It can be difficult to declare one’s beliefs in today’s society without encountering opposition. Micah Price, a Campbell County High School alumnus from Alexandria, Kentucky, found himself in this situation. Micah bravely shared his faith in Jesus Christ during his graduation speech, which caused the institution to first withhold his diploma.
Micah was allowed to mention Jesus Christ in his speech on May 24 at Northern Kentucky University’s commencement ceremony, which took place at Truist Arena. He took use of the occasion to exhort other Christians to maintain their faith. He was met with thunderous ovation from the crowd as he said, “Class, before another word leaves my mouth, I must give the honor, the praise, and the glory to my lord and savior Jesus Christ.”
Micah declared, “Who in his very words tells us he is the light, he is the way, the truth, and the life,” going beyond simple acknowledgment. I’m here to inform the class and everyone in the audience today that if you don’t have any of those things in your life and you’re having trouble finding the solution, then my lord and savior is the solution. The audience applauded this sincere message, but school administrators were not happy with his deviation from the authorized script.
Following his speech, Micah was approached by administrators from the school, informing him that he would have to defend his actions to the board of education. He received a rebuke from the school and had his diploma temporarily delayed. As Micah said in a TikTok video, “I went off script during the speech, so one of the principals came in, tapped me on the shoulder, and very politely and professionally told me that I was going to have to go in front of the board and explain what I did.”
Micah had previously been permitted to name his “lord and savior Jesus Christ” by the Campbell County School District, but they had required he adhere to the preapproved script. “All speakers were told that going off their submitted speech, or any unplanned choices at graduation, may have repercussions as they would at any school function,” Superintendent Shelli Wilson said in her explanation. Other than this outpouring of Christian faith, off-program decisions like political election remarks, incorrect language use, or speech, signs, and caps supporting any cause or religion could have the opposite effect.
But Micah remained steadfast in his convictions. He said that in order to prevent dividing the audience, the additional preaching that was originally included in his screenplay was removed at the school’s request. He told WKRC, “I think it was okay that I thanked him, but maybe it wasn’t what they wanted when I went in and pushed them to follow him and other Christians to stand up and talk about him.”
Though they had been reprimanded, Micah didn’t feel bad for the school administrators since he understood they were just carrying out their duties. He said, accepting full responsibility for his acts, “I follow God’s instructions, not anyone else’s. Thus, I am the one at fault if anyone is. I should be punished. When Micah finally got his certificate after a protracted holiday weekend, he described it as “an answered prayer.”
Micah, who is planning to enrol in the US Air Force Academy, is unwavering in his convictions and has no regrets. “Holding it is simply a prayer that has been answered; nothing more,” he uttered. Many find encouragement in Micah’s steadfast faith and bravery in defending his convictions, which demonstrate the strength of willpower and conviction in the face of difficulty.
Micah’s story serves as a reminder of the value of standing up for our values in a world when it might be difficult to communicate such beliefs. His story inspires others to be brave and unyielding in their convictions by demonstrating the power of strong character and the significant influence of unflinching faith.
MY 12-YEAR-OLD SON DEMANDED WE RETURN THE 2-YEAR-OLD GIRL WE ADOPTED — ONE MORNING, I WOKE UP AND HER CRIB WAS EMPTY
The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. I stretched, a contented sigh escaping my lips. Then, I froze.
Lily’s crib, nestled beside my bed, was empty.
Panic clawed at my throat. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. “John!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
John rushed into the room, his face pale. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lily?”
“She’s gone!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Her crib is empty!”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh God, you don’t think…”
The thought that had been lurking in the shadows of my mind, a fear I had desperately tried to ignore, now solidified into a chilling reality. My son, driven by anger and resentment, had taken Lily.
The ensuing hours were a blur of frantic phone calls to the police, frantic searches of the house, and a growing sense of dread. Every ticking second felt like an eternity. John, his face etched with guilt and fear, was inconsolable.
“I should have been firmer with him,” he kept repeating, “I should have never let him stay home alone.”
But I knew it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I had allowed my son’s anger to fester, I had underestimated the depth of his resentment. Now, I was paying the price.
The police arrived, their faces grim as they surveyed the scene. They questioned us, searched the house, and offered little comfort. “We’ll find her,” the lead detective assured us, his voice firm, but his eyes held a grim uncertainty.
As the hours turned into days, the initial wave of panic gave way to a chilling despair. I imagined Lily, frightened and alone, wandering the streets, lost and vulnerable. I pictured her small face, her big brown eyes filled with tears, her tiny hand reaching out for comfort that no one could offer.
The search continued, but hope dwindled with each passing day. Volunteers scoured the neighborhood, posters with Lily’s picture plastered on every lamppost. The news channels picked up the story, her face plastered across television screens, a plea for information.
But there was no trace of her.
The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I replayed every interaction with my son, every harsh word, every dismissive glance. I had focused on the joy of adopting Lily, on the love I felt for this small, vulnerable child. But I had neglected my son, his feelings, his needs. I had failed him, and now, because of my neglect, Lily was missing.
One evening, while sitting on the porch, staring at the fading light, I heard a faint sound. A soft whimper, barely audible above the rustling leaves. I followed the sound, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.
Hidden behind a large oak tree, I found them. My son, huddled beneath a blanket, was holding Lily close, his face buried in her hair. Lily, her eyes wide with fear, was clinging to him, her small hand clutching his shirt.
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. I rushed towards them, tears streaming down my face. “Lily!” I cried, scooping her up into my arms.
My son, his face pale and drawn, looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and relief. “I… I couldn’t let her go,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I know I was mean, but… but I love her too, Mom.”
As I held Lily close, her tiny body trembling against mine, I realized that the past few days had been a painful but ultimately necessary lesson. It had taught me the importance of communication, of empathy, of acknowledging the feelings of those I loved.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, my son curled up beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. We had lost precious time, but we had also found something unexpected – a deeper, more profound connection. We had faced our fears, confronted our mistakes, and emerged stronger, more united than ever before.
The road to healing would be long, but we would face it together, as a family. And in the quiet moments, I would cherish the sound of Lily’s laughter, a sweet melody that filled our home with a joy I had almost lost forever.
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