, his image bearers, to rest as well. This divine rhythm of work and rest is not just a suggestion; it is built into the very structure of creation and the covenant life of God’s people. The Sabbath is not merely a pause in our productivity; it is a spiritual practice with deep theological significance. The Sabbath is not the only time we are called to rest, but it is a weekly reminder of how to order our days and our years, our lives and our hours. Sabbath is more than Sundays. It is a reminder that God calls us to rest.

In the principles and passages that I am about to share, we will see four key dimensions of God’s call to rest: its necessity even in the busiest times, its justice in protecting others, its role in reminding us of who sanctifies us, and its function as a covenant sign of God’s love.

1.     Rest is Necessary Even in the Busiest Times

When should we rest? Exodus 34 reveals that rest is not contingent on convenience.

21 “Six days you shall work, but on the seventh day you shall rest; even in plowing time and in harvest time you shall rest.” (Exod. 34:21, ESV)

Even during the most demanding seasons—plowing and harvest, when livelihoods are on the line—God calls his people to pause. This reminds us that no amount of urgency exempts us from our need for restoration. Rest is an act of trust, not timing.

2.     Rest is Something We Are Called to Protect for Others

Elsewhere in Exodus, we see that rest is about more than individual initiative: it is also about communal care. Sabbath is not just for us; it is for others as well, including the vulnerable.

12 “Six days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day you shall rest so that your ox and your donkey may have relief and your homeborn slave and the resident alien may be refreshed.” (Exod. 23:12, NRSV)

God insists that we extend rest to others, including animals, servants, and foreigners. Sabbath is not a private luxury. Our rest practices should reflect concern for the wellbeing of others, not just ourselves. We see this concern for others evidenced in the book of Nehemiah, when exiles from Israel returned to the land and, after some chiding from Ezra and a time of public confession, they recommitted to living in obedience to God. Their oaths included this promise—which was grounded in the idea of helping others to observe Sabbath rest:

“…and if the peoples of the land bring in merchandise or any grain on the Sabbath day to sell, we will not buy it from them on the Sabbath or on a holy day” (Neh. 10:31, NRSV) 

In my family and community, this practice of protecting rest for others leads many of us to avoid going to stores or restaurants on Sunday, and for many faculty members, it means that we avoid scheduling tests on Monday and consider the weekly deadlines for online homework so that students have the freedom to rest on Sundays.

3.     Rest is How We Remember that God Sanctifies Us—We Do Not Sanctify Ourselves

Exodus 31 draws a clear theological line: Sabbath is not about self-improvement; it’s about surrender.

“…You shall surely keep my Sabbaths, for this is a sign between me and you throughout your generations, given in order that you may know that I, the Lord, sanctify you.” (Exod. 31:13, NRSV)

God is the one who makes us holy. Sabbath interrupts our attempts to earn, to prove, to strive—reminding us that we are sanctified by grace, not by productivity.

4.     Rest is a Covenant Reminder of God’s Love for Us

Though this next passage sounds severe, its heart is covenantal. God gives Sabbath as a lasting sign of the promises that he makes and keeps in his relationship with his people. The intensity of the language underscores the importance of the gift. Keeping Sabbath is not just obedience; it is participation in a divine rhythm that reflects God’s love, provision, and ongoing presence.

15 Six days shall work be done, but the seventh day is a Sabbath of solemn rest, holy to the Lord; whoever does any work on the Sabbath day shall be put to death. 16 Therefore the Israelites shall keep the Sabbath, observing the Sabbath throughout their generations, as a perpetual covenant. 17 It is a sign forever between me and the Israelites that in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day he rested and was refreshed.’” (Exod. 31:15-17, NRSV)

Though this language may seem extreme, it was given in this way for a good reason. The Sabbath command wasn’t about legalism; it was about life. We could compare the Sabbath command to a warning sign on a mountain road: when it says, "stay in your lane," it’s not being picky; it’s protecting you from the edge of the cliff. The command to rest is like that. It guards us from falling into patterns that lead to spiritual, emotional, and physical harm. It promises us that God’s way is right and true.

When God commands us to rest, he is inviting us to live within the creaturely limits that are part of his good design for our well-being. He is not being harsh or rigid. After all, Jesus healed and forgave on the Sabbath, and in today’s world we are grateful for medical professionals and ministers who take their Sabbaths on days that aren’t Sundays. But that said, God is serious about rightly ordering our work and rest—and about resisting the false gods that drive us to overwork.

