If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I absolutely LOVE to twirl. Everything about it – practices, blisters, shin splints, sore muscles, the thrill of mastering a new trick, helping someone master a new trick of their own! There is so much to love about this sport, and it’s so easy to love it when it’s part of your everyday life.
After my own glory days as a majorette came to an end, I found another way to keep the sequins sparkling and the batons twirling – I had the opportunity to be the majorette instructor at a local high school.
And let me tell you, I loved it!
For three years, I choreographed routines, helped girls master new tricks, and cheered them on from the sidelines. I still got to experience the excitement of game day, but this time, I was helping another generation of majorettes make their own memories.
Life was good.
Until one day, I discovered that someone else had been hired to be the majorette instructor for that school.
And here’s the kicker.
Nobody told me.
When band camp rolled around and I hadn’t received any information about dates or practice times, I started putting two and two together. Apparently, I was no longer the majorette instructor. It would have been nice to get the memo!
I wasn’t just disappointed about losing the position. I was frustrated that I hadn’t been given an explanation—or even the chance to tell the girls I’d been teaching goodbye.
And would you believe that, to this day, I still don’t know why I was replaced?
But here’s where the story gets interesting.
Ten Years and a Whole Lot of Prayers
Even though my time as an instructor had ended, my love for twirling certainly hadn’t.
I still wanted to teach.
So I prayed.
I asked God to give me another opportunity to work with majorettes. And when nothing happened, I kept praying.
Year after year, that desire stayed with me.
Now, I’d love to tell you that I patiently waited with a smile on my face, never questioning God’s timing.
But that would be a lie.
For years I shared my sob story with anyone who would listen. I had a constant pity party. I refused to go to any performances the band would have. I allowed my bitterness to shut twirling completely out of my life because I was so hurt.
Twirling had been my identity for my entire life, and without it, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had to learn to be someone different. I was no longer “the majorette instructor”. I was just “a former majorette”.
There were times when I wondered if I’d ever get another opportunity. Maybe that season of my life really was over. It took me about eight years after being ghosted by that band program before I realized twirling had become my idol, and I had put it on a pedestal above God (be on the lookout for an entire post about this realization soon!).
It was around that time that I finally began surrendering the situation to God. And slowly, He began changing my heart. The bitterness I’d held onto for so long started giving way to gratitude. I began to realize that while twirling was something I loved, it was never supposed to be the thing that defined me.
My identity was in Christ, not in a pair of white boots or a baton.
Two years after my change of heart, the very same band program where I’d once been replaced had a new director.
The majorette line was struggling, and the program needed someone to help rebuild it.
And guess who they called?
Me!
Same program. Same position. Different season of life.
After all those years of praying, I was finally getting another chance to do something I loved.
I was thrilled!
But I also had a little heart-check coming.
When Pride Tries to Steal the Spotlight
I’d love to tell you that my first reaction was nothing but gratitude and humility.
But that wouldn’t be entirely true.
There was a part of me that felt a little vindicated.
After being replaced without explanation all those years earlier, I was tempted to take satisfaction in knowing the program hadn’t done well.
A tiny part of me wanted to say, Well, well, well. Look how things turned out.
Not exactly my finest God-honoring moment.
But sometimes the truth isn’t particularly flattering, is it?
I had spent ten years asking God for another opportunity to teach. And now that He’d given me one, I had to make a choice.
Was I going to make this about proving something?
Or was I going to recognize that God had given me an opportunity to make a difference?
Sometimes surrendering to God’s timing also means surrendering our pride when His answer finally comes.
I didn’t need to prove that replacing me had been a mistake.
I needed to focus on the girls standing in front of me now.
And as it turned out, God had been preparing me for that responsibility in ways I hadn’t even realized.
What Ten Years Can Teach You
When I returned to coaching, I wasn’t the same person I had been ten years earlier.
I was older, wiser, and much more confident.
And let me tell you, those things come in handy when you’re coaching a group of young women!
Because teaching baton twirling is only part of being a majorette instructor.
There’s teamwork to build, personalities to navigate, disagreements to resolve, and the occasional drama that has absolutely nothing to do with dropping a baton or forgetting a routine.
Sometimes you spend more time helping girls learn to work together than you do teaching them how to execute a toss!
Ten years earlier, I had the passion and the twirling experience.
But ten years later, I also had the maturity and perspective to handle situations that might once have overwhelmed me.
And that’s when I began to see those years of waiting a little differently.
What if God hadn’t simply been making me wait for another opportunity?
What if He’d been using that time to prepare me for it?
Ecclesiastes 3:11 (KJV) says:
“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time.”
In His time.
Not mine.
I can’t tell you why that first coaching opportunity ended the way it did. I still don’t know.
But I can see how much I grew before the next one began.
And maybe that’s part of the beauty of God’s timing.
More Than Batons and Sequins
I’m still coaching that same majorette line today.
And I’m so grateful to say that the program has turned around for the better.
What was once struggling is no longer dying out. There’s growth, progress, and a future to be excited about.
But the greatest blessing hasn’t simply been watching the program improve.
It’s been the opportunity to invest in the young women who are part of it.
I get to help them build confidence, learn discipline, navigate friendships, and discover what they’re capable of accomplishing.
And I’ve learned that sometimes the most important lessons happen when the batons aren’t being twirled.
Of course, I still love a sparkling uniform and a perfectly executed routine!
But these days, I recognize that coaching is about much more than what happens under the stadium lights.
And while I’m proud of how far the program has come, I have to remind myself that this isn’t a story about my ability to coach a majorette line.
It’s a story about what God has allowed me to be part of.
The glory belongs to Him.
Still Learning to Surrender
Here’s something I find interesting about this whole experience.
Even though I’m back coaching the same program, I still don’t know why I was replaced all those years ago.
I’ve wondered about it for ten years.
And I may never get an explanation.
But I’ve learned that I can be grateful for where God has brought me without fully understanding what happened along the way.
Sometimes we think surrender means eventually getting all the answers.
But maybe surrender is trusting God even when those answers never come.
Maybe you’re waiting on something right now. Maybe a door closed unexpectedly, or you’re praying for an opportunity that seems just out of reach.
I can’t promise that God will answer your prayer the way He answered mine.
But I can encourage you to keep praying, keep growing, and keep trusting Him.
Because sometimes the waiting changes us just as much as the answer does.
Ten years ago, I wanted another opportunity to teach majorettes.
Today, I’m still living out that answered prayer.
The sequins still sparkle. The batons still twirl. And the stadium lights still shine.
But I see it all a little differently now.
I spent ten years praying for another opportunity to teach. I didn’t realize how much God would teach me along the way.
And while I may never understand why that first door closed, I’m grateful for the one He opened.
Because the spotlight fades. His glory doesn’t.
