KoriAnne Moslander

KoriAnne Moslander brims with excitement - even more so than usual. She and her Central Catholic dance team have just been named Class C state champs for the tenth year in a row.

“It was all so worth the work - the 6 a.m. practices and breaking down every move,” she beams. “We were all crying, but we know we have to work hard next year to make it happen again.”

KoriAnne, a GICC junior, is a vivacious, smiling teenage girl. Good grades, state championships and making new friends all come easily to her. She seems, for all the world, to have the privileged life every kid dreams of.  People are amazed to hear otherwise.

KoriAnne Moslander and grandmother Donetta Nye

“My grandma saved my life,” KoriAnne says simply. “She’s the only parent I have, and she’s my best friend.”

Before she arrived at Central Catholic as a sophomore, KoriAnne was unwilling to share much of her life with her new friends and classmates. Growing up, she felt relentlessly bullied in her old town and high school. Kids refused to include her because of her family history, and finally her grandmother convinced her to move to Grand Island and attend Grand Island Central Catholic.

“I tell her now it was the best decision ever,” KoriAnne grins. “My friends are like family, and I feel connected to everybody. Classes can be hard, but they’re really good.”

KoriAnne didn’t immediately share her story with her new friends in Grand Island, but as she began to build relationships and trust her classmates, she confided to them little by little her traumatic start in life.

“My parents were divorced before I was born,” she says quietly, “and they both suffered with addiction.”

Although her father was able to conquer his own addiction, her mother could not. KoriAnne was two months old when her mother left her alone at home with her three-year-old brother and forgot about them both. KoriAnne’s grandparents - her dad’s parents - stepped in to remove the children from their mother’s home. Although KoriAnne’s father was able to conquer his addiction, several years later he died.

Grand Island Central Catholic State Championship Dance Team: First row
from left- Taryn Dimmitt, Ellie Alberts, Aubrey Moritz, KoriAnne
Moslander. Second row from left - Stephanie Huntwork, Kathryn
Rohweder, Tatum Hedman, Kennedi Henke, Coach Erin Neuhaus.
Last row - Coach Nicole Hicken

Donetta Nye is actually KoriAnne’s great-grandmother and just celebrated her 80th birthday. When she and her husband took in their two small great-grandchildren, Donetta had to learn how to diaper a baby all over again

“She told me she’d never used disposable diapers!” KoriAnne laughs. “When she took care of her own kids and grandkids, it was with cloth diapers and safety pins.”

Nevertheless, KoriAnne’s great grandparents provided the stability their two little great-grandchildren had never experienced. Tyler, KoriAnne’s brother, is on his own now. He’s very protective of his little sister, KoriAnne says.

“But my grandma and I are pretty much everything to each other,” she says.

A few years ago when KoriAnne’s great-grandfather died, she helped her grieving great-grandmother.

 “When my dad died, Grandma did everything she could to help me. So when Grandpa died, I knew I had to help my grandma through that.”

Even at 80, Donetta Nye is a busy, active woman. The long time director of the St. Paul Senior Center, she often brought a small KoriAnne to work with her. The little girl enchanted the senior citizens, and every Thursday KoriAnne danced for the residents. She loved accompanying her grandmother to work and hanging out with her elderly clients.

“My grandma is so extraordinary,” KoriAnne shakes her head. “She’s the most caring, super-wise, most educated person in the world. She’s overly generous and has the hugest heart.”

Though KoriAnne has many good friends, she prefers to be with her grandmother more than anybody else. They spend time together every night and giggle uproariously together.

“We love The Bachelor,” KoriAnne laughs, “and making fun of those stupid girls. I also got Grandma into taking funny selfies, and she poses with me all the time. She tells me all her crazy stories, and I can tell her anything.”

KoriAnne plans to study respiratory therapy at UNO after she graduates next year. She’d also like to specialize in Alzheimer’s care since her grandfather suffered from the disease.

“I’m pretty sure Grandma will move to Omaha with me when it’s time,” KoriAnne says, “and I couldn’t be happier about that.”

She smiles her radiant smile.

“Grandma’s my rock. I love her so much.”

Beverly Yax

Beverly Yax is a breath of fresh air.

Beverly Yax, GICC senior

Bursting into class, she greets friends with her laughing brown eyes and mega-watt smile. On this bleak afternoon in January, Bev floods my classroom with her own particular sunlight.