Notice how Exodus 23:12 (which we looked at previously for principle 3) is followed by these important words in verse 13:

12 “Six days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day you shall rest so that your ox and your donkey may have relief and your homeborn slave and the resident alien may be refreshed. 13 Be attentive to all that I have said to you. Do not invoke the names of other gods; do not let them be heard on your lips.” (Exod. 23:12-13, NRSV)

This connection between rest and idolatry is striking. God doesn’t just command rest—he warns us that our inability to rest may point to deeper spiritual issues, going as deep as the worship of false gods.

What might those false gods be? In his book Crazy Busy: A (Mercifully) Short Book about a (Really) Big Problem, Rev. Kevin DeYoung puts it plainly,

[W]e understand deep down that the problem is not just with our schedules or with the world's complexity--something is not right with us. The chaos is at least partly self-created. The disorder of daily life is a product of disorder in the most innermost places of the heart. Things are not the way they ought to be because we are not the way we are supposed to be. Which means our understanding of busyness must start with the one sin that begets so many of our other sins: pride.

            Pride is subtle and shape shifting. There is more of it at work in our hearts than we know, and more of it pulsing through our busyness than we realize. Pride is the villain with a thousand faces.[1]

In his chapter on “The Killer P’s,” DeYoung shows the many faces that pride can take:[2]

1.     Needing to please people

2.     Seeking pats on the back

3.     Overestimating our own performance

4.     Accumulating possessions

5.     Trying to prove myself

6.     Craving pity

7.     Poor planning by refusing to ask for others’ help

8.     Grasping for power

9.     Pursuing perfectionism

10.  Seeking status or position

11.  Striving for prestige

When our pride leads us into restless striving, sabbath-keeping is one way God calls us back to trust. When pride becomes a false god, we need to cast it out. Sabbath-keeping is not merely about rhythm; it is about repentance. It is a practice of reorienting our hearts and lives around God’s provision and grace, in line with these four principles:

1.     Rest is necessary even in the busiest times.

2.     Rest is something we are called to protect for others.

3.     Rest is how we remember that God sanctifies us—we do not sanctify ourselves.

4.     Rest is a covenant reminder of God’s love for us.

To summarize these Scriptural teachings: When we embrace God’s call to rest, we are doing far more than taking a break; we are living into a rhythm that declares our trust in God’s provision, affirms the dignity of others, and reminds us of our identity as God’s sanctified people. Rest reorients us to grace: it reminds us that our worth is not measured by our productivity and that our salvation is not earned but given. In a culture—and often, in an academic world—that prizes constant activity, choosing rest is an act of faith and resistance. It is a covenantal rhythm that shapes us into people who remember God’s grace and provision in our lives.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that all of the passages that I have shared so far are from the Old Testament, and perhaps you are wondering if those calls to rest still apply to us. Sabbath-keeping can seem like one of those Old Testament practices that ended with the ceremonial law—like animal sacrifices. And it’s true: Jesus is now our eternal High Priest (Hebrews 7:26–28). But while the ceremonial law is fulfilled, the creational rhythm of rest remains. God’s design for humanity endures. Colossians 3 reminds us of our ongoing calling as people of God:

“…[clothe] yourselves with the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge according to the image of its creator.” (Col. 3:5-10, NRSV)

In this New Testament epistle, we are reminded once again of what we learned in Genesis 1 about the Creator whose image we bear: He rested. So too we, as New Testament people, must rest—not merely as law-keeping, but as image-bearing. Rest is not optional for followers of Christ. It is a witness to the truth that we are creatures, not gods.

In a talk based on his book You’re Only Human, theologian Kelly Kapic helps us name the heart of the issue:

“When we think we have a time management problem, we may actually have a theology problem. When we’re constantly trying to do more, we may be trying to earn God’s love—rather than living in response to it.”[3]

The lie that we must do more, be more, and carry it all ourselves is seductive. But God calls us to live differently—to embrace our finitude, not as a flaw, but as a gift. Kapic encourages us to praise God for our limits:  for our need for sleep and food, for our reliance on others, for our need for community, and most of all, for our dependence on God.

