When we bought our house in August 2025, one element was hard to miss: a big blue water tower right next door, behind a white privacy fence. At closing, the seller's agent made sure we knew it was supposed to come down within the next year. He even told us he wasn't sure the house would sell because of it. The water tower just wasn't a big deal to us. We were much more interested in the house itself, a lovely 1960s home that had been completely renovated and updated, in an established neighborhood with mature trees and a yard we loved. The water tower hardly registered.

Do you know what did bother me? The beautiful new kitchen didn't have a pantry. Funny how that works. The seller's agent worried about the giant blue structure next door, while I stood in the kitchen wondering where I'd put cereal, snacks, and paper goods. Same house. Same situation. Completely different concerns.

I think ministry can be a lot like that.

We can get so focused on what we see as the problem that we forget everyone else may be looking at the situation from a different angle. Maybe we're thinking about room assignments, volunteer coverage, curriculum, safety, schedules, or something that clearly isn't working.

Meanwhile, a parent may wonder whether their child feels known. A volunteer may wonder if they have what they need. Someone else may be concerned about a change we didn't think was a big deal at all.

What feels like a giant water tower to us may barely matter to someone else. And what seems small to us may be their pantry.

That is one reason I try to think through opposing views before making a change. I want to ask questions before someone else has to. What am I missing? What will a parent notice? What will a volunteer be concerned about? What part of this makes perfect sense to me only because I've been part of every conversation?

I don't always get it right. But ministry leadership requires us to look beyond what we see first. We lead people, not just manage systems. That means considering how a decision may feel to someone who wasn't part of the planning and may be affected in ways we haven't considered.
Then came another lesson from that same blue water tower.

Earlier this year, we received a notice that the tower was finally scheduled for demolition. The work would happen over a couple of days right next to our house. We got the first notification well in advance. About a month later, someone called to make sure we understood what was happening, when it would happen, and how the work might affect us. Then, about a week before demolition, we got another reminder. Same project. Same basic information. More than one communication.

And not once did I think, "Why do they keep telling us this?" I appreciated it. We knew what was happening, when it was happening, how it might affect us, and who to contact with questions. There were no surprises or confusion. The communication didn't feel repetitive. It felt reassuring.

That hit me.

In ministry, we can spend a lot of time making decisions and not nearly enough time thinking about how we'll communicate them. We may send one email and assume everyone read it. We may say something in a meeting and think everyone understands. We may announce on Sunday and think the message is out.

But people miss things. They forget. They skim emails. They hear one part of what we say and miss another. And when change is involved, they need time to process.

They need to know what is changing, why it is changing, when it is happening, and how it affects them. They also need to know where to go with questions. None of that is complicated, but it takes intentionality.

For me, this experience with a water tower reminded me that ministry leadership isn't only about making good decisions. It's about caring for people through those decisions.

Before making a change, I need to look for both the water tower and the pantry. I need to think about what I see as the obvious issue, but also stop long enough to consider what someone else may be seeing instead.

And after making the change, communicate until nobody is surprised when the demolition crew shows up!

Amy Bates has spent more than 30 years serving in children's ministry and still believes the best ideas often start with a simple question: How can we do this better? As the Children's Minister at Grace Heartland Church in Elizabethtown, Kentucky, she's passionate about developing leaders, equipping volunteers, and creating environments where kids and families can grow in their faith. Fueled by Dr. Pepper Zero and a healthy supply of Goldfish crackers, Amy is always dreaming up the next ministry adventure. When she's not at church, she loves traveling with her husband to visit their two grown sons whenever she gets the chance.