So I'm sitting in my car in the church parking lot at 11 PM on a Thursday, picking dried glue stick residue off my jeans and wondering what on earth possessed me to think organizing a kids ministry talent show was a good idea.
Three months ago, it seemed so simple. Kids love performing, right? Parents love watching their kids perform. How hard could it be?
Turns out, really hard. Like, "questioning my life choices while scraping glitter off sanctuary pews" hard.
But here's the weird thing - despite everything that went wrong (and trust me, everything went wrong), it ended up being one of those ministry moments that reminds you why you do this crazy job in the first place.
How This Whole Thing Started
It was one of those Sunday mornings where everything felt off. Half the kids were cranky, my lesson plan felt flat, and I was pretty sure I'd lost the attention of every single elementary kid by minute three of my carefully prepared Bible story.
Then Marcus, this usually quiet third-grader, stood up during prayer time and started singing "This Little Light of Mine" at the top of his lungs. Not like, reverently. Like he was auditioning for American Idol. The other kids joined in, and suddenly my disaster of a Sunday morning turned into this beautiful, chaotic worship moment.
That's when the idea hit me. These kids have gifts. Real gifts. And maybe they need a chance to use them.
I mentioned it to our children's pastor the next week, and she got that look - you know the one. The "this sounds like a lot of work but the kids would love it" look. Two weeks later, I was standing in front of thirty kids asking who wanted to be in a talent show.
Every single hand went up. Every. Single. One.
That should have been my first clue that I was in over my head.
The "Let It Go" Phenomenon
I need to talk about Frozen for a minute. Because apparently, when you announce a talent show to elementary kids, the first thing that happens is every girl between the ages of four and ten decides this is their moment to become Elsa.
I'm not exaggerating. Twelve different girls wanted to perform "Let It Go." Twelve. One mom actually approached me after church with this incredibly serious expression and said, "Melody has been working on her Elsa costume since last Halloween. She's been waiting for this moment."
How do you even respond to that? "Sorry, we've reached our Frozen quota"?
By week three, I had created what I'm not proud to admit was an actual spreadsheet with a column labeled "Disney songs" because I needed to keep track of who was singing what and figure out how to handle the inevitable Frozen showdown.
The solution? I caved. Completely. We ended up with what I started calling "The Frozen Finale" - all twelve girls performing "Let It Go" together. Was it chaos? Absolutely. Did the parents love it? You bet. Did I learn to pick my battles? Eventually.
Supply Closet Adventures and Other Disasters
Three weeks into planning, I realized I needed costumes and props and all sorts of things I hadn't budgeted for. Our church supply closet became my second home, and let me tell you, that closet has some stories.
I spent an entire Wednesday evening digging through boxes of random church stuff looking for anything that could pass for biblical costumes. Found a lot of weird things. Christmas pageant beards from 1987. A sheep costume that I'm pretty sure had been through at least three different church splits. And for some reason, about forty foam fish.
The foam fish thing still confuses me.
But here's where it gets interesting - I started finding notes from previous children's ministers. Little sticky notes on boxes that said things like "Good luck!" and "The wise men crowns are in here somewhere" and my personal favorite: "If you're reading this, you're probably stressed. It'll be fine. - Sarah 2019."
Turns out, Sarah was the children's minister before me, and she'd left these little encouragement notes all over the supply closet. In that moment, standing in a dusty church closet at 9 PM holding a half-broken shepherd's staff, I felt this weird connection to everyone who'd done this job before me.
This wasn't just my chaos. This was generational children's ministry chaos, and somehow that made it feel less overwhelming.
Technical Difficulties and Life Lessons
Our church sound system was installed sometime during the Reagan administration, and it has very strong opinions about modern technology. Connecting kids' phones to play their music became this elaborate dance of adaptors and cables and a lot of crossing fingers.
The first practice session, nothing worked. Nothing. The microphone made this awful squealing sound every time someone got within three feet of it. The CD player (yes, we still have a CD player) decided to eat the only CD we'd managed to find with decent kids' music on it.
I'm standing there with fifteen excited kids staring at me, wondering why the grown-up can't figure out how to make music play, and I just lost it. Not angry lost it. Defeated lost it. I sat down on the edge of the stage and said, "Well, this isn't working."
And you know what happened? The kids started singing acapella. Just started singing. "Amazing Grace," "Jesus Loves Me," songs I didn't even know they knew. No microphones, no backing tracks, just voices.
It was beautiful. And it reminded me that sometimes the best ministry moments happen when all your plans fall apart.
But we still needed to figure out the sound system because not everything sounds good acapella. Trust me on that one.
Parent Politics and Costume Drama
I thought the hardest part would be getting the kids ready. Wrong. The hardest part was managing parent expectations and the surprising amount of drama that can surround a church talent show.
There was the mom who wanted to hire a professional choreographer for her daughter's dance routine. The dad who suggested we rent staging lights to make it "more professional." The grandmother who asked if we could sell tickets to raise money for missions.
All sweet ideas. All completely missing the point.