Of course, living this way raises questions we as educators often carry quietly: “Can I really do it all?” Grading papers, mentoring students, conducting research, attending meetings, caring for family, cultivating friendships—the list goes on. We ask ourselves: “Am I doing enough? Am I good enough?” These are fair questions in a world that constantly tells us we must be productive, impressive, and indispensable. In academia, where performance often feels like identity, the pressure only intensifies.

But Scripture tells a different story. Paul writes in 2 Corinthians:

17 “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” 18 For it is not those who commend themselves that are approved but those whom the Lord commends.” (2 Cor. 10:17-18, NRSV)

We don’t need to prove our worth. We already have the Lord’s approval. Not because of what we do, but because of who we are: his children, his chosen people who are made in his image and dearly loved.

To know we are made in God’s image is to remember also that we are not God. That was the serpent’s lie to Eve in the garden: “You will be like God.”

4 But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not die, 5 for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” (Gen. 3:4-5, NRSV)

But Eve couldn’t be like God, and neither can we. We weren’t made to know everything, do everything, or be everything. God made us to depend on him. And that includes us. Our work is meaningful, but we are not the ones holding the world together. Jesus is. In Colossians 1, Paul tells us that Christ holds all things together:

“15 Christ is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, 16 for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. 17 He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 18 He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. 19 For in him all the fullness of God[k] was pleased to dwell, 20 and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.” (Col. 1:15-20, NRSV)

This truth doesn’t diminish our calling; it re-centers it. We are not here to prove our worth, and we are not here to earn love. We are already loved—by the Father who made us, the Son who gave His life for us, and the Spirit who dwells within us and sustains us. That love gives us freedom: to teach with humility, to rest without guilt, and to serve without striving for recognition.

That is what Paul means in Romans 12 when he urges us to offer our bodies as living sacrifices. It is a call not to relentless work, but to worshipful surrender.

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.” (Rom. 12:1, NIV)

Romans 12 isn’t a call to burnout. Instead, it is a call to live in the freedom of God’s mercy and love, to be faithful in being who he made us to be and calls us to be, while recognizing that He will accomplish His purposes—using our limited, finite selves to bring great glory to him. Romans 12 is an invitation into rhythms of grace.

At this point, it is worth pausing to reflect on how this theological vision might intersect with your lived experience. For instance:

  1. What are the “limits” in my own teaching or work that I am reluctant to embrace, and how might accepting those limits lead to greater faithfulness and trust in God?

  2. In what ways can I create space for rest in my schedule, for myself and for others, as a way of honoring God's design and reflecting his love?

  3. How does the truth that God’s mercy is the foundation of my work—rather than my own effort—change the way I approach my teaching and my own limitations?

These questions underscore the theological claim that accepting our creaturely limits is not an obstacle to faithfulness, but rather a pathway into it. If the preceding discussion has made that case persuasively, the next logical question is this: How can educators practice effective, excellent teaching within our creaturely limits?

My point is not that we should abandon our workaholism in favor of lives of leisure. Rest is vital, but so is hard work. We are called to rhythms of work and rest. To understand this better, consider a source of enduring theological insight from the Reformed tradition, the Heidelberg Catechism, specifically Question and Answer 1. Not only does it provide comfort, but it also teaches us about purpose in life.

Q: What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A: That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—

to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,

and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.

He also watches over me in such a way

that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven;

in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life

and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.

Take time to linger on that teaching: because we belong to Christ, He not only assures us of salvation but makes us wholeheartedly willing and ready to live for Him. That’s more than just forgiveness; it’s a call to service. And Christ, by his Holy Spirit, equips us for that service.

That is practical theology for our daily lives, especially when it comes to teaching. Theological insights—such as those drawn from Romans 12 and the Heidelberg Catechism—are not merely abstract affirmations; they shape the contours of our daily work. When applied to the classroom, they prompt us to ask not only why we teach but also how we teach faithfully within our limitations.

Educational research on teaching effectiveness shows that motivation and ability are two key factors for teaching effectively. Two interrelated components—motivation and ability—consistently emerge as central to effective teaching. In other words, a teacher must be both willing and ready: internally motivated to engage the work with purpose and externally equipped with the skills, tools, and preparation necessary for success. These two factors—motivation and ability, or willingness and readiness—are deeply intertwined.

Faithfulness in teaching, then, involves a commitment to cultivate both dimensions within the context of our God-given limits. It calls for rhythms of work and rest that reflect not only pedagogical wisdom but also theological integrity.

