Bonus Graduation Episode

I gave a Baccalaureate speech this year to my hometown high school, and I wanted you to hear my message as well!

Please share it with anyone that could use a hopeful message for the future!!

I am sending much love to all graduates and their families!

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Email me: ccoufal@cynthiacoufalcoaching.com
Text me: 785-380-2064
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Transcript

2 Girls, 1 Story and a Bigger Truth

In 1850, my family homesteaded in Woodlawn. It's been home for a very long time.

At one point, Woodlawn even had its own school, but by the time my dad was in high school, he attended Sabetha High School, and so did my mom.

I graduated from Sabetha in 1986, and both of my children walked across this same stage in 2002 and 2009.

So yes, I have a long family history here. But more than that, this place has shaped my story in ways I only started to understand years later.

And today, I want to tell you a story, my story.

But I'm going to tell it to you in a way you might not expect.

Two Different Girls

Let me introduce you to two girls I once knew.

Maybe you've known someone like them.

Maybe... one of them even sounds a little like you.

The first girl came from a good home. Her parents weren't unkind, just busy. They loved her, but they didn't really hear her.

She told them, "I don't like it here. This place doesn't feel like home."

They told her, "That's just how it is."

So the frustration grew.

She got angry with them, with her town, even with herself.

She showed it in the way she spoke to teachers. In the classes, she didn't pass. In the risky choices she made.

And when she thought about the future, all she wanted was to run. Run far away from Sabetha, Kansas.

You know the feeling, don't you? That restlessness that comes when you're young and everything feels too small, too known, too limiting. When you look around and think, "There has to be more than this." When you feel that the world is waiting, but somehow you're stuck in place.

I remember sitting in chairs at my graduation, looking up at someone on the stage, wondering if they had any idea what it was like to be young in a small town where everyone knows your name, your family, your business. Where your mistakes aren't just your own. They become part of the town's collective memory.

That first girl, she resented that. The lack of privacy. The weight of expectation. The feeling of being watched and judged.

She would drive down these country roads at night, windows down, music loud, just to feel some sense of freedom. Some nights she'd park on a hill overlooking the lights of town and think, "One day, I'll look back at those lights in my rearview mirror, and I won't ever come back."

Now, the second girl?

She also came from a good home, but she was quiet. But she found her voice, quite literally.

In middle school, she discovered she could sing. A teacher saw the spark and helped her find a stage.

She wasn't athletic, but she was expressive. She poured herself into choir, theatre, music.

And she had a group of friends, real friends, who walked through high school with her, laughing, dreaming, sometimes crying.

Her dream school was K-State, and it felt like the whole world was opening up.

This girl? She noticed different things about Sabetha. She noticed how teachers would stay after school to help her work on a project, not because they had to, but because they believed in her talent. She noticed how her neighbor knew exactly when to check in on her or ask her how she was doing. She noticed the way the whole town showed up for football games, not just to watch, but to be together, to share in something bigger than themselves.

She began to see that in a small town, you're never invisible, but that can be beautiful too. Because in your hardest moments, you're never truly alone.

The Choice Between Two Stories

Two different girls, two different stories...

But they were both me.

And like me, you will have many versions of your story.

Some filled with laughter and light. Others weighed down by loss or loneliness.

What I didn't know then, but what I know now, is that the story you choose to tell... will shape who you become.

That first girl?

She saw herself as a victim. And as long as she saw herself that way, the world looked darker, colder, and harder to survive.

The second girl?

She wasn't perfect, but she saw herself as someone with purpose.

She believed that even her hardest days had meaning.

That she could fall and rise again.

The Transformative Power of Perspective

Class of 2025, I want to tell you something important about these two girls, these two versions of me. The difference between them wasn't their circumstances. They lived in the same house, attended the same school, and faced the same challenges.

The difference was in how they interpreted those circumstances. The lens through which they viewed their lives.

The victim story is seductive because it feels true in the moment. When we're hurt, when we're disappointed, when we're overlooked, those feelings are valid. The pain is real.

But what happens next is what matters most.

Do we build our identity around that pain? Do we let it justify our anger, our shying away, our unwillingness to try again?

Or do we acknowledge it, feel it fully, and then ask: "What now? What can I learn? How can I grow? Where can I find meaning in this challenge? How might God be using this challenge for a bigger story?