A visitor at SOLA.

I have a beautiful story to tell you.

The story starts with a few numbers. As some of you know, we’ve reached the end of our 2021 admissions season. I’ve got so much to tell you about our new class of 6th graders, but for now, let me simply say: this year we received more than 260 applications from 30 provinces. Those are both single-year records.

Beautiful, right? And it only gets better.

We had a visitor at SOLA not too long ago. I’m sure you understand why I can’t go into too many details about this visitor, but I’ll tell you that he’s a prominent man in his village and he traveled from his home province to visit us in Kabul during the winter, which is anything but easy.

One of our students lives in this man’s village. She’s been with us for several years, and she isn’t just the only SOLA girl who lives in the village – she’s the only educated girl who lives there. And what she does, when she’s home from school, is offer tutoring to her sisters and to other girls who want to learn. She’s become well-known in the village for doing this.

She’s the reason this man came to see us.

He told us that he has several daughters. One of them is married. Another, who’s not quite 18, is already engaged. None of his daughters have received formal education. But he asked if there was a way for at least one of them to apply to SOLA – because if she applied, and if she was accepted, he knew that she’d come home and teach her sisters. He knew she’d come home and teach other girls.

He told us that it would take just one of his daughters to make this difference in her community. Just one daughter.

Just one girl.

Next time, I’m going to tell you how this story ends – I’m going to tell you about the decisions we made and the solutions we found. Today, though, I want to leave you with this: SOLA isn’t only a school. SOLA is a model for a new way of thinking and living in Afghanistan. You know this. And what’s so beautiful to me are stories that prove that you’re not the only ones who know it.

These are hard days. To be in Kabul now is to be on the front lines of a conflict that is taking our brightest young people from us. There is fear in my city. I won’t pretend otherwise. It’s this fear that makes hope so valuable. It’s what makes you matter more right now than you may know.

These are hard days, but every story is a sign that the roots of spring are growing deep, down into a soil where they can never be destroyed.

Beautiful.