A Season of Stewardship: My First Year Journey at a Christian Academy

By a servant leader shaped by legacy, grounded in integrity, and led by faith

There are chapters in life when leadership feels less like steering a ship and more like standing in the middle of a storm, holding on to both the Anchor and the sails. My first full year at a school in the southeastern U.S.—was one of those chapters.

When the school year began, there was a fresh wind of hope. We had made some changes in the previous spring when we arrived at the school, that stirred excitement. But as Proverbs reminds us, “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails” (Proverbs 19:21). And His purposes often come wrapped in challenge.

A Heart Attack and a Handful of Spoons

The daycare ministry, overseen at the time by the church, was in trouble. Management was lacking, morale was low, and complaints were on the rise. We began preparing families for a transition, which included closing the daycare by the summer of the following year. That decision was met with anger, accusations, and much tension.

Then, over Labor Day weekend, the director suffered a heart attack and never returned to work.

Suddenly, I was overseeing both the K-12 Academy and the daycare. Within weeks, I found myself confronting unethical behavior—including discovering a teacher was spanking children with a wooden spoon. When I approached her, she resigned. More resignations followed. Whispers evolved into rumors, which in turn became threats, and lawsuits were mentioned more than once.

Shadows in the Sanctuary

As we were managing the chaos of the daycare, a deeper, more painful situation emerged. The youth pastor at the church—a young, 24-year-old charismatic young man—resigned unexpectedly. His involvement with a 16-year-old student at the Academy had raised red flags. Though I had alerted the senior pastor early on, little was done. And so, the weight of intervention fell on my shoulders.

For weeks, I met with the youth pastor, with the student, and with their families separately in their own homes. I was not only the Academy Headmaster—I became a counselor, a mediator, and a shepherd trying to mend broken trust. What made it more complex? Both their mothers were employed at the Academy. In that moment, I came to understand that God was not calling me to manage with policies but to lead with prayerful dependence—resting in His wisdom, walking with quiet discretion, and trusting Him in a place I neither sought nor felt ready for.

Grief in the Halls

In October of that year, while returning from officiating a wedding five hours away, I received a call that would bring our community to its knees. A beloved 10th grader had lost her life in a car accident.

The grief was palpable. Tears flowed freely in the halls, and the quiet moments in classrooms were heavy with sorrow. I asked our teachers to allow space for mourning. We had counselors come into the school to meet with any student who needed professional help with grief. We then arranged for students to attend her funeral en masse. Later, we placed a bench on campus in her honor—a still, quiet place for reflection, adorned with a plaque bearing her name and the following verse.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). We held fast to that promise.

Flu, Fractures, and Faithfulness

Soon after, sickness swept through the school—like a plague. Teachers, students, daycare staff—nearly everyone was affected. We considered closing the school for a few days. Instead, we rallied. Staff covered for one another. Substitutes stepped in. We limped through those weeks, but we never closed our doors. God was gracious in sustaining us through this time.

Amid this, our athletic director was struggling. His grandmother died, and while we mourned with him, the athletic program suffered. Over time, I began to see deeper issues—neglected duties, broken commitments, and a growing rift between expectation and execution. I met with him, offered grace, and even financial support for his continuing education. Still, change was minimal. A few weeks later, his father passed, and the program was unraveling.

Discipline and Discernment

Student issues mounted. A 10th-grade girl who had previously been hospitalized for mental health reasons was expelled after repeated significant behavioral disruptions. Then, I had to navigate challenging disciplinary decisions with the brothers of the student who passed. Their grief often surfaced in extreme misbehavior. Despite counseling, creative discipline, suspensions, and second chances, we ultimately had to part ways. The weight of that decision still lingers in my spirit.

At the same time, issues in the daycare deepened. We discovered theft. Parents shared concerns. Daycare staff turnover increased. Meanwhile, the Athletic Director was hiring non-Christian coaches who were verbally abusive and unaligned with our values. Again, I stepped in. Again, resistance followed.

Leadership, I’ve found, often means being misunderstood. But it also means being faithful. “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord” (Colossians 3:23).

Cracks in the Walls

Even within our teaching staff, cracks began to show. One first-year teacher struggled so much that I stepped in and took over his most difficult class—7th-grade Bible. That gave him room to breathe and prepare, and things improved. For 50 minutes a day, I returned to the classroom—not as an administrator, but as a teacher. I rediscovered the simple joy of engaging with students, opening Scripture, and planting seeds of truth in young hearts.

But life, as it often does, brought another test.

