Today we celebrated two of our seniors graduating from high school and from the Boys Town program. One of them has been with us for 3.5 years, which is the longest stretch of time we’ve ever had one youth. That’s not to diminish the two years our other senior has had with us, because they both have had quite the journey to get to this day. They’ve seen many youth come and go in our home, both successfully and unsuccessfully. They’ve also seen a handful of our assistants come and go, too. But they have made it through it all, and today we celebrate them and send them off into the world.
Together we’ve had many early mornings and a handful of late nights. We’ve had a lot of good days together, days in which we’ve laughed so hard that we can’t catch our breaths — the kind of laughing that makes you cry and your abs hurt. We’ve also had moments in the trenches together, where frustrations were very high and emotions bubbled over in a fury. They both have tried pushing us away in these particular moments. Teenagers think they are stubborn, but they underestimate the resolve of Family-Teachers. We signed up for this!
We’ve also had plenty of days that fall between those two extremes. That’s because for the last 3.5 years we’ve simply lived life together. Lives and experiences shared in our big, weird Boys Town family. It’s a special thing. I’m so thankful for this life I live with, and for, and because of these kids.
That being said, today feels like a chapter ending after a long stretch of a few very hard years in this role. In the last four years or so we’ve had a handful of very difficult situations and dynamics within the culture of our home. Stories and memories and attitudes and narratives that have tended to linger long after particular youth have moved on or graduated.
The two graduates we have leaving today, as well as a couple other youth leaving successfully next week, concludes an era in our home that was tainted by post-Covid feelings of isolation wrought with anxiety and combativeness.
Graduation always feels special. So this is a tender time. We are excited to see a wide world open up to the girls we’ve poured our lives into. And we will continue rooting them on and praying for them. We will be a safe place to return to if they ever need it, and in whatever way they need it. But this year feels different to me. Our graduates are ending well, and with good attitudes and many accolades, scholarships, and rewards for sticking with it to this point. And that only helps me feel all the more contemplative and grateful.
There are days where the role of Family-Teaching feels like it asks too much of us. You may know this already, but teenagers can be really mean, especially when held accountable. And as Sarah and I raise our own boys, we sometimes wonder if we can maintain the energy and love and care that everyone needs from us here, that they deserve. There have been a handful of days over the last four years or so where I thought this lifestyle might be asking too much of us, that it was taking too much from us, and for what? To be insulted, assaulted, and disliked?
The thing is, I already sold everything I have for this field because I realized the pearl of great price was hidden within this place. So where else would I go? What else would I do? Who else would I serve?
We’ve had 66 girls in our home since we began here in 2016. Sixteen have now graduated from Boys Town High School. Most of the others have left to go back to their families successfully — not all, but most. And graduation time feels like both a long-awaited ending and a hopeful new beginning.
This year’s transition has me the most hopeful I’ve been in years. I do still need to be careful. I’ve poured all that I am into a few of the kids before, the ones that really tugged on my heartstrings, and then had them rip out my heart and dispose of it like it meant nothing to them at all. I don’t allow that to keep me closed off and calloused, though, I’m just more weathered and wise, I suppose. I know what to look for, and how to fan the flames or even simply find the tiniest of sparks in a kid to hopefully awaken themselves to their own worth and unique place in this world. That continues to be the greatest joy for me, even on the hardest days. Truly.
So at the graduation party, in a room full of friends and family and teachers and administrators, maybe I’ll squirt some mustard on my disposable plate and dip a pig-in-a-blanket into it to remind myself that this is what a little bit of faith tastes like in the kingdom of heaven.
Stepping Back 