Wholeheartedly Willing and Ready

How, then, should teaching effectiveness be evaluated? At its core, the answer is surprisingly straightforward: the true measure of effective teaching is student learning.

Effective teaching is not measured by how much effort you put in or how hard you worked. No one is going to hook you up to a sweat meter to see how hard you tried and call that the measure of effective teaching—despite the fact that you likely work long and hard at what you do. The fact is, the real measure of effective teaching is what your students have learned and how well they have learned it.

This isn’t the same as testing what students know at the end of the course. Certainly, students must demonstrate mastery of the content, and we are responsible for that. But we also must ask: What have they truly learned? What new insights or skills did they gain? Did they grow in their ability to apply what they know in meaningful ways?

Even students who arrived already knowledgeable should leave with something more. If the focus is only on what you’ve delivered, you might miss the real measure of student learning: how much growth your students have experienced.

Some might argue that teachers are only responsible for getting students to a certain standard. But if we are to be wholeheartedly willing and ready—faithful stewards of the time God has given us with our students—we should want every moment to count. That means caring about the learning of every student: the ones who arrived well-prepared, the ones who struggle with every assignment, the ones who wonder if this class will ever matter in their lives. What can they learn through our teaching? What will they carry forward?

We are not called to be the be-all and end-all for our students—but we are called to be faithful in the work set before us.

Teaching Within a Theology of Limits and Calling

Effective teaching isn’t a one-size-fits-all endeavor. There’s no single right method that guarantees success. But over years of teaching, observing classrooms, mentoring faculty, and reviewing countless student responses, I’ve noticed some recurring themes—principles that can shape our teaching in faithful and fruitful ways. This final section details five principles for planning, and five principles for our teaching posture. This framework isn’t a checklist. It’s a way to reflect on our practice through the lens of our God-given limits and calling. It’s a tool to help us discern how any new method, assignment, or classroom habit contributes to deep learning and healthy rhythms of work and rest—for our students and for ourselves.

Planning. Let’s begin where all good teaching begins: with planning.

1.     Plan for student to do the heavy lifting. If you think back to your own experience as a student, you might remember a model of teaching where the teacher was the one doing most of the work—explaining, solving, analyzing—while students sat quietly and tried to absorb it. Some students willingly played along with the game, while others were bored, and still others thought they understood—until they went home and tried to do their homework. The teacher was doing all the lifting, and students were simply watching.

An analogy can help us to see the problem with this approach: imagine you hire a personal trainer, and three times a week, you show up at the gym and watch your trainer lift weights. Are you getting stronger? Of course not. If we want to build muscle, we have to do the work. And if students are going to grow intellectually, they need to be the ones engaging actively—thinking, analyzing, creating, and problem solving.

When we as teachers do most of the intellectual heavy lifting, we may become sharper in our own discipline, but our students may not grow as learners. So, in your planning, aim to design class time that shifts the weight to your students—so that they stretch and grow. By working within our limits, we can focus more on what students are doing and less on what we, as teachers, are doing.
2.     Plan for students to do meaningful, challenging work. When we shift the work to students, we must ensure that the work is worthwhile. It needs to be the kind of work that helps them to be “wholeheartedly willing and ready” to live for Christ, too.

Let’s start with students’ willingness. Students, like us, are more motivated when they can see the relevance. When they’re given meaningful work—real problems, real audiences, real impact—they are far more likely to invest deeply.

Let them work on real problems for real people. Maybe that sounds simple if you teach a class where students are building machines or fixing widgets. But this doesn’t just apply in fields like engineering or business. It’s also possible in more abstract courses, including in the humanities. One of our English professors at Dordt University, Sara de Waal, gives students the opportunity to create literature collections based on themes they care about. One of her students reached out to me and asked, “I’m researching what people read when they’re grieving. What’s been meaningful to you in times of loss?” That question led to rich, authentic learning—not just about texts, but about people, meaning, and healing.
This brings us back to our theme: just as we are called to be wholeheartedly willing and ready, so too are our students. Through Christ, they are called to be both willing and ready, motivated and capable. That means we should challenge them. Expect excellence from every student—not just the high achievers. Each one is an image bearer of God, created to be curious and called to love and serve.
So yes, teach the lower levels of Bloom’s taxonomy, but don’t stop there. Reach for the higher levels—synthesis, evaluation, creativity—and even beyond: aim to help students grow in wisdom, virtue, faith, hope, and love.
Planning meaningful and challenging work not only supports student growth; it also allows us as teachers to focus our limited energy on what matters most. It prevents us from over-functioning in our own role and helps us live more fully into our calling as facilitators and guides.
3.     Plan to spend time mentoring students. If students are doing the heavy lifting, they’ll need guidance. And that happens best through mentoring. Think of the well-known learning sequence:

I do, you watch. I do, you help. You do, I help. You do, I watch.