Late that spring, tragedy struck. Our 4th-grade teacher, newly married and full of promise, was in a devastating head-on collision. She was rushed to intensive care, where she remained for weeks—unmoving, heavily sedated, machines breathing for her while her body clung to life. I remember standing beside her bedside, praying. The hum of monitors filled the silence as I looked at this young woman—gifted, vibrant, just beginning her life and ministry—and I found myself confronted by the fragile brevity of life.

Those visits became moments of deep reflection. Leadership isn’t just about managing schedules or solving problems. It’s about bearing the burdens of those you serve and, sometimes, kneeling beside a hospital bed, asking God for mercy.

We rallied as a school—providing meals, donations, and lodging for her out-of-state family. We gave what we could and prayed without ceasing. In time—by God’s grace—she recovered. She never returned to the classroom, but she did visit us the following school year. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she hugged her former students and colleagues, grateful just to stand in that place again.

It was a moment I’ll never forget.

A celebration of life. A reminder that every breath is a gift. And a quiet testimony that even in seasons of brokenness, God’s presence remains—holding us together when the cracks begin to show.

But there’s something else I must say about that season.

In the midst of all that was unraveling, God sent someone who became a lifeline not just to our students—but to me. A brother in Christ began to spend more time on campus. He became a trusted voice for our students and me.

What most people didn’t see was how instrumental he was in my life. During some of the most exhausting and disorienting moments of my time at this school, he became a source of calm, a mature role model, and a brother in Christ who helped carry part of the load. His wisdom was quiet but deep. His prayers were timely. And his presence was a gift I didn’t know I needed until he was there.

Leadership, I’ve come to learn, can be profoundly lonely. And during that season, I found myself stretched thin—spiritually, emotionally, and physically. This brother became more than a visitor. He was a mature, godly man whose quiet wisdom and calm demeanor helped anchor me in moments when I felt unsure. He just listened, prayed, and reminded me of who I was—and more importantly, whose I was.

An End Marked by Grace

The school year ended with more difficult moments—elementary discipline issues, a parent’s death that shook our high schoolers, and a student hospitalized with serious heart issues. Through it all, we counseled, prayed, and adapted. We made special accommodations for the student’s academics. We bore one another’s burdens.

Looking back, I see not just a year of conflict but a year of calling. It was a year that demanded more than policy—it demanded presence. A year that reminded me that leadership in a Christian school is not about comfort or applause; it’s about stewardship.

“Be shepherds of God’s flock that is under your care…not lording it over those entrusted to you but being examples to the flock” (1 Peter 5:2–3).

That year, I saw heartbreak and healing. I saw failures and faithfulness. And through it all, God was present. He was pruning, shaping, refining.

And at the end of that year, when I passed that memorial bench, I didn’t just think of the young, full-of-life 10th-grade girl who was taken way too early in life. I think of a legacy; I think of the sacred, weighty calling of leading with integrity when it would be easier to walk away. I think of the many lives that crossed paths with mine, not by accident but by divine appointment.

Called in the Quiet: Leadership from the Unexpected Place

Leadership, I’ve come to learn, doesn’t just rest on policies and procedures. It calls for something deeper—wisdom that only God can give, discernment that grows in the quiet place of prayer, and humility that’s shaped in the hidden places of our lives.

I found myself in a moment I hadn’t asked for and a place I never expected. Truthfully, I didn’t feel ready. I wasn’t chasing a title or position—I was simply trying to be faithful where I was. But life has a way of ushering us into seasons where God stretches us beyond our comfort, where we must lean not on our own understanding (Proverbs 3:5–6) but on the One who called us there.

Have you ever stood at a crossroads like that? Where every decision feels weighty, and the room feels heavy with opinions and unmet expectations? That was me. And in the midst of it all, I learned that leading with integrity often means walking through uncomfortable places, misunderstood by some but held by the steady hand of God.

It was in that space—where I was thrown, not where I had climbed—that I discovered the kind of leadership that leaves a legacy. Not the kind built on applause or approval but on the quiet conviction to do the right thing, even when it costs something.

If you are called to lead—whether in a classroom, a church, or a crisis—remember, it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being Present. Faithful. Unshaken.

And when the storm hits, hold fast to the Anchor.

Dr. Wendell K. Murray is a seasoned educational leader, ordained minister, and leadership coach with over 30 years of experience guiding schools, ministries, and organizations through transformative growth and development. His writings focus on faith, calling, and legacy—encouraging leaders to walk with wisdom, courage, and conviction.