“Now there’s new information, Carol!” I can see your raised eyebrow.

Seriously, though, learning takes effort. That fact is not stated enough. Effort is something that we human beings are not wont to expend—unless we got the hang of it during the various stages of our childhoods.

I was reminded of how a child perceives “effort” two days ago after apprising my highly energetic granddaughter that her ballet classes were reconvening in a few days. (Live classes, hallelujah!) Her initial response was, “But I’ll be tired, grandma.”

Tired? Oh my goodness. Should I spill the beans now and explain how much of her adult life will be spent “tired”—particularly if she attempts to do anything of merit? Adult life is tiring. Raising and teaching children is tiring. Driving a long-haul truck is tiring. Housekeeping is tiring. Sitting in meetings is tiring. Keeping watch as a military sentry is tiring. Tossing and turning with the midnight worry is tiring—and inevitable too, if one has children.

For youngsters, different things are tiring. Picking up the legos. Practicing the violin. Learning cursive. Trying to undo a knot in a shoelace. And alongside such “tiredness” comes frustration. And alongside frustration, in a culture sated on immediacy and apparent effortlessness, comes the impulse to quit.

Yet, the alternative to all of this tiredness and quitting is even more tiring. Growing up as someone untrained, uneducated, unskilled, unmotivated, incompetent—this is tiring. A life of emptiness in spirit and soul is tiring. A life spent mired with regrets about talents undeveloped and opportunities not grasped is tiring.

Look around. We see waves of people, both young and not so young, who seem to have acquired little to nothing from their education (both in schools and within the family, community, or church). Bored minds, eyes glazed over, restless hands, dulled hearts: we know what all of this leads to. Right now, we are seeing its underside exploited and played out violently in the streets. Hence the desperate fight of those of us trying turn this ship around, all the while praying that it’s not too late.

What one must do, particularly with children, is find the right words and actions to explain and show how striving towards leads to reward. In some cases, the striving itself is the reward. Not all worthy endeavors undertaken will be fruitful, although the endeavor will likely teach us something that bears fruit later. This simple principle used to be taught to every child. So many today never have heard it.

A certain amount of honesty is useful too. Children believe adults magically do all they do instantly and effortlessly, be it mental multiplication and flawless spelling to operating a car or building a bookcase. They cannot know the effort, the trial and error, that has been expended, nor the difficulties and disappointments experienced along the way.

If tales from one’s own life seem ineffectual in communicating these facts to our little charges, then let us be doubly grateful for the treasure of classical literature that inevitably hits the mark.

Right now we (two grandkids and I) are immersed in a title new to me: Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher. I bet many of you know it, but I did not. My book guru, Janice Campbell, referred to it as one of her all-time favorites. So of course I ran out and found it.

What a lovely and surprising story. On the surface it is a good complement to everything else we’re reading. But the story seems to be communicating something specific to that same granddaughter (nearly 7 now) insofar as serious lessons. In the story, a child who was overly protected is thrust into the world. While still protected by less intrusive eyes, she quickly must find out what she can really do on her own, starting with taking the reins of a wagon and ending with, well, read it for yourself. The bottom line is, Betsy learns to rejoice in undertaking trials and reaping their rewards.

Unless ruined by the overstimulation and instant gratification of our modern world, children ultimately do respond to the steps of learning. They will internalize the formula that effort yields results. Yes, there will be difficulties, stumbling blocks, bad periods, and serious reluctances. But if the natural skill of exerting effort inherent in every child (watch a baby struggle to grasp an object) is developed, there will be progress. And progress begets progress.

O dear. I’m off on “begetting” (quite a good verb). So I’ll curb my lines, reminding myself, and perhaps you, that we adults have to retool our skill at applying ourselves at every stage of life. Striving towards a goal looks different for each adult. One adult would rather snap four bushels of peas than sit at a desk to write an article or balance the books. Another adult would sit at the writing desk and joyfully bolt the door rather than approach those peas.

But in life we have to do both. And we have to rethink how, drowned by a culture of instant results, we can cultivate the practice of effort in our children, keep it alive in ourselves, and reach the growing number of those who ended their childhoods lost in a belief that little in life is worth effort.