Don’t dismiss small wins of Spring

By W.J de Kock, ThD 
Educational Consultant to Partners in Ministry 
Professor of Practical Theology at Palmer Theological Seminary of Eastern University 
9 minute read 

September doesn’t arrive in Australia as a shiver and a hush—it comes as a small blossom on the apple tree, a surprise, shaking winter’s dust off the wattle, sending magpies swooping and kids racing barefoot across uneven lawns. Car parks swap small talk about the weather for banter about the footy finals, while inside church halls, leaders are stuck somewhere between the hard plod of winter and the unruly hopefulness peeking through the kitchen windows. Old socks may not match, but grit is the order of the day: another morning, another go at faithfulness that doesn’t really look like a finish line at all.

Truth is, most ministry here doesn’t come dressed for a photo op.

The spectacular testimonies, the roaring crowds—those get the coverage, sure. But out in the middle—Wednesday afternoons bright as old fluorescent tubes—it’s the quiet wins that matter. A volunteer, head foggy from a bad night’s sleep, still rocks up to stack chairs. A youth leader asks, for the hundredth time, “how’s school going?”—and means it, even when the answer is mumbled. The real ministry happens in spaces everyone else overlooks: school assemblies full of wriggly bodies, Bible studies winding down with one last cuppa, a phone call with someone whose nerves are hanging by a thread. Ordinary as backyard cricket, and honestly, just as scrappy.

Spring doesn’t blare in with marching bands. It sidles—just a pulse in the wattle, a muddy child’s hands pressing hope into the garden dirt. Some wins could slip away unnoticed: a chaplain like Scott in Perth sits with a young bloke tangled in addiction, and for one hour—just one—they talk honestly. No miracle fixes, no spotlight, but an hour of real presence. Scott calls that a breakthrough, not because the numbers impress, but because each moment of faithfulness draws bigger circles over time.

Kindness can spark quietly: someone at the bus stop choosing grace over grumpiness, a neighbour brave enough to ask, “Are you okay?” at morning tea. They’re tiny moves. They’re muscles for love and trust, growing underground, waiting for spring to push them up.

Scripture is littered with small things that explode into lasting significance.

Zechariah asks, “Who dares despise the day of small things?”1—as rebuilding

hit differently as years go by—small wins matter, no matter whose eyes are watching.

“From Little Things Big Things Grow.” Australian life is stitched together with small wins—stories as everyday as lamingtons at the local fete and as grand as the refrain from Paul Kelly and Kev Carmody’s iconic anthem, “From Little Things Big Things Grow.” Picture it: the grinning scramble when someone nabs the last snag at the church barbie, or that burst of satisfaction when a pair of thongs, missing for days, shows up just in time for a backyard kick. These are victories, humble but radiant—proof that hope thrives in moments the tabloids couldn’t care less about.

Think of the faithful work of a church tucked between gum trees, slogging through the ordinary rhythms of pre-school ministry. Their measure of success isn’t the number of small humans wrangled, but in the quiet breakthrough—a single parent feeling brave enough to request prayer after months of watching from the sidelines. No headline, no applause, just the gentle ripple of courage nudging against isolation.

In another corner of Sydney, a retired teacher—possibly with hair as wild as the backyard Wattle—shows up, rain or shine, to read stories to kids whose parents are flat out juggling bills and long shifts. It’s unglamorous work, yet in that circle of well-loved picture books, dignity flourishes. Children who might otherwise be overlooked find gospel truth in simple presence: to be truly seen, truly heard, truly loved.

This is the spirit old man Vincent Lingiari modelled, tending his country with quiet defiance before change swept in. The lesson echoes through Australian soil: faithfulness isn’t just counted in hours logged or reports filed, but in hearts open to small beginnings. Like that famous chorus, “From little things, big things grow,” these mundane victories plant seeds of trust and justice, hope and possibility. They remind every ministry leader—and every Aussie dreamer—that the everyday acts, the kindnesses performed out of sight, echo far beyond their moment. Real gospel work happens not in spotlights but in the patient, generous love poured out on ordinary days.

Ministry, in these months, as Spring defrosts our dreams, is stubborn as tomatoes in a backyard—possums plotting, balls flying past, weather swinging from cold to hot in a day. Some seeds sprout, others don’t. The temptation to give up is real, especially after a string of setbacks. But stubborn beauty is learning to keep watering, keep watching, even when the outcome feels invisible. Those handfuls of hope add up, shaping a story richer than any dramatic “before and after.”

Who sets the measure?

Even the shyest celebration lives loud against our craving for something grander—one shoot, one “well done,” one quiet apology after a committee blow-up. These tiny ripples shape the culture, build stamina, forge leaders who are steady for the next lap.

Imagine letting success be found in the gentle milestones: a prayer spoken quietly, an invitation that’s repeated, noticing progress only just budded. Hebrews 11 calls faith “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Sometimes the not-seen is tiny—a cup of tea, a bit of patience, the courage to own up when tempers fray.

Don’t dismiss small wins—don’t label them “better than nothing.”

See them with gospel eyes. Every victory, in the classroom or the backyard, is a glimpse of grace at work. Winter gives way to spring’s promise, and the real challenge for ministers is simple: notice the small, persistent acts; hope when the forecast says “don’t bother”; cherish the little wins nobody else will. Let success be measured by faithful plodding, tiny breakthroughs, cheerful labour of love over time.

And when September throws its curveballs—magpies swooping, footy lost in the neighbour’s compost, plans shrunk to a single mug of coffee—remember this: courage to keep walking, steeped in Spirit and battered but undeterred, is its own kind of victory. Faithfulness isn’t wasted. Each small triumph gets celebrated, whether with a chorus or with a wink. The real ministry story is written in ordinary spring days, in ordinary Australian lives.

Sources

Mission Australia. “Celebrating the Small Wins.” Accessed September 4, 2025.

https://www.celtictraining.com.au/small-wins-big-impact-why-celebrating-little-wins-matters/

Paul Kelly and Kev Carmody, “From Little Things Big Things Grow,” Mushroom Records, 199