"Here's my best friend - the queen of the ball!" she congratulates her friend Ciara, another lively student in Senior English just crowned Winter Ball queen at our Central Catholic school dance last weekend. "I was so mad at you when you danced with my date," Bev teases Ciara before giggling like the sweet school girl she is.

It is always like this. Bev radiates smiles and warmth and cheer. I never suspect life is anything but untroubled for this adorable girl. She works hard for her nearly flawless grades, competes joyfully with her friends on the cross country team, and is universally adored by all who know her.

Two years ago as a sophomore, however, Beverly's world turns upside down. The girl who comes to school every day with a gleeful smile leads a far from untroubled life. Only days before Christmas, Beverly's mother is arrested at her work place by immigration officials for possessing a false identity. She immediately phones Bev at home and calmly instructs her to call her big brother Abidan who lives and works in Lincoln.

"Mom!" Bev sobs over the phone. "How can you be so calm?"

"Leave it in the hands of God," her mother soothes.

It is almost, Bev believes, as if her mother has known for 18 years that this moment will come.

Long ago when Bev's mother is 16-years-old living in Guatemala with her own widowed mom and 12 siblings, she flees with her 17-year-old boyfriend Benjamin to Los Angeles. Benjamin Yax speaks English and quickly finds a job as an electrician. Juana, however, speaks no English. Nevertheless, she finds work as a maid and diligently saves money to support her large family back in Guatemala.

When she and Benjamin marry, they decide to move to Grand Island to raise their family. Because Juana is an illegal immigrant, she purchases a fake social security number from a woman in California. It's the only way she will be able to find work, and her Guatemalan family is depending on her. The woman, however, tells Juana it will cost 10,000 dollars. For five years, Juana and Benjamin work hard to pay off their debt. Juana never uses the fake social security number for anything except a job application, but the worry of discovery hangs constantly over her.

In Grand Island, Benjamin and Juana raise their three children Abidan, Bev and Bambi. Juana finds a good job at JBS, and Benjamin works for Ziller Tile. The Zillers, all Central Catholic graduates, convince the Yaxes to send their hard working children to GICC. Benjamin and Juana have dreams for their children. Although Ben is a high school graduate, Juana has only a fifth grade education. Their children, the couple is determined, will go to college.

With exceptional sacrifice on their part, they manage to send both Abidan and Beverly to Central Catholic. Abidan is athletic, and Bev is smart. While the kids thrive, Benjamin and Juana's marriage falters. Benjamin begins drinking. Not long after, he is unfaithful to Juana. Then one day as Juana works hard at her job, immigration officials raid the office to arrest her. In a fell swoop, life has fallen apart for the Yax family.

Juana is released on bond, but there is every reason to believe she will be deported. Because her mother is forbidden to work, Bev finds a full time job to help support her family. She pushes away from her good friends and refuses to go to school. Never has she felt more alone.

When she doesn't appear at GICC for two weeks, GICC comes to her. Principal Kristen Klein and Spanish teacher Amy May show up at the door of the Yax family home.

"I'll never forget that day," Bev recalls. "Mrs. Klein talked me into coming back to school. She told me Central Catholic would be there for me and would find a way to help with tuition."

Her friends and teachers, especially religion teachers Deb Houdek and Mary Wiles, support her through the next 14 months.

Bev with friends Ciara Hernandez, left, and Kenna
Culler, right.

"They were so good to me," Bev smiles tremulously. "I couldn't have gotten through that time without them." Mrs. Houdek is always there to listen, she says, and it's Miss Wiles who helps Bev with her faith.

"Our family is not Catholic," Bev says, "but in 7th grade, Miss Wiles taught our class the Rosary. It's become my very favorite prayer and makes me feel so close to God." She sighs raggedly. "Once I thought God was against me, but now I know he's always been with me."

In spite of her 40 hour work week at the Field House, Bev manages to stay on top of her nearly 4.0 grade average and even participates in softball and basketball. Her school and friends are the lifeline she needs. Just before her junior year, though, as she and her family wait anxiously for her mother's court date, Bev injures her knee and must have surgery. Because of her mother's illegal status, the family has no Medicaid insurance, and Bev and her father must pay for her surgery.

"St. Francis helped us, but the rest was up to us," she explains. "We have six thousand dollars still to go," she flashes a hopeful smile, "but we're getting there!"

