When Aaron was in 8th grade, some other theatre moms and I decided that the time was right to advocate for a choir program at the high school. We met with the band director, and the theatre teacher, and the high school principal and vice principal. All of whom basically told us they would love to have a choir program but there wasn’t money for it. So we asked, how do we get money for the program? And we were told, go talk to the school board, expecting, I’m sure, that we would be shut down there.
But, because we believed so strongly in the need, and we believed so strongly in our kids, we did research, we did advance work, we involved the kids because we wanted them to be as invested in what we were asking for on their behalf as we were. And so, as we were taking our request to the school board, armed with the numbers and the statistics, which backed up the need for the program, and the benefits of the program, the kids worked together each week to prepare to use their own voices. And at the end of our quest, on the third time to go to the school board, this group of kids joined their voices together in beautiful harmony, to show this group of adults what it sounded like when a group of great kids, and a group of supportive moms, came together for a great cause that would benefit not only them, but all those students who came behind them. And it worked. Because it was the right thing to do. Because the need was there. Because people were brave enough to speak up and to speak out.
I stood in a room last night with a group of youth, both queer and allies, and a group of adults, queer and allies, who support these youth, and listened to these youth speak of the needs for support that are not being met in their schools, the effective ways that they can work together to help meet those needs, and the ways that might do more harm than good.
They spoke of the fear and the risk of taking this action, and their belief that the risk of taking action was much less than the risk of not taking action. I listened to these kids, ages 12-17, speak in ways more mature than most adults I know, of the strength and benefit of working with the administration instead of against them, of creating a safe place for other queer youth and the allies who support them, of creating a system which allows those youth to seek out the support they need without feeling they are crossing lines to do so, or without having to be dragged across the line into the area of safety.
And as these kids spoke, and planned, and dreamed, with great conviction, and great commitment, and great maturity, they were encouraged, and advised, and loved, by a group of adults, both queer and allies, who support these kids and support this cause, but know the danger and the risks these youth face in advocating for a cause that many in our conservative community might not support.
And every adult in that room, while supporting these kids unconditionally, was afraid.
And yet every adult in that room knew without a doubt that these kids without question needed to take this action. For themselves, and for those who come behind them.
And because that fear was real, and because those adults wanted to protect these brave youth as much as they possibly could, they told them the areas they needed to focus on, the things they should do, and the things they should not, and most important of all, the adults told the youth very deliberately, and very specifically, that when they spoke up and spoke out, and needed someone in their corner, to call them, because they would drop whatever they had going on, and be there.
And because these adults have invested in these youth over the past few months, and have shown themselves to be worthy of trust, these youth knew without doubt that when these adults promised to be there, they could depend on that.
As I listened to the planning and the passion and the work together of the youth and adults, for something bigger than themselves, I was reminded of that season 5 years ago when a passionate group of youth, and the adults dedicated to them, worked together in a common cause. I asked Clayton if he remembered that time, and how we got that program started, and he said “you and the moms started it,” and he was right.
As I heard him say that, I knew that as much as I wanted to start this thing, like I had helped start the choir program, that this wasn’t mine to do. That this belonged to them: these brave youth sitting in that room who knew far better than I ever will, what this support could mean to a queer youth who needs it. It belongs to those queer adults in that room who walked this road before these youth, and who know that truth as well.
I knew that as afraid as I was at the hurt and judgment that Clayton might experience on this journey, that it is a journey he has to take. Later in the evening, one of the adults told me, you know you have an amazing kid. And my response was, “yeah, I know. And this scares me. But how do I tell him that he shouldn’t stand up for others who can’t stand up for themselves when he has watched me do that very thing his entire life?” And that adult told me “You can’t, because this is his calling.” And I know that he is likely correct.
I’ve always known that, through his gift for art, Clayton was able to make beautiful things. I think his gift for that will go far beyond his ability to draw and paint. I saw a glimpse last night of the man that this amazing young person will one day become. Of the beautiful things that he will create in this life. And despite my fear, I was so incredibly proud.
I asked my pastor today if she thought these kids realized how empowering last night was. Not just for them but for the adults able to give back to them in the way they would have wanted someone to give to them when they were young. Her response was no, not fully. But someday they will speak to the impact all of this had on who they are and who they will become. I was discussing this later with another pastor who was there last night as well, and I said that I hope that the youth realize that God built this. That they are loved by their parents, and by all the other wonderful adults there last night, but that God built this. She said that they will. If not today, someday. And that she had told a friend just yesterday that she felt like we are all getting a front row seat to seeing God at work.
I think she is right. I think God is teaching this group of adults and youth so many life lessons. How to love. How to be brave. How to speak up and stand up in a way that is powerful but also kind. How to advocate for themselves and for others. How to act in faith and in love rather than in ignorance or fear. How to live out God’s call to love others despite the cost.
How to stand where there is no place to stand.
I am so grateful to have a front row seat to seeing God at work.
And I am so grateful for the amazing adults and youth walking alongside on this journey.
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