The following address was delivered by English tutor Mrs. Anna Lee at the commencement ceremony for the Class of 2025.
Granite Class of 2025, parents, family, friends, it is my honor to speak to you today. I too am a mom to a child who is also a member of the Class of 2025. And I know I’m not being biased when I say that this class is indeed very special.
I was hired to teach at Granite around this time last year. I was full of excitement and was going to spend my summer reading and re-reading the books in the curriculum. It was supposed to be a busy but typical summer: baseball tournaments, swim meets, family vacation.
But then my mother died, very unexpectedly at the end of June. My mother, my strong, steadfast, tough bulwark of a woman, was no longer here. No longer here to call me to come over for some cold noodle soup; no longer here to tell me that her internet was down; no longer here to share with me some juicy tidbits of grandma gossip that she heard at our church’s senior academy. My mother’s passing sent me into a tailspin from which I’m still emerging. Curveballs, Class of 2025.
Since her passing, I’ve been flooded with memories of my mom at the oddest of moments, many times that leave me a puddle of tears. Costco is a minefield of memories. In the frozen aisle, I see my children perched up in the shopping cart sitting on a package of Kirkland toilet paper. It was her custom to wheel them up and down the aisle, accelerating and decelerating, much to the joy and elation of my giddy children, who would laugh that deep belly laugh that only children seem to do. And it was after such shopping excursions at Costco that we’d buy a hotdog + pizza for ourselves. Sitting on those shiny plastic benches, she would always proclaim in her broken English: “Good deal! $1.59 hot dog and coke!”
With my mother’s passing, I learned to appreciate the everyday, ordinary graces that flood my life. I will forever miss driving up to her driveway, seeing her in the garage squatting next to a pot of beef soup placed atop a portable gas stove, slowly and carefully straining away the fatty pieces to produce a clearer broth for all of us to enjoy.
Life gives you so much grace, Granite Class of 2025. And as you sit in this room, think of all the people who have surrounded you on this journey to get you to where you are today. It is no accident. It is the grace and gift of God. The parents who ushered commands at you every day to 1. Get your assignments in. 2. To hurry up and leave before you’re late for school. 3. To get off your phones and do some work. This is grace. The common, everyday grace that we ingest and, if you’re like me, take for granted.
And I look out at you. Class of 2025. Filled with so much talent. There is just so much potential in this room. I wonder where your talents and gifts will take you in life, and I am awaiting the news of the twists, curves, challenges that lay ahead for each and every one of you. Remember that what is most beautiful, most precious is the everyday, seemingly ordinary moments of your life—moments that evade us, but are permanent reminders of God’s goodness and protection over us. Every morning when you wake up, before the day begins, count what is right in your life, and I guarantee you there is more right than wrong. Grace. Be more attuned to grace because it fills our every day.
But I would be remiss to leave you with a one-dimensional graduation speech. We’ve read enough Chesterton—the king of antimetaboles and paradoxes– to know that everything is more complicated than it seems. It’s not just about grace, but truth. Truth will root you; it will anchor you. But in this cultural moment, truth has become synonymous with authenticity—speak your truth, find your truth. Be real; be raw; you do you. The problem is that I authentically want to eat 10 chocolate almond croissants a day. The truth is that this would be a terrible idea. Without truth, there is no freedom, only anarchy, slaves we become to our own whims and caprice. But truth without grace can become suffocating dogma.
Class of 2025, be rooted in truth but clothed in grace. In our current society where the right wars against the left; the left against the right, everyone is susceptible to being villainized, scrutinized, and canceled, our lives reduced to a 1- minute sound bite. This world that needs God’s grace and His truth more than ever, may you be ministers of both—rooted in truth; clothed in love.
Seniors, I’m not sure if you know this, but all throughout this year, you have bestowed grace and truth to one another and to me. I remember one class when one of you challenged my interpretation of a Robert Frost poem, saying, “Sometimes a walk through the snowy fields is just a walk through some snowy fields. There’s no hidden meaning in it!” Well, that statement sent me through an existential crisis. If the literature we’re studying doesn’t have a deeper meaning, then I’m out of a job! Truth, Class of 2025. And grace—you showed so much grace to one another (and me). I remember one of you patting a classmate on the back as she was sharing some uncomfortable moments from the past. And the plastic ducks! One of you gifted us with these plastic emotional support animals. And let’s be serious; some of your deep and profound insights have proved you the superior teacher. Thank you for enduring me this year. The truth is, Class of 2025, I’m going to miss all of you so much. From arcane references to something you’ve read to scribbling on the board, all of you are my sort of people—quirky, odd, and so loveable. With all of your quirky oddness, may you blaze the bright trail that is your future. I am rooting for you. This entire room is rooting for you. And most importantly, our Father in Heaven roots for you, cheers you on as His agents of truth and grace in this world that so desperately needs it. God speed, Class of 2025!