In the meantime, her mother and father have worked on their marriage.

"Find God, and go to AA!" Juana insists of her husband. He does, and only recently is baptized at Centro Vida Christian Church. It's a great day for the Yax family.

In February, Juana's court date is finally scheduled. Bev is terrified, and so am I. She will miss school, she explains, but promises to let me know the results of the hearing. All that day at school I stare at the clock waiting for a text from Bev. During 8th period, at the end of the day, she all at once appears in the doorway of my classroom. We stare at each other, and I wait.

"It's okay!" she sobs. Running to me, she flings her arms around my neck, and the two of us grip each other, oblivious to the stares of my startled 11th grade American Lit students.

It's scary going to the courthouse, Bev tearfully explains. For the first time in her life, she sees hardened criminals all around her. When it's time for her mother to appear before the judge, Bev says, Juana apologizes. She describes to the judge her dilemma of trying to find work in the United States to care for her mother and younger siblings. Then it's Bev's turn to speak to the judge.

"If you take away my mother," Bev pleads, "you take away my family. My little sister would have to go to Guatemala with our mother. We would all be split up."

The judge decides in their favor, and even the prosecutors apologize to the Yax family. "You're a good family," one attorney pumps all their hands. "I'm sorry for all you've endured."

Never has Bev been so happy.

"I don't have a family like everybody else at Central Catholic," she admits. In awe, she sees the way her classmates' parents anticipate their children's every need and smooth their way. Bev, in the meantime, is still working 40 hours a week. Her mother will not be able to work until her immigration status is resolved, and Bev must help pay the family bills and her surgery balance. Nevertheless, she's as happy as she's ever been.

"My family is together," she smiles, her face alight, "and I have the support of this school and my friends. It's all I need."

Tommy McFarland

The bell rings to end American Literature class. My students gather their books laughing and jostling each other out the door.

All but Tommy McFarland.

He lags behind at the window staring out at a raw January day until the last of his classmates departs. Then he shuffles deliberately to my desk.

"Sorry about Mr. Howard's brother," he murmurs, eyes full of sympathy.

My husband's youngest brother has just passed away, and I am deeply touched by Tommy's concern. But not surprised.

A senior at Grand Island Central Catholic, Tommy McFarland has a reputation for being one of the kindest kids you could ever hope to meet. "T-Mac", as his classmates call him, is the first one to acknowledge every student and teacher in the hallway.

"He's our Simba," grins classmate Mayra Almayra. In spite of his serious purposefulness when it comes to studies, Tommy nevertheless is as funny and playful with his classmates as, well, as a lion cub.

"Tommy's got this laugh that fills up the place," says Luke Wemhoff, another classmate. "You always know when Tommy laughs because every person around him starts to erupt. There isn't a single person who's as happy and fun loving as Tommy McFarland."

Be that as it may, Tommy knows when to be serious. Deeply reverent at Thursday morning school Mass, Tommy says his faith is enormously important. He is not, he explains, one to talk about his religion, but he has no qualms about quietly saying grace before meals even in a public place.

"Father Scott Harter's really made an impact on all of us," Tommy says about GICC's school chaplain. "He's helped us understand faith isn't just something for the weekends. It's part of our every day lives."

And Tommy McFarland walks the talk. Nobody's left out or excluded in his sphere.

"T-Mac's so nice," says classmate Ben Benton, "that he invited every kid in the class to his house after Homecoming our sophomore year."

Tommy is quick to credit his family for supporting and loving and teaching him what's important. "They mean a lot to me. My mom and dad and sister are always there for me and each other."

His grandfather, the late Bob McFarland - a retired Grand Island High School public teacher who coached boys' golf at GICC for several years - was a huge influence in his grandson's life. Tommy remembers his grandfather's love for his GICC players and his three consecutive state titles in the early 2000's.

"He was such a loving man who always looked for the best in all of us," Tommy recalls. "He taught me that if you're going to do something right, you have to work hard at it."

Nobody works harder than Tommy McFarland. The boys in his class tease him about a particular Spanish class in which they sit behind Tommy and whisper noisily back and forth.

"Would you guys cut it out!" Tommy finally snaps. "I'm trying to LEARN!"

He doesn't mind the teasing. "All the kids in my class take academics seriously," he says.  "We're all looking to the future, but we're part of a family here. We look out for each other, too."

