Wendell made it through AnnaMae’s entire report, and then he saw the one beneath it. The one put together by senior Cami Nelson. Wendell smiled as he picked it up. Cami had been attending the Raise the Bar meetings since the first week. In that time she had come to believe in the Lord and love Him.
She was a changed person, and she was just one of so many. A few weeks ago it had occurred to Wendell that statistics were only part of the story.
The results—no matter how stunning—would never take the place of personal testimonies. Cami Nelson was a journalism student. She loved writing the way some people loved singing. The way his own son Jordy loved running the football into the end zone. Writing was something Cami Nelson was born to do.
So Wendell gave her an assignment.
Starting with herself, she was to capture the stories of students who regularly attended the Raise the Bar club. Ask them what life was like before, and how it was different now. Then write a one-page narrative on each of them. Place them together in a single folder and get them on his desk by this Monday morning.
Wendell would see that she got extra credit for her work.
And sure enough, there beneath AnnaMae’s report was Cami Nelson’s. The presentation wasn’t as professional, but Wendell was certain the information it contained would be powerful. Numbers and percentages were proof that Hamilton High was improving. But the students’ stories were proof that lives were actually being changed. Not only changed, but saved. Wendell opened the cover of Cami’s report and saw that the first story was her own. Hers and every account that followed appeared to be written in first person.
As if Cami had merely let the students tell their stories, and she had done her best to capture them. The one after Cami’s was titled: “Dwayne Brown, Hamilton High Junior.”
Wendell was gripped from the opening sentence.
It wasn’t whether I was going to kill myself before I started attending the Raise the Bar program. It was when and how. The story went on to tell about Dwayne’s life of drug abuse and meaninglessness. Football had become my whole life. Other than that, I had no hope, no future, no direction. No one who cared whether I lived or died. Then I learned about God through the Raise the Bar program and everything changed.
More tears blurred Wendell’s eyes. He brushed at them with the palms of his hands and kept reading. Over the next hour he read through every story. The Raise the Bar kids had a whole new perspective on life.
They lived the Gospel.
Students in the club had developed initiatives to do peer counseling and tutoring, and they were responsible for so many positive changes. They volunteered as study partners with the elementary kids down the block, and they picked up trash and painted over graffiti at Hamilton. The ripple effect was obvious. They had made Hamilton High a better community.
Both reports proved it.
By then he’d gone through several tissues. If he cared for his students before, Wendell loved them even more now.
“I guess this proves You right, Father. You told me to start this program, and I obeyed.” Wendell spoke softly. “Now look at the results . . .”
The program had come with a cost—though not the great cost Wendell had pictured when they started meeting a year ago. The most difficult part for him was, of course, the loss of Alicia Harris. He couldn’t change her fear. Only God could do that.
Enough about Alicia. Wendell drew a deep breath. Parents’ Night was in a few hours, and Wendell had already decided to share the good news.
Like the Bible said, a person couldn’t light a lamp and put it under a bowl. God had changed the students at Hamilton High. Now it was Wendell’s job to tell the world. Whatever the cost. In doing so, maybe other kids would join in. Parents might get behind the program.
He would talk about the club in basic terms, then Jordy and Cami would share their experience. It was important that the community of parents know the truth about how God was working, and how a voluntary program was doing so much to affect Hamilton High.
Wendell was ready for possible pushback. He would go into the meeting with more than AnnaMae’s report. He had his own research from the summer a year ago. If anyone had any questions, they could pore over the material themselves. There was no denying the reality that helping students find faith in God had changed their lives.
Wendell took a deep breath and settled back into his chair. He was about to read through the statistics of AnnaMae’s report once more when there was a knock at his door. And there, like a vision from an already perfect day, stood Alicia. She looked beautiful, but she’d been crying. And something else. Her eyes looked different. Despite her sadness, they seemed stronger.
He went to her and opened the door. Everything in him wanted to take her into his arms and tell her how much he’d missed her.
But he did none of that.
“Alicia . . .” He searched her eyes.
She didn’t look down. Again he sensed a new resolve in her, a determination that hadn’t been there before. She held his gaze. “I need to talk to you. Please, Wendell.”
When they had dated more than a year ago, they would sometimes talk at their favorite place on campus. The baseball bleachers. Off to the far side of the school, the baseball field was the perfect place to meet. A line of trees separated it from the rest of the campus, so the two of them could talk without being spotted.
And if they were, that was fine, too. They had nothing to hide. Now, with school out and football practice under way, Wendell figured their favorite spot was exactly where they would go. At the last minute, he grabbed AnnaMae’s research report and the two of them walked to the baseball field.
They didn’t talk until they were seated next to each other. Wendell turned and studied her. Sitting this close to her, he missed her more than he could say. They’d lost so much time together. “It’s good . . . being with you here.”
Alicia nodded. Her expression was heavy, more troubled than before. “My school . . . it’s falling apart, Wendell. The kids are as bad off as they were here.” She stared at her hands for a minute and then looked straight at him. “Two kids died in the football stadium last night. They took some kind of street drug. Pinky, it’s called.” She shook her head. “Whatever was in it, they both died.” Her voice broke. “Two of them, Wendell. They took that poison together.”
Wendell felt the gravity of the situation. Losing two students in one day would be a terrible blow for any campus. Wendell groaned and lifted his eyes to the cloudy sky. “God, help their families.” He looked at her again. “I’m so sorry.”
She stared at him, like she was trying to figure him out. “I’ve been reading my Bible.” Her smile was sad, but deep at the same time. “All the time.” She hugged one knee to her chest and looked straight ahead at the empty baseball diamond. “Today when I saw everyone crying in the hallway and in the principal’s office, it’s like . . . I don’t know, like the Word of God came to life inside me.”
“Hmmm.” No wonder her eyes looked more resolute.
“I had this . . . boldness. I prayed with teachers and students and the parents of the kids who died.” She paused. “When the day was over, I knew I had to find you.”
His head was spinning, trying to take it all in. “I’m . . . glad you did.”
“Me, too.” She looked ahead again, like she was seeing answers that had evaded her before. “I was wrong to walk away from you. Even with my panic attacks.” Her eyes narrowed as she faced him. “But there was more to the story.” She sighed. “The day before I broke up with you, Jack Renton threatened to kill me. You, too. Anyone who got in his way.”
“What?” Understanding dawned in Wendell’s heart. Another reason why she had requested a transfer. “Did you call the police?”
“No.” Another sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I talked myself out of it. What would they do to Jack Renton? I even considered a restraining order, but that would mean I’d have to see him in court.” She paused. “Then the calls stopped.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Jack’s married now. He’s out of my life for good.”