Last year on Fat Tuesday, I arrived in New Orleans for the AASA National Conference on Education and wrote about watching the city move from Mardi Gras to Ash Wednesday. At the time, I saw it as a leadership metaphor — the rhythm of celebration, reflection, and growth through discipline. A year later, as Lent begins again, I find myself returning to that moment with a somewhat different understanding. This has been a year of real work in our district — the kind that includes progress we are proud of, challenges we did not anticipate, difficult decisions, and the steady, relational effort needed to move important work forward for students. The tension between what is important and what is urgent is constant, and too often the urgent seems to win out. What once felt like a helpful insight now feels like a necessary reset — a return to focus, to faith, and to the practices that keep my leadership grounded in purpose.
If you’re not familiar with the tradition, Ash Wednesday marks the start of Lent in the Christian calendar, a forty-day period leading up to Easter set aside for reflection, prayer, repentance, and renewal. It reflects the forty days Christ spent in the wilderness preparing for His public ministry — a time of testing, focus, and dependence on the Father. In many churches, ashes are placed on a person’s forehead in the sign of the cross with the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” connecting our fragile humanity with the hope we have in Christ. It is a simple and honest reminder that we are not in control of everything and that we must depend on God for wisdom, strength, and direction. You may have heard that people “give something up for Lent,” but it is not just for the sake of it. It is about stepping back from the normal pace of life long enough to examine where we are, realign with what matters most, and make room for the kind of transformation that does not happen amid constant activity and distraction.
That has practical application for me as a superintendent. This work seems to reward responsiveness and the ability to carry a great deal of responsibility, and there are seasons — like this past year — when the needs are immediate, and the pace does not slow. But I am increasingly aware that faithful and effective leadership is not demonstrated by how much I can manage or solve. It is revealed when I am grounded in prayer, in Scripture, and in a daily decision to trust God’s direction more than my own instincts. “Leaning not on my own understanding” sounds straightforward until you are in the middle of decisions that affect students, staff, and families, and everything in you wants to rely only on your own experience and effort.
Fasting, a practice of Lent, has taken on new meaning for me in that context. I have come to see it less as giving something up and more as reclaiming my attention. The distractions that pull me away from the most important work are not necessarily negative; they are the constant flow of messages, the pull to react quickly, and the habits that fragment focus and make it harder to listen well and think clearly. Setting some of those aside, even for a season, is both a spiritual discipline and a healthy leadership practice. It creates space for discernment, deeper conversations, and the kind of presence our schools deserve.
Henry Cloud’s Necessary Endings is a book I have returned to on and off over the past few years, and it feels especially relevant in this season. One of his central themes is that growth often requires us to let go not only of what is clearly failing but also of good things that are no longer moving us toward our purpose. That is difficult in any organization, particularly in a school system, where every program, structure, and initiative represents people’s time, energy, and ownership. Yet we often make the most progress when we are willing to name what is no longer as effective as it once was, make thoughtful changes, and create space for something better. On a personal level, that message is both reassuring and challenging as I navigate unexpected changes outside my control. Some endings — whether they involve roles, programs, or long-held habits — are not setbacks; they can be the beginning of healthier, more focused work that benefits my district and, often, me as well.
That same principle applies to the system as a whole. In education, we are good at creating new work, but improvement also requires us to ask what we need to stop doing. Where are we investing time and energy without improving student outcomes? Where do we need to simplify so we can do the core work of teaching and learning at a higher level? At the same time, we have again learned this year how essential it is to celebrate progress and create intentional moments for reflection. Those practices are not extra; they are what build the trust, clarity, and shared commitment that make sustained improvement possible.
So for me, this season is prompting a recommitment to the daily practices that keep my leadership centered in faith rather than urgency. It is a commitment to protect time for the work that matters most, to listen more carefully, to celebrate the growth I am seeing in our students and staff, and to work with others to continue making thoughtful, sometimes difficult, changes that strengthen our system. It is also a reminder that this work is not mine alone. Trusting God’s direction is not passive; it is an active choice that shapes how I show up each day for the people I serve. He holds the plan, and seeking His will daily is foundational to maintaining balance and perspective.
A year ago, I wrote about Lent as something I was observing while attending a national conference. This year, I am writing from within the daily life of our school community. Both faith and leadership are about transformation — the steady process of becoming who we are called to be and helping others do the same — and Lent reminds me that this kind of growth doesn’t come from doing more, but from making space: making space by stepping out of the pull of the urgent, by letting go of what no longer serves the mission, and by grounding myself again in the practices that bring clarity, focus, and trust in God’s direction. There, Christ renews us for the work of serving our students, our staff, and our community with greater faithfulness and purpose.