I always envied people who seemed just to get kids—those magical humans who can walk into a room full of toddlers and somehow emerge with stickers on their face, a Lego tower in hand, and five new best friends at hand (while still sporting a smile).
That was never me for most of my life. Being around kids has historically made me feel like I just rode the same rollercoaster for nine hours straight: In pain, confused, and certain there’s something gross permanently stuck in my hair.
Let me be clear, it’s not that I hated children, I just felt…disconnected. Off. Like I’d skipped a crucial life step everyone else seemed to take naturally. And when I asked for advice, the responses never quite hit home:
“You don’t love kids? You know God says they’re a blessing, right?” “In this economy? I’d never have kids!” “Just let them play on your phone.”
Whether it was judgment or just indifference, I never felt seen in those answers. Plus, every girl around me seemed to light up around kids. They dreamed of motherhood, thrived in the church nursery, and had a booming nanny gig every summer. I, on the other hand, barely faked enthusiasm, operating like an alien who’s trying to blend in on Earth.
Then, in classic divine fashion, God gave me a job that led me straight into kids’ ministry. I didn’t see it coming, and I certainly didn’t feel ready—but He met me right at ground zero: Kids’ Club on Sunday mornings. It was there that I caught three lessons on how to be good with kids, genuinely enjoy them, and see the powerful image of God’s love behind it all.
How to Be Good with Kids
1. Maybe It’s Okay to be a Little Uncomfortable
Infants, toddlers, school years, oh my! No matter the age group I was assigned to, I found myself often wishing I were elsewhere—perhaps a padded room with white walls and elevator music. After just a few Sundays, I was beginning to understand why my elementary school teachers used to roll a tube TV into our classroom, hit play on ‘Bill Nye’, and leave the room.
On one particular weekend with elementary schoolers, I was reaching a breaking point. The lead volunteer must’ve seen the panic in my eyes, because she smiled and simply said, “Just jump in where you want,” and continued to take charge. I checked the clock and prayed that Jesus would choose that moment to come back.
During craft time, though, something shifted. I was passing out beads when a girl sitting by herself asked if we could find beads to match the ones in her hair. I was nervous, but I moved forward, asked for her name, and took a seat. We then spent ten minutes digging through a massive bucket to find the perfect ones. As we did, a smile started to spread across her little face.
Now, I hadn’t felt perfectly confident of how to play with her, for how long, or what to say (I may have asked a few awkward questions like, “So…do you eat food?”, but we ended up hanging out for most of the morning and had a great time. I also realized that she was alone until she asked for my help. Maybe she would have played with the other kids, but maybe she was as nervous as I was.
And that’s when it hit me: I didn’t have to wait until uncomfortability went away before engaging. That uncomfortable feeling may never entirely go away. But stepping into an interaction that I didn’t feel totally prepared for brought a lot of spontaneous fun and laughter, and a memorable morning. I also walked away picking up on a lot of the nuances of talking and being with kids, and felt better equipped for my next bead-making session.
God tells us we have everything we need to love people. We don’t need to wait on the sidelines until we have the right amount of confidence. We just need to say “yes” and move forward. Sometimes that’s feeding the poor, sometimes that’s comforting a friend, sometimes it’s making bead braids with a seven-year-old I may never see again. It all counts as love in God’s eyes.
2. Be the Adult You Wish You Had
One morning in Kids’ Club, I found myself caught in an impromptu game of catch. I tried to slip away, thinking the kids had it covered, but a group of third-grade boys quickly and firmly corrected me: I had to stay. I was confused—there are enough of them, why do they need me? But they were adamant, so I stayed—and it’s a good thing I can catch a rogue football.
Before long, the game turned into a challenge: how wildly could they throw the ball and still have me catch it? I was sweating by the end of class. When parents came to pick up their kids, one dad thanked me for playing with them. I remember thinking, Of course—who doesn’t want to play? But the truth is, I almost walked away that morning.
I love my parents, and I know they did their best. But growing up as a latchkey kid, play was something that happened away from adults. I honestly don’t remember what it felt like to play with grown-ups. And later, I realized that absence shaped me—I didn’t naturally know how to interact with kids when I became an adult.