Mentoring lives in the middle of that progression—those sweet spots where students are actively trying and you as a teacher are purposefully walking alongside them. That’s where the joy of teaching happens. You see the lights come on. Students see that you are helping them—and they bloom when they see that you believe they can make progress, grow, and be successful. Together, you build momentum.

But that kind of mentoring doesn’t just happen. We have to plan for it. That might mean changing your course structure or adjusting assignments so there’s time to work with students one-on-one, in small groups, or in class-wide coaching sessions. Let students do the work—and make time to walk with them as they do.

Mentoring is a faithful response to our call to teach with care and attentiveness. And because it is focused, relational work, it allows us to steward our time more wisely than trying to manage every aspect of learning ourselves.

4.     Plan to teach by giving great feedback as often as you can. Feedback is essential to learning—but it has to go beyond grading. Let’s go back to the gym: imagine you’re trying to improve your free throw shot in basketball. You shoot, and the coach yells “yes” or “no” depending on whether the ball goes in. That’s not helpful. You need to know how to change your technique—what to adjust, what to think about, what habits to build.

Now multiply that by the complexity of a college-level subject. How can we expect students to learn without specific, timely, encouraging, and challenging feedback? And feedback isn’t just for skills or content—it’s also for shaping attitudes, habits, and dispositions. Sometimes that means having hard conversations. Sometimes the heart needs coaching, too.

Plan accordingly:  align your assessments, assignments, and instruction so they reinforce one another. Let feedback be the thread that ties them all together—and let that thread lead toward real growth.

When we prioritize feedback over grading, we free ourselves from the endless treadmill of point-keeping and instead focus on forming students. That shift is a more faithful use of our energy, and it helps us stay within our limits by doing less policing and more coaching.

5.     Plan for students to have rhythms of work and rest. Like us, students are whole people. They need margin. They need rest. They need structure that supports them as learners and as humans.

That starts with thoughtful pacing and flexible planning. Consider your deadlines. Make room for grace when life unravels. At the same time, create expectations and small consequences that help students build discipline and accountability.

Encourage hard work but also teach students to rest well. As the Heidelberg Catechism puts it in question and answer 103, we are called to take “festive days of rest.” Sundays and holidays are not interruptions—they are part of God’s design. Respect them in your course calendar.

Let your planning reflect your theology: that students are more than machines, and that rest is not a luxury—it’s a necessity. Like us, students need margin for the unexpected, so build some opportunity for flex or change into your syllabus. Let snow days be snow days; instead of adding extra homework when you can’t cover everything in class, find ways to cut or consolidate.

Building rest into our course structure reminds us that we are not unlimited beings. It reinforces a faithful dependence on God’s provision rather than our own striving—for both our students and ourselves.

Be Transformed by the Renewing of Your Mind

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. Romans 12:2, NIV

 

Having examined five key strategies for planning and structuring our teaching in ways that honor both our limitations and our vocational calling, we now turn to an equally essential dimension: the posture with which we carry out this work. These next themes are less about what we do and more about how we show up. They are habits of mind and heart—ways of being that reflect a teacher who is not only willing, but truly ready. As Romans 12:2 reminds us, transformation comes through the renewing of our minds. These practices will help renew your teaching in ways that allow you to test and follow God’s will—his good, pleasing, and perfect will.

 Posture

6.  Know and be known. To know is to love, so know God, know his world, and know your students. Students flourish when they are seen and loved. Show them your Christian love and care by learning their names. Speak with them before and after class, even if it feels awkward at first—learn from someone who is good at it. Design assignments that invite them to bring their interests and stories to the table. Be kind to your students and colleagues.

Let yourself be known, too, so that your students have a chance to show their Christian love for you as well. Don’t try to be someone else. Teach out of your own gifts and talents, because that is who God made you to be, and that is how you will be most effective—and most rested and joyful. Create rhythms in your own life that support knowing and being known: quiet time with the Lord, shared meals with students, moments of stillness and community.