The costume situation got particularly intense. One mom started a group text about "costume coordination" that somehow turned into a debate about whether biblical costumes needed to be "historically accurate" and whether the kid playing Moses should have sandals or go barefoot.
For a three-minute skit. About the burning bush.
I finally had to send an email that basically said, "Guys, this is supposed to be fun. If your kid wants to wear their soccer uniform to sing 'Jesus Loves Me,' that's perfect."
Some parents got it. Others... well, let's just say I learned a lot about managing expectations that had nothing to do with the kids.
The Day Everything Went Sideways
The morning of the talent show, I woke up to three text messages. Kid number one: stomach flu. Kid number two: family emergency. Kid number three: forgot they had a soccer tournament.
So my carefully planned lineup was completely shot before I even got to church.
But the real chaos started when I got there and realized that somehow, word had spread, and we had twice as many kids wanting to participate as we'd planned for. Kids who'd never mentioned wanting to be in the talent show were showing up with instruments and costumes and this expectation that of course they could perform.
What do you do with that? These are church kids. Kids whose families are part of our community. You can't exactly turn them away.
So I didn't. We just rolled with it. Extended the show, threw out the careful timing I'd planned, and decided to see what happened.
And honestly? It was better than anything I could have planned.
The shy kid who showed up last minute with a drawing she wanted to show ended up being one of the highlights. The twins who decided that morning they wanted to do a comedy routine had the whole audience cracking up. Sometimes the best stuff happens when you stop trying to control everything.
When It All Came Together
Despite everything - the technical problems, the parent drama, the last-minute changes - there were these moments during the actual show that made all the stress worth it.
Like when Emma, who barely speaks above a whisper in class, got up to sing and found this voice I didn't know she had. Or when Tyler, our class clown who drives me crazy most Sundays, told actually funny jokes that had everyone laughing with him instead of at him.
The kid who insisted on doing magic tricks without any actual magic skills? His tricks didn't work, but his enthusiasm was so infectious that the audience applauded louder for his failed magic than they did for some of the flawless performances.
And the Frozen finale? Pure chaos. Twelve girls, all singing different verses at different tempos, some in costume, some not, and it was absolutely perfect in its imperfection.
Parents were recording everything on their phones. Grandparents were beaming. Little siblings were trying to join in from the audience. It felt like church in the best possible way - messy and joyful and real.
What I Learned About Ministry
The thing is, I went into this thinking the talent show was about giving kids a chance to perform. But what I learned is that it was really about creating space for kids to be seen and celebrated for who God made them to be.
Not just the kids who are naturally gifted performers. The kid who's afraid to speak up in class but has this beautiful singing voice. The kid who struggles academically but can tell jokes that make everyone smile. The kid who's always getting in trouble but has this incredible heart for worship.
This event gave me a completely different perspective on some of these kids. I started noticing gifts I'd overlooked and understanding personalities in new ways.
And the kids? They walked differently after that. With more confidence. Like they'd discovered something about themselves they didn't know was there.
Three months later, kids are still referencing the talent show. "Remember when I did magic tricks?" "Remember when we all sang Frozen together?" It's become part of their story, part of how they see themselves.
Resources That Actually Help
All of this got me thinking about how we talk about gifts and talents in our regular programming. There are some really solid resources out there that help kids understand their unique abilities as part of God's bigger plan.
Kids Sunday School Place has some straightforward stuff about discovering gifts that works well with younger kids. The Gospel Project does a good job connecting individual talents to the bigger story of God's kingdom, especially with older elementary.
Group's DIG IN curriculum has some activities that help kids think beyond just "what am I good at" to "how can I use what I'm good at to serve others." That's a harder concept, but the talent show gave us concrete examples to work with.
Grow Curriculum takes this really modern approach to celebrating what makes each kid unique, and honestly, kids respond well to their style. They have some creative ways to help kids identify their strengths that feel relevant to how kids think about themselves today.
Orange has some family resources that help parents continue these conversations at home, which was huge because parents kept asking how to build on what their kids experienced.
But really, any curriculum works better when you have real examples to point to. "Remember how brave you were when you sang in the talent show? That's the kind of courage God wants us to have when we're sharing His love with others."
Would I Do It Again?
Absolutely. But differently.
Next time, I'm keeping it way simpler. Less planning, more flexibility. I'm recruiting more help and being specific about what I need. I'm setting clearer expectations with parents from the beginning.
And I'm definitely building in more time between acts because kids need space to breathe and adjust and sometimes just be kids.
But most importantly, I'm remembering that the goal isn't to put on a perfect show. It's to create an environment where kids feel celebrated for who God made them to be.
The mess is part of the ministry. The chaos is part of the beauty. And sometimes the best moments happen when everything you planned falls apart and you just have to trust that God's working in the middle of it all.
So if you're thinking about doing a talent show, do it. Plan for chaos, recruit help, stock up on batteries for your sound equipment, and maybe warn parents ahead of time about the potential for Frozen overload.
But mostly, just create space for kids to shine and then watch what God does with their willingness to be brave.
It's worth every bit of glitter you'll be cleaning up for months afterward.
