I’ve got one week left before I walk into preplanning. Next Wednesday, the calendar takes over again: meetings, rosters, schedules, all of it. So this week is mine to plan the year, not just survive it.
I’m fortunate to work for a school that actually rewards that kind of planning. They offer a 2% bonus for staff who set and execute actionable growth goals, real steps tied to real growth, not busywork. Here’s what I love about it: nobody’s forcing you to chase it. The required stuff is required. But if you want to pursue something past the minimum, they’ll recognize it.
And that got me thinking. Isn’t that exactly what we ask of our students and athletes every single day? We tell them the required rep isn’t the one that makes them better. It’s the extra one. The film study nobody assigned. The early arrival nobody checked attendance for. We ask kids to chase excellence past the floor of “what’s required,” and we call it character when they do.
So here’s the question I’ve been sitting with this week: if that’s the standard we’re setting for them, are we living it ourselves?
The Verse That Frames This
“The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to poverty” (Proverbs 21:5, ESV).
Diligence, not luck. Not talent. Not a good year happening to you. Diligence is a plan you made on purpose, then worked. Haste is showing up and hoping. Scripture doesn’t leave much room for the middle ground between the two, and neither does a season.
That verse isn’t about hustle for hustle’s sake. It’s about the difference between drifting through a year and directing one. Four groups of people are wrestling with that same choice right now, whether they know it or not.
Seek It Before You Set It
Here’s what I almost missed writing this: none of it works if the goal is mine alone. “The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps” (Proverbs 16:9, ESV). I can build the sharpest growth plan on paper and still miss the point entirely if I never ask God whether it’s the plan He wants for me this year.
So before you name a single goal this week, pray first. Ask what He’s already been doing in your classroom, your program, your life, and let that shape the goal instead of building your own plan and asking Him to bless it afterward. Diligence without direction is just busy. Diligence submitted to God’s plan is stewardship.
Teachers: The Extra Point Beyond the Rubric
Every teacher I know meets the requirement. Lesson plans get turned in. Grades get posted. The state’s checklist gets checked. That’s the floor, and there’s nothing wrong with the floor.
But the teachers who actually move a classroom are the ones chasing the point past the rubric: the extra hour rebuilding a unit that fell flat last spring, the phone call home that wasn’t required, the willingness to sit in a colleague’s classroom and steal a better way to teach fractions. None of that shows up on an evaluation. All of it shows up in the kids.
If your school has a growth-step program as mine does, this week is the week to name that extra point on purpose instead of letting it stay a vague good intention. What’s the one thing you’d actually get better at this year if someone paid you to do it? Write that down before Wednesday.
Coaches: The Practice Plan Nobody Grades
Coaches live this tension every day; we just don’t always call it what it is. There’s the practice plan that satisfies the requirement: get the reps in, run the drills, keep everybody safe. And then there’s the version of practice building that actually wins games in October: the extra film breakdown at 9 p.m., the scouting report built from three different angles, the drill you invented at your kitchen table because the one in the manual wasn’t teaching the right habit.
Nobody’s checking whether you did the extra film work. That’s exactly the point. The teams that separate themselves are coached by people who did the unrequired work anyway, because they understood that the standard they’re demanding from a sixteen-year-old in July has to be a standard they’re demanding from themselves in the coaches’ office.
If you’re a rookie head coach or a longtime assistant trying to find your footing, don’t let this be abstract. Pick one part of your program (practice planning, recruiting evaluation, film process, culture-building) and name the one growth step you’ll actually execute this season. Diligence beats a good idea you never wrote down.
Administrators: Setting the Standard From the Top
Athletic directors and administrators carry a version of this that’s easy to miss: your staff is watching whether you chase growth or just manage the calendar. You can run a building competently without ever stretching yourself, and nobody above you will necessarily notice. But your coaches and teachers will notice. They always do.
The AD who sits in on a coaching clinic instead of just approving the budget for one sends a message that’s louder than any staff meeting. The principal who’s visibly working on their own weak spot gives every teacher in the building permission to work on theirs. Leadership that asks for diligence without modeling it doesn’t get diligence back. It gets compliance, and compliance and commitment are not the same thing.
If you’re the one setting the standard, this week is your chance to decide what you’re going to actually pursue this year, not just approve for everyone else.
Students and Athletes: The Mirror We Forgot We’re Holding
Here’s the uncomfortable part. Every lens above is really about the same mirror. We ask our kids for extra reps, extra film, extra character, extra effort past the requirement, and most of them rise to meet that ask because somebody believed they could. But kids are sharper than we give them credit for. They know the difference between a coach who’s still growing and a coach who’s coasting. They can tell if the standard we’re preaching is one we’re living.
That’s not a guilt trip. It’s an opportunity. The best thing you can do for the kid chasing the extra rep is let them watch you chase one too. Talk about your own growth goal out loud this year. Let them see diligence modeled by an adult, not just demanded of a teenager. That’s discipleship whether you call it that or not.
A Simple Framework for This Week
You’ve got a week before the calendar takes back over. Here’s how I’m using mine, and how you can use yours:
Seek it. Before you write anything down, pray it first. Ask God what He’s been doing in your life and your program this year, and let your goal come out of that answer instead of building it on your own and asking Him to bless it afterward.
Name two. One professional growth goal (the kind that’s measurable, the kind a program like mine will actually recognize with that 2% bonus) and one faith goal (the kind nobody grades but God). Not “be a better coach” and “be more spiritual.” Try “install two new pressure defenses and evaluate them by district play” alongside “read through the Gospels this fall and journal one application a week.” Write both down before Wednesday.
Actionize it. Break each one into steps you can actually do on a normal week, not a perfect one. Diligence survives busy seasons. Motivation doesn’t.
Review it weekly. Put a recurring fifteen minutes on your calendar to ask two questions: did my plans move, or did I just get hasty and let the week run me? And did my plan still line up with His? Proverbs 21:5 and Proverbs 16:9, held together, every single week.
Where This Lands
The 2% bonus isn’t really the point, and I don’t think it’s supposed to be. It’s just my school’s way of saying what Scripture already said: diligence, the kind nobody requires, is worth something. But diligence chasing the wrong plan is still wasted effort. That’s why this week isn’t only about writing a professional goal, it’s about seeking God first and asking whether your plan is actually His.
Name your professional growth step. Name your faith goal right alongside it. Write both down before Wednesday. Then go be the diligence you’re asking for, submitted to a plan bigger than your own.
— Coach O
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