7.     Be curious and filled with wonder.  Wonder is at the heart of learning. Let it be at the heart of your teaching, too. The Psalms are filled with wonder and can remind and teach us how to be in awe of God, his creation, and his redeeming work in the world.

The Task and Educational Framework of Dordt University calls on faculty and staff to help students to “cultivate Christian imagination”—that is, to respond faithfully and creatively to the world’s needs, grounded in the story of Scripture and filled with hope for renewal.[4] Foster that kind of Christian imagination in your students and yourself. It is part of how we answer the call to love God with our minds.

8.     Say “I’m sorry.” Sometimes we make mistakes, or fall short, or even willfully do wrong. We wound others through our sinful nature. Restoration begins with confession: “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I see the harm, and I want to make it right. Here’s what I’ll do differently. What am I missing? Will you forgive me?”
This kind of honesty is not weakness—it’s strength. It models the humility and grace we hope to cultivate in our students. It’s also a way of protecting rest for others. When we acknowledge harm and seek restoration, we help to restore trust, reduce anxiety, and make room again for learning and rest to flourish—for our students and for ourselves.

9.     Make the first day matter. And the last day, too. First impressions matter: some say we form them within thirty seconds, and research shows that student ratings after just ten minutes of class often align closely with their evaluations at the end of the semester.
So think about that first day—and those first minutes—from the students’ perspective. They want to be engaged, but they also want to be confident—confident that the course will matter, that they will be able to succeed, that you will see their strengths and potential, that you will notice their struggles and help them grow. They want to know that they’ll be encouraged—not embarrassed or dismissed.
Love your students from the first day to the last and pray for them and for yourself. Show students that you care by being a steward of time—by making the first and last moments count. And in doing so, remember that you’re not called to fill every moment, but to faithfully mark the time you’ve been given—trusting that God works in both our presence and our limits.

10.  Know what matters most and let it free and constrain you. On the one hand, this principle means keeping the big picture goals in mind. To teach with this posture, name and continually remember just a few things where you can say with conviction, “We will have failed if students don’t learn this.” Let those essential outcomes guide your decisions in the moment during class and as the semester unfolds in ways that you could not have imagined. Stay the course to do what matters most.

But then also let those goals free you. If you know where you’re going, and remember the essential stopping points along the way, you can enjoy the journey. You can take detours, follow student curiosity, or pause for a dilemma or delight that arises unexpectedly. You don’t have to control every moment. You can be responsive—creative, even—without losing your way.
At the same time, let those goals constrain you. Don’t try to do everything. Stay anchored. Prioritize. If you try to cover it all, you’ll lose both depth and energy.
When you teach with clarity of purpose and with joy, even hard work can feel restful. You find yourself in a state of flow—creative, energized, and sustained by the sense that you are doing the work you were called to do.

These 10 principles of planning and posture should return our focus to the heart of it all:

Be Christ-centered. Above all else, center your teaching on Christ.

Let your course reflect the big story that Scripture reveals about our Lord and Savior: creation, fall, redemption, and renewal. Don’t just talk about ideas. Point to Jesus! In the way you teach, in the culture you create, in the love you extend, let students glimpse the One we serve, the One who saves us, the One who is making all things new.

Psalm 90 reminds us that the work we do not our own. We labor within our limits, but we do so under the favor and power of the Lord. So as you return to your classrooms, consider these verses as encouragement and a frequent prayer:

"Let your work be manifest to your servants
and your glorious power to their children.
Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us
and prosper for us the work of our hands—
O prosper the work of our hands!"
Psalm 90:16-17, NRSV

[1] Kevin DeYoung, Crazy Busy: A (Mercifully) Short Book about a (Really) Big Problem (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2013), 34-35.

[2] Ibid., 33-42.

[3] From Kelly M. Kapic, address to the Dordt University Faculty Workshop (August 22, 2022). See also Kelly M. Kapic, You’re Only Human: How Your Limits Reflect God's Design and Why That’s Good News (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2022).

[4] “The Task and Education Framework of Dordt University,” https://www.dordt.edu/about-dordt/consumer-information/the-task-and-educational-framework-of-dordt-university.

LEAH ZUIDEMA

Vice President for Academic Affairs | Dordt University

Leah Zuidema