What I needed back then wasn’t a perfect adult. I just needed one who noticed me. No wonder every kid yells, “Watch me!” before doing the same cannonball into the pool for the 90th time—it’s not about the splash; it’s about being seen.
The beautiful truth is: God sees us—whether or not others ever do. In Scripture, God is called El Roi, “the God who sees me” (Genesis 16:13). Just as God saw Hagar in her loneliness. Psalm 139 reminds us of the same: “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me… You are familiar with all my ways.”
Knowing that God notices us changes everything. It affirms our worth, reminds us we’re not invisible, and inspires us to become the kind of attentive, compassionate adults we once needed.
For me, that means I don’t need a perfect plan to connect with kids—I just need to show up and make them feel seen. I ask questions because I know they have answers they’re eager to share. I compliment their shoes, jokes, and personalities because I know they’re desperate to be built up.
And above all, I stay close by—because sometimes, that’s all it takes to say: I see you.
3. Give Kids—and Yourself—Permission to Be a Kid Again
Being a kid and being an adult aren’t all that different if you think about it. We’re all less cranky with a good night’s sleep, we’d eat fries for every meal if we could, and—let’s be honest—everyone gets in trouble if they poop on the floor.
But the biggest similarity? We are told who we are supposed to be—a lot.
One Sunday, I found myself in a toddler room. Some kids were coloring aimlessly, while others bounced between toys and activities. But one boy stood out—he was locked in, laser-focused on his drawing. We started chatting casually, and pretty soon we were imagining an entire jungle together. He asked me to draw a lion. Then a pink monkey. Then a dinosaur. Before long, our jungle was starting to look like a scene straight out of Spy Kids 2: Island of Lost Dreams.
The other kids had moved on to a bigger game. Still, he stayed at the table—not because I was especially funny or cool, but because we were connecting, not through deep conversation or big moments, but through crayons and creativity. That’s how kids connect: through the silly, the small, the shared moments of joy and imagination.
At one point, I asked if he wanted to join the others. He didn’t. He wanted to keep drawing. And I realized—I didn’t feel awkward or out of place either. I was having fun. And so was he.
Maybe it’s not always about making sure kids are doing what they’re “supposed” to do. Maybe it’s not about pushing them to behave like the rest of the group. Maybe it’s about finding those quiet, weird, wonderful moments of connection—however they show up.
How to Be Good with Kids—Learning About God’s Love
I didn’t expect to find healing in a Sunday morning classroom, but I did. I didn’t expect to see pieces of my own childhood through the lens of a bead hunt or a crayon jungle—but I did. I didn’t expect to grow in love with playing with kids, not just tolerating them, but I did.
Kids’ Club didn’t just teach me how to be good with kids—it helped me remember what it’s like to be one. Messy, loud, playful, weird, full of questions.
It’s in these moments that I see the heart of God. He doesn’t require us to be naturally gifted with children or emotionally fluent to be used by him—he just asks us to show up, be present, and get on their level. I’ve started to see how in every moment of discomfort, awkwardness, and even avoidance with kids, God gently reintroduces me to his own tenderness toward children.
Because Jesus didn’t just bless children from a distance—he welcomed them with open arms, saying, “Let the little children come to me… for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14).
God doesn’t see kids as chaotic or inconvenient; he sees them as precious, purposeful, and powerful in their simplicity. And He sees us the same way: “as a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him… for he knows how we are formed.” (Psalm 103:13-14).
Just as God met me through crayon jungles, footballs, and bead searches, I believe he meets all of us with patience and delight. When we realize how tenderly God sees us—in our awkwardness, our learning curves, our longing to belong—it softens our hearts toward kids, too. We begin to love them not out of duty, but because we finally understand what it means to be noticed, delighted in, and loved unconditionally.
And suddenly, we don’t just serve children—we cherish them.
I may never be the most natural kid person in a room full of kids, but now I know that doesn’t disqualify me from loving them well. Sometimes, all it takes is a little discomfort, a little curiosity, and the courage to sit down at the table.
Even if that table is broken in half with some puke on it.
Disclaimer: This article is 100% human-generated.
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