Tommy plans to attend Wesleyan University next year and hopes to study medicine. It's not hard to imagine him in a white jacket talking gently with a patient. I can see him bending solicitously and holding the hand of a small, scared child. He's compassionate and confident and reassuring.

But that kindly, good physician will have to wait a few years.

Today Tommy McFarland looks forward to his last year of high school. Today he'll joke with friends, practice hard on the football field, and maybe find the nerve to ask a girl to Homecoming.

Today, he only has to be our T-Mac.

Sam Tynan and Grace Tynan

I'm grateful for the Tynan kids. They teach me so much more than I could ever teach them.

Grace Tynan and Sam Tynan

Take "purple nurple", for instance - the act of grasping a person's nipple between the thumb and forefinger to roughly twist until it bruises.

Did not know this. Thanks to Sam and Grace, however, I'm thoroughly educated. Grace describes, in vivid detail, the numerous times during her grade school days she's inflicted this particular pain upon her brother Sam.

"The thing is," she says now, "he never fought back." She reflects more with a sense of wonder than of guilt. "Oh, he absolutely deserved everything he got," she defends herself vigorously.

Sam, one year older, grins. "Grace and my older brother Jack are the same person. They can't express their anger with words," he says. With the calculated brilliance of a typical middle child, he picks his siblings apart piece by piece, drives them crazy, then waits patiently until they physically assault him. Nothing gives Sam more satisfaction.

He and his sister laugh together. No two siblings are less alike than Sam and Grace Tynan. They clearly, however, enjoy and rely upon each other.

"She's pretty Type A," Sam teases, "and a hundred percent motivated at everything. But she's so loyal. She helps me with my homework, which is a little embarrassing, and she completely gets my sense of humor. We have all these inside jokes."

It's true that while Sam is a laid back, take-life-as-it-comes kind of kid, Grace is the model student. She arrives to English class prepared and ready for a quiz. She loves to read, checks her homework twice, and knows exactly what has to be accomplished by tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and even the day after that.

Sam? Not so much. If Sam, though, is not a perfect student, he's still enormously gifted. In my senior composition class, he reads his written assignments out loud - memoirs from grade school, middle school and high school days. I can hardly wait for the next installment.

"Sam," I tell him, "you write like Jean Shepherd." Shepherd wrote A Christmas Story. "These accounts could be published," I urge him.

He grins, embarrassed, but pleased nevertheless. It's true. Sam's descriptions of his youth as one of the "Gator Boys", his little posse of friends who attended Gates Elementary, are the highlight of my school day. He writes of pals Garrett Steinke, Tanner Staab, Nick Nolan and the Bernal brothers, and long summer afternoons romping and playing at the "Press" - the Presbyterian Church - on acres of endless green grass. Garrett and Tanner attend Central Catholic now, Nick is at GISH, and Ryan and Noah Bernal are in Ralston. Yet, the boys are still close. Sam will hold those idyllic summer days dear for the rest of his life.

But his middle and high school days at Central Catholic with old and new friends are just as important, and Sam has never lost his spirit of fun and adventure. He recalls the time in eighth grade he and Nick Nolan make up their own secret language to communicate with each other across the classroom. He remembers his big brother beating him up in football practice and secretly setting the alarms of  his friends' cell phones to go off in Mrs. Oltean's religion class.

Grace, the perfect student, is as sweet, pleasant and heaven sent as they come. She, too, has made lifelong friends at Central Catholic and relishes her own nostalgic days at school. Because of her two older brothers, she steps into a ready-made comfortable space at GICC. Not only is she familiar with the facility, but teachers already know her. Some are relieved she in no way resembles Sam. Grace, however, knows her big brother always has her back and is extremely protective of her.

"Sam acts tough," she smiles knowingly, "but he's not."

Grace will always remember trying to hide on the stage with her best pal Courtney Wilson so that they don't have to play Dodge Ball and storming the field when Sam's Crusader football team beats Wilber by one point.

"Central Catholic has been a great place to grow up," Grace reflects. "It's a place where you become close to friends and teachers for the rest of your life."

Both Grace and Sam acknowledge that Central Catholic has been important to their brother Jack and their parents Jerry and Sue Tynan. Their dad, they explain, who attended a huge school in Connecticut, wanted his kids in a smaller environment to have relationships with teachers and classmates, to participate in a multitude of activities, and to learn about their Catholic faith.

