All because of his desire to help the students at Hamilton High.
Wendell stared out the window. You’ll get me through this, right, God? Not just me, but the students? He sighed. Open their eyes and ears, Father. Help them find hope in You. Please do that. Wendell pulled the report closer. The front of the folder included every encouraging example that had inspired Wendell to finally act. He flipped to the back. Here were the detailed reasons why Wendell couldn’t wait another year. The terrible truths and statistics that defined his school.
The truth was there in black and white. Hamilton High and its students were on the brink of disaster. A total collapse. It was even possible the school board could close Hamilton for good. Late last April the members had discussed a plan where the students would be bused to other schools across town. In that case, the doors of Wendell’s school would be shut forever. Until the board decided what to do with the property.
Wendell clenched his jaw. No, that would not happen. That terrible possibility was the past. This year would be different. Today was the first day of the new Hamilton High, and very soon at the assembly, Wendell would inform his students of the program. After today they would have a choice. If they wanted, they could raise the bar for their lives, their futures.
Wendell could hardly wait to tell them about it.
He closed the folder and studied the title again. “In This Moment.” The words came from his old youth football coach, Les Green. “You have to ask yourself,” the coach used to say, “what good can I do in this moment?”
What good can I do in this moment . . . ?
Indeed.
Wendell took a deep breath and turned to the first page. He’d written just one thing on it: the job description he’d agreed to when he was hired by the school district to serve as principal of Hamilton High. The description read:
Establish a schoolwide vision of commitment to high standards and ensure the success of all students.
The verbs spoke to him as he read the words again.
He lifted his eyes to the blue sky outside his window. You called me to establish and ensure, Lord . . . that’s why I was hired. It was his job to establish a vision. Not just any vision, but a vision of commitment to high standards. And it was his job to ensure the success of all students.
That’s what he was paid to do.
Wendell leaned forward and planted his elbows on his desk. Last year six Hamilton High students were killed in gang violence. Two committed suicide and three overdosed on drugs. Forty percent were flunking at least one class. In a school of a thousand, Wendell had failed his job and his students.
But not anymore.
Fresh air. That’s what he needed. The weather outside was beautiful, cooler than usual and crisp. None of the summer humidity. Wendell opened his office window and sat back down at his desk. He turned the page in his folder and saw the words God had given him. Words that made the most sense considering his job duties. Being called to create a vision of commitment to high standards could only be summed up one way:
Raise the bar.
That’s what Wendell had been hired to do. Raise the bar. Now, finally, that’s what he was going to do. And so his program for Hamilton would be called Raise the Bar. It was intended to give kids hope and a reason to care, a reason to try and grow and learn and live.
Wendell stood and crossed the room to his bookcase, the one that spanned most of the far wall. The top shelf contained things that inspired him: gifts from Alicia and his kids, more family pictures, a framed photo of a student who graduated from Hamilton High and made her way into a career as a surgeon in nearby Bloomington. And there at the far end, an old grass-stained football with the message Les Green had scribbled across it.
In this moment.
Oh, Les, my friend . . . I wish you were here. Wendell took the ball in his hands. Les had been there to pick up the pieces when Wendell’s father was shot and killed in a drug deal. Wendell was just seven years old.
“I got you, Wendell,” Les had told him at the funeral. “God’s got you. He has plans for you. Keep your eyes on the sky because these streets have nothing for you.”
Les Green became the father Wendell needed, a man he clung to all his growing-up years. Les used to say, “A man is nothing without God.” He’d quote Bible verses like Proverbs 16:3. Commit your actions to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans. It was no surprise that Wendell made his first trip to church in the passenger seat of Les Green’s Chevy sedan.
Les was best man at Wendell and Joanna’s wedding, and Les became Wendell’s greatest confidant in the early days, when the kids came along. A year after Wendell’s youngest was born, Les was raking leaves in front of his single-story, small suburban home when he dropped dead of a heart attack.
The loss left a gaping hole in Wendell’s heart. A hole Wendell filled with Jesus and more Jesus. Which was exactly what Les would’ve done.
Wendell smiled as he set the football back on the shelf. He knew what Les Green would have told him today. Something has to change. Get out there and tell the kids about your program. The students at Hamilton High need Jesus. Or as Alexander Hamilton would say to him: You need to stand for something . . . or you’ll fall for anything.
Today was the day Wendell Quinn would take a stand.
Les would be proud. Hamilton, too. Jesus most of all.
Wendell sat back down at his desk. What good can I do in this moment? In this moment. He repeated the words until they were etched in his heart and soul. This was his chance to make a difference. God would help him, no matter the cost.
Whatever came next, Wendell was ready.
2
Twenty minutes before the assembly, Wendell walked to the auditorium and onto the stage. He stood there in the silence and tried to imagine the student body and staff reaction later that morning.
The last hour had passed in a blur of paperwork and conversations with a number of teachers and office assistants—“How was your summer, Mr. Quinn?” “How was the lake?” “How are the kids?”
None of them had any idea what was coming.
Wendell took a deep breath. The place smelled stale, the way it always smelled after a summer behind closed doors. He filled his lungs and folded his hands. Lord, I’m gonna need Your help. Please let me get the point across. He looked at the empty seats. Help them hear about this plan with fresh ears. If only they could see the possibilities. Wendell exhaled.
His staff would think he’d lost his mind. Some of them might even complain or report him. He could be fired. Anything was possible.
Wendell felt his courage double. He had to take that chance. It wasn’t illegal to tell students about a voluntary after-school program. Each student had a choice.
The bell rang and Wendell stood a little taller.
Here we go.
He stayed on the stage as the students dragged themselves in. One by one, group by group they came, backpacks flung over their shoulders, their faces etched with anger and indifference, fear and disinterest. Only a few of them talked or laughed as they took their seats.
Teachers joined them, filling the rows in the back of the room. He watched Alicia enter with two English teachers. Please, God, give her peace. Wendell sighed. Ease her anxious heart.
The second bell should’ve signaled a full auditorium, all the students in their seats. But Wendell could see that one in four seats were still open. The seniors, probably. Last year during the first-day-of-school assembly, half the seniors hung out in the parking lot—some openly smoking pot and drinking. Wendell had laid down the law after that. Anyone caught missing future assemblies would have detention for a week.
But the kids didn’t care.