I am very honored to speak in front of the entire community. My journey to the leadership position of senior warden is one that I still cannot believe, but thank you to my class for electing me. Over the years, I have come gotten to know many of you, faculty and staff included, but there are few of you who have gotten to know me beyond courtesy smiles or a few laughs. Don’t get me wrong, I love to joke around and have fun, but that part of me is much more of a learned trait than an inherent one. That being said, I want to speak a bit about how I have become the person I am today. One of my earliest memories was of my siblings and me waiting for our mom to come home from work. My parents were divorced, so she was the only knock at the door that we expected. While we waited, my three brothers, sister, and I normally played video games, watched tv, or asked our neighbors to play ball in the cul-de-sac. It would be during these times when the lights in the house would spontaneously cut off and a few moments of silence ensued. Not knowing any different at the time, I would begin to get excited. “Mom turned off the lights again!” I’d yell. My siblings and I would get together and pretend to panic, but shortly after we’d be playing games of hide-and-go-seek in the dark.

Of course my mom didn’t turn the lights off, but I surely didn’t know any different. It wouldn’t be until years later that I understood that credit cards didn’t mean unlimited money and that electric bills were a thing, but when my parents, my mom and step dad, suggested that bills were the reason why the lights turned off, I didn’t know how to react. The look in my eyes, I’d imagine, was that of a child being told that Santa Claus isn’t real. I felt like they were scared of how I would react to the news. But in all honesty, I wanted to apologize to my mom. I didn’t know what for quite yet, but I thought back to every time I begged her to take me to get ice cream or go to Chuck-E-Cheese’s. I thought back to the times where it seemed to pain her to tell my siblings and me “maybe another day, but we can’t right now.” I thought about the many times when she came to my school ceremonies or Little League games, or when she would write a note in my lunchbox for a field trip, yet all I did was beg for things that I didn’t need, and I didn’t understand why it hurt her to say “no.”

After that, I made it my goal to be the smallest burden possible on my mom. If it meant saying “no” to fast food: so be it. I would rather be hungry. If it meant wearing hand-me-downs or small clothes: so be it, so long as she didn’t have to worry about it. If it meant sneaking money that she had given me back into her wallet: so be it. I wasn’t gonna spend it anyway.
It wasn’t long after that we moved into a smaller house, so I believed that we were scraping the bottom of the barrel.

That same year, my brother Austin attended St. Albans, and both my parents were laid off from their jobs. All I knew of St. Albans at the time was that it was expensive and that it was difficult. I primarily wanted to go there because of my brother, but how were they supposed to pay for Austin and me to go to school when neither of them had jobs? I still don’t know how they did, but it was some miracle from God.

Fast forward to my C form year here: I felt so out of place. Here, there were hundreds of other kids who were smarter than me, dressed nicer than me, and were different from me. I did not envision myself staying here—making it to Form II was wishful thinking. I had no place here, why would anyone want to be my friend, I thought. I was less athletic, got worse grades, and was less funny than my brother. It took a long, long time for me to find my place, but there was one thing I knew for sure: I liked to make people laugh. I didn’t care if I got in trouble, so long as the other, “more important people,” were amused. If they were happy, I was happy. I became content with being by myself especially through middle school, but I always enjoyed company. I so badly wanted to fit in, and humor seemed to be my foot in the door. People laughed at my jokes. I couldn’t believe it.

Looking back at it, I almost imagine myself as being the rich man from the parable from today’s reading (Luke 12:16-21). He gathered up plenty of surplus grain so that he would have a life of leisure. For me, I wasn’t gathering wheat, but popularity and favor from my peers. I was proud of all the friends I had made—surely I could ride this wave through high school, right? Wrong. Freshman year came, and things went south. All of those “riches” I gathered—the new friends and whatnot—all of it quickly became valueless. School was hard. I felt like I was acquaintances with everyone, but not real friends with anyone. I was no Prince Charming, so my social life was pretty close to nonexistent. There were numerous nights when I’d cry myself to sleep at the thought of going back to school. “I wake up at 5:00 a.m. every day to commute to a place where teachers and coaches are disappointed with me,” I thought.

This went on for a while until my mom told me to pray about it. I thought nothing of it; she was a religious woman, so it seemed more of a cop-out answer than genuine help. I remember praying one night in bed saying, “God please help me. I don’t even know what I want, but I need help. Make me feel loved.” That night I fell asleep and woke up around 3:00 a.m. I sat in bed, and with my eyes closed, I could see faces of strangers.

They were all different people of different ages, different skin colors, and different backgrounds. Some had accents, some couldn’t speak English, but I knew they were all saying the same thing. They said, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I couldn’t believe what was happening—so much so that I got out of bed, walked into my bathroom, and washed my face. It was still real. When I realized that, I became so happy, and I didn’t know why nor did I care. Everyday afterwards I would wake up saying, “God, today is going to be good.” I began to think of the times when we had little. I never knew how my family made it out, but we did. I don’t need an explanation anymore because I truly believe that it was an act of God.

So that’s a condensed version of my story. My path involved God; I would not be here without him, but yours may involve something or someone else. Whatever you believe in, there are certain people that only you can reach.

Maybe it’s because you’re good friends with them, or you have some shared experience, but whatever the reason, they value your advice and guidance. I encourage you to reach out to those people and offer them help. You never know what issues people are going through. For me, I have a soft spot for those who feel like they don’t belong—here in this community or elsewhere.

We live in a time where prioritizing your own goals is common and encouraged. If that is the case, I ask you to be counter-cultural. Challenge the idea that you are the most important person all the time, and focus on helping others. There’s no value in living exclusively for yourself. I encourage all of us serve others before yourself, not to your detriment, but for the community’s benefit. In the reading, the gentleman is busy filling up his storehouses—he assumes that focusing on himself alone will lead to security and allow him to live without worry or concern. It’s not that different from how many of us seek to find comfort every day, but ask yourself: what do you want to do with this day, this month, this school year to improve not just yourself but all of us and this school community? This is the question I hope we can all reflect on.

Now go in peace to love and serve the Lord.