"My dad loves Central Catholic almost as much as Mr. Schumann does," Sam laughs.

He and his sister imitate their father Jerry - a much loved, wonderfully gregarious man who can talk to anybody - shaking a complete stranger's hand. Grace, the stranger, pretends to be locked in an everlasting grip.

"He doesn't let go!" Sam laughs. "He holds on until it's awkward for the other guy."

Grace giggles. "My mom says it's because he grew up back East and doesn't understand personal space boundaries."

But the kids love their father and are grateful for the importance both their parents have placed on the small, family atmosphere of Central Catholic. Because of their school, their Catholic faith has become essentially important to both of them.

"Father Scott (Harter) brought life to my Catholic faith," Sam says about GICC's school chaplain.

Grace agrees. "He makes it fun to be Catholic, and I love to listen to his homilies at school Mass. He tries to sit at a different lunch table with all the kids and answer any questions we have about Catholocism."

And because of the religion department's spring service day project, Grace discovered her love for helping animals at the Humane Society.

"That was a great day. I knew how much I wanted to be a vet after that," she says. "I have two dogs, and they're my favorite family members," she grins wickedly at Sam.

Like his sister, Sam has discovered his calling, too. Working with younger kids at football and other volunteer activities helped him to realize he loves kids. "I'd like to be a teacher or work in child psychology someday," he says.  His sister calls him the "Baby Whisperer" because of his great rapport and connection with babies and small children.

Graduation looms on the horizon for Sam, and neither he nor Grace seems

Maragan Kori

Maragan loves Goodwill Day - the last Friday of the month that kids are allowed to shed their uniforms and dress up at GICC.

GICC senior Maragan Kori

He saunters into eighth grade English wearing a pristine shirt, long creased shorts and white tennis shoes that positively gleam.

"You look very nice, Maragan," I compliment him.

He nods sagely. "Got my swag," he grins.

Maragan Kori is cooler than cool. He's also an ornery little hooligan.

In art class, when his buddy Nick Nolan pesters him, Maragan threatens to tell the teacher.

"You'll never tell," cocky little Nick sneers.

Maragan jumps up, heads straight to Mrs. Zulkoski, and innocently inquires whether she'd be willing to ask Nick where he purchased his uniform shirt.

"I need one, but I'm too embarrassed to ask him," he ducks his head shyly.

Confused, Mrs. Z nevertheless calls to the front of the room a wide-eyed Nick who promptly groans, lays his head on his desk and cries.

Now a senior at Grand Island Central Catholic, Maragan and his classmates laugh recalling the incident.

"Maragan's so hilarious," senior Vann Stevenson laughs. "He's spontaneous like that and always comes up with something."

Maragan Kori, top center, with  some of his classmates, First row from left: Alex
McCarraher, Blake Kyriss, Aric Montgomery. Second row from left: Robert
Binfield, Nate Starman, Sam Tynan, Vann Stevenson, Matt Novinski, Jordan
Pebeck and Amanda Fay.

In his close-knit class, Maragan's made life long friends. He and his classmates have known each other since they were 11-years-old, and some friendships started in grade school. His friends tease him about the day Mr. Howard called him a cry baby and about his energetic passions.

"Remember when Maragan was upset because he had to miss his 900th episode of WWE?" senior Jordan Pebeck jokes. Maragan, embarrassed, shakes his head and laughs.

Maragan Kori will be the first to tell you he had a lot of growing up to do. "I was bad in middle school," he admits. "I was a smart alec running around this school. I couldn't sit still."

He credits his parents, Gadwal and Nema, and his teachers for turning him around. "My teachers didn't have the greatest opinion of me, but they kept telling me I could do it - that I was smart."

And his parents, he says, are the bravest people he knows.

Born in Sudan, Maragan's father was an engineer and a soldier before he packed up his family and fled from persecution to Egypt. Maragan was two-years-old and has fleeting memories of his next few years in Egypt.

"I remember going to church with my mom, playing in sand and going to a day care that had lots of slides," he recalls.

Just before Maragan was old enough to start shool, he and his family traveled to the United States to start their new life. Maragan began shool in Nashville, Tennessee, before moving to Grand Island when he was 7. His dad is now employed at a factory in Alda, and Maragan first enrolled at Wasmer Elementary where he met life long friend Chase Wenzl who would later accompany him to Central Catholic.

"My younger brother Mubarak and I learned English right away," Maragan recalls, "but my parents had a tougher time."  His father watched the news to learn the language, and his mother still tries to incorporate English into her daily life. His little sisters Misa and Magda were born here.

It was understanding his parents' tremendous courage and sacrifices for their children, especially as he grew older, that motivated Maragan to try hard in school.

"I started studying," he says. "My classes and my teachers became important to me. My classmates are all smart and athletic. They make me try harder."

He's enjoying this time in his life, but he knows he owes it to himself and to his parents to make something great of himself. "If I work as hard as I can, God will take care of the rest. He gave me parents who are brave. My mom always gave us a little extra love and made my brother and me feel safe. Now I have to do good things with my life."

Faith, Maragan says, has become the cornerstone of his life at Central Catholic."It's strange not being able to know my family from Sudan or where I come from. I still worry about them. But I've learned a lot about God and my faith, and it helps me to feel better about my family. I still, though," he says, "want to go back to Sudan - back to the capital city - to meet them."

In fact, Maragan hopes to study medicine after his high school graduation. Then he wants to go back home. To Sudan. "I've had it easy all my life," he says. " People in Sudan haven't. I want to go back to see where I came from and help them."

He'll do it, too. If Maragan can scare Nick Nolan into believing he's getting in trouble with the art teacher, he can do anything.

Kristen Klein

I hear it through the grapevine. Central Catholic's hired a new principal.

In a few days it's official. Kristen Klein, a young woman with barely two years' teaching experience, is the youngest administrator ever to be hired at GICC.

Kristen Klein

Dear God, I think. What can Bishop Hanefeldt be thinking? Are we really handing our school over to this slip of a girl?

It's a shame no one asks my opinion. I am an old teacher who could tell the Bishop a thing or two. I could tell him Central Catholic needs the guidance of a seasoned professional who's been around the block a few times. I have socks older than this girl. But does anybody bother to consult me? Come to think of it, nobody calls from the White House to ask me how to fix Social Security either.

The first time I meet Kristen Klein over coffee at Barista's, I am bowled over by her confidence and poise and faith.

"She's a gem," I admit to my husband afterward. "The Holy Spirit is looking out for us."

He cocks an eyebrow and pretends to be shocked. "You're kidding. They managed to find a good person without your help?"  He's a smart alec, my husband. I suppose I will have to forgive Bishop Hanefeldt.

Nobody works harder than Kristen Klein. Her inherent good work ethic propels her through college in three and a half years. She pays her own way through college by waitressing and working several other jobs.

Focused and goal-oriented, she nevertheless is distracted one day by a cute guy dining at Perkins. They make awkward eye contact, go out the next day, and in ten months will be married. "When you know, you know!" she laughs.

While earning her masters in education administration, she works for the Susan Buffett Foundation, teaches college transition classes, and is intrigued by the idea of entrepreneurial education. "You don't have to teach the way everybody else does it," she eagerly explains. "You can think outside the box."

Her husband Brett, who works for Waddell and Reed, persuades Kristen to move to Grand Island. As an interventionist at GISH, she becomes close to high-risk kids and works with them to transform their lives. The next year she teaches business, but Kristen remains attracted to the idea of entrepreneurial learning. Her professional life, however, takes an altogether different turn when Father Mike McDermott, her Resurrection Church pastor, issues a challenge.

"You need to think about applying for the Central Catholic principal job," he says. Kristen shrugs off the suggestion, but Father Mike is like a stubborn gnat. "I've been praying about this," he tells her a few days later. "You really need to consider applying."

The interview experience will be good for her, she finally relents. Never does she imagine she will be hired as Grand Island Central Catholic's youngest principal.

Father Scott Harter, St. Mary's associate pastor and GICC chaplain, is not surprised at all. He thinks Kristen Klein is "profoundly refreshing, competent, driven, and most importantly a believer." She allows her faith to to penetrate the mundane of her life, Father Scott says, so that all she does is informed and influenced by the God that she loves.

"When I'm watching her work," Father Scott says, "I most admire the freedom with which she operates, a freedom which flows from the fact that she is about one thing - the spiritual, mental and physical good of the students she serves." He also says she is a Velociraptor who eats students for breakfast. Like my husband, he's a terrible smart alec.

Father Scott agrees, though, that some things can't be taught - like the intuitive ability to build relationships with kids. Kristen does it like a pro. First thing in the morning, she's in the Central Catholic hallways talking to kids.

"I really try to be present before school starts," she says. "It's a good time to gauge how kids are doing." She greets them at the door with her lovely, warm smile and talks to them about sports and band and difficult classes.

"Sometimes in the morning, I need a friendly smile," eighth grader Julia Pilsl says. "Mrs. Klein is always out in the hall helping someone or having a great conversation. I always think she's definitely the kind of person I want to be around. She inspires me."

Her main goal, Kristen emphasizes, is to build relationships. In the end, having relationships with kids helps with discipline, too.

Eighth grader Russell Martinez is energetic and likable with a mischievous smile. "Mrs. Klein gets on stuff right away. If something's wrong between you and another kid," he says, "she knows how to get things settled." He refuses to muddy the story with details. "Let's just say she's good at solving conflict," he grins.

Senior Garrett Steinke is a genius at wearing anything but a school uniform. During his junior year, he manages to come to class sporting a variety of colorful sweaters and shirts - none of which meet the dress code standards. This year, however, he dutifully wears his Crusader polo shirt and khakis."I don't know how to explain it," he smiles sheepishly. "Mrs. Klein sits down with you and explains why the rules are the way they are. She's tough, but she's nice without being mean. So I guess I'll be wearing my uniform until I graduate."

Kristen is tough but fair. And she is a young woman of faith.

I am distributing the Eucharist one morning at school Mass. Kristen comes forth to receive Communion, and I am struck by her expression of reverence. "This girl," I think, "is a believer."

She admits her faith has "exploded" at Central Catholic. Always a dutiful Catholic, she doesn't realize how much her faith means until she marries Brett, a non-Catholic, and the subject of religion rises.

"I'm not leaving the Church," she tells him. At the time, she is unable to articulate why her Catholic religion is so vitally important. Brett, however, is drawn to the Church as well and chooses to convert to Catholicism.

Now, during the first challenging year as an administrator, Kristen relies on her faith more than ever. Periodically, she escapes to the school chapel for a few minutes to pray and journal. In these first few months, she confides, the job has been overwhelming with its many demands. But every day she rises to the challenge and is grateful for the kids, their good parents, and the band of teachers with whom she shares her days.

Her favorite Bible verse, on a wooden plaque in her school office, bolsters her with courage. From Joshua 1:9, it reads, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

Miraculously, during these first three months in her new job, the message has appeared on texts, photos and emails no less than 20 different times. Always, Kristen marvels, it appears when she most needs a lift.

"I'm impatient and frustrated sometimes," she sighs. "We need to be whippers and snappers at Grand Island Central Catholic. We should be recognized for more than athletics. We're so much more" she says. She wants Central Catholic to be lauded for students who are academically prepared for college and spiritually prepared for life. Next year, she hopes to share her passion for entrepreneurial learning and to teach a class herself. "I always want things to change quickly, and when they don't change fast enough, I get frustrated," she admits. "Those frustrating days, I believe, are learning experiences."

At the same time, she's gratified when parents and kids respond to her hard work and kindness. "I hope I'm making an impact and doing what I'm supposed to be doing," she says.

She has no idea the kind of impact she's making on all of us. There are plenty of us who are older and experienced. Youth brings a nice balance. It appears that a young, vital first-year principal is exactly what we need here at Central Catholic. I'm grateful for Kristen Klein. She is an answer to prayer, and it seems that even without my help, God apparently knows what he's doing.

But I wish President Obama would call. I really could fix Social Security.

The Henke Family

From top left clockwise: Connor, Brad, Stephanie, Kennadi,
Cedric and Hayley Henke.

Stephanie Sasges Henke is surrounded by her  brood - Connor, Hayley and Kennadi - in the school library. When her husband Brad arrives with second grader Cedric in tow, they all light up. Cedric rushes to his mother, climbs into her lap, and hugs her fiercely.

This, I think, is a happy family.

Stephanie is Central Catholic's afternoon librarian. In the morning, she's the director of the First Presbyterian Church Preschool. Her passion for children is a gift to the community. In her relatively new position as preschool director, a job she was handpicked for by board members, she implements her own ideas and provides preschoolers not only a safe place to grow and play but to learn as well.

"We're trying to get them ready for the Grand Island Public School system," she says. Stephanie works hard to align her own curriculum with Grand Island Public's.

I have known Stephanie since she was a kid. Before I teach her children Connor, Hayley and Kennadi at Central Catholic, I have taught Stephanie. She is a typical middle school girl who worries about everything middle school girls do - friends, volleyball, middle school mixers. After she graduates, I don't see her again for several years. Then one day our young boys, who attend the Wasmer Elementary's Almost Home program after school, tell me all about the new assistant Stephanie. I am amazed to discover it's our own Stephanie Sasges. She is radiant, filled with purpose, and loves her job and her Almost Home kids.

"My work and love for kids really started at the YWCA and Almost Home," she says. Children will become a life long passion for Stephanie. Having her own children will also become her most fervent desire. It will not be an easy road, though.

She and her husband Brad will try for years to have a baby of their own before they finally decide to adopt. Connor, a ninth grader at Central Catholic, is their first child. Because he is African American, Brad and Stephanie are required to take classes for raising a child in a biracial family. Connor is a happy, beautiful baby and the light of Brad and Steph's lives. He is a year old when Brad and Steph begin the lengthy journey to fertility clinics and a long hoped for pregnancy. Finally, at Omaha Children's Hospital, a doctor is able to help Steph become pregnant. The result is twins Kennadi and Hayley. It is an enormously expensive process, and Steph does not attempt it again. She and Brad, however, still hope to have another child.

"Let's just make sure it's a boy," Brad asks as he and Steph begin the adoption process again. Cedric, now seven, is their last child.  Like his brother Connor, Cedric is African-American. As adopted children, they are curious about their birth families. Connor, now 14, knows he has birth siblings, but his birth mother chooses a closed adoption and has not made an attempt to contact Connor.

"When I'm 18," Connor says, "I'll try to find her and my birth siblings. I just want to know where I come from. I want to know if my birth brothers and sisters look and act like me."

His sisters tease him. One day when Connor becomes furious with his mother, he storms out the door. "Goodbye, adopted mom!" he calls over his shoulder. He laughs now and shakes his head. "I was mad," he explains. Nevertheless, it's clear that Connor, like the rest of his siblings, adores his mother and father.

If there has been one bump in the road, it's been Hayley's health. Hayley and her sister Kennadi are eighth graders at Central Catholic. In her first grade year, Hayley complains to her mother that her knees are stiff and sore. The diagnosis is a long time coming. When it does, the news is grim. Hayley has juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. It's Dr. Jennifer Alberts, a Grand Island dermatologist, who urges Stephanie and Brad to seek a specialist. Stephanie is forever thankful to her.

"Everybody told us Hayley was just experiencing stress," Stephanie remembers. When Hayley's arthritis is discovered, she undergoes an operation to remove fluids and infection from her knees and begins to feel better. All in all, Hayley has endured nine operations and faces more surgery down the road. She is, however, uncomplaining about her health issue. The only downside, she says, is that because her arthritis affects her auto-immune system, it's difficult to fight off flu and colds.

"I get scared sometimes when it takes me a while to feel better," she says, "but otherwise I've just learned to live with it."

Hayley is given a weekly injection by her mother, which she hates, and takes six pills a day for her arthritis. In every other respect, however, she is like any other eighth grade girl who throws herself into school.

Stephanie has always loved Central Catholic and wanted her own kids to attend school there. "GICC has always meant a lot to me. Teachers really cared about me, and it's where I made some of my very best friends. I want my own kids to have that and to learn about their faith in a Catholic school atmosphere."

Connor, Kennadi and Hayley love their school and teachers as well. Hayley remembers that religion teacher Joanne Oltean took a special interest in her and was concerned about her arthritis. Kennadi, too, is a fan of Mrs. Oltean's. "She really taught me a lot about our faith. And I like Father Scott (Harter), too," she grins. "He gives the best homilies. I always listen because he makes it so enjoyable."

On this Friday afternoon after a long week of school, the entire Henke family is ready to watch some high school football. Connor is a freshman on the Crusader team, and all the Henkes are wearing Crusader blue shirts and sweatshirts. Stephanie beams at her happy, active family. Her children, she says, are all uniquely themselves. Connor is the outgoing kid, Kennadi's the positive one, Hayley's bighearted, and Connor is definitely the loving child.

"I always like to say that my boys are a gift from Heaven, and my girls are a gift from science. But they are all," Steph smiles, "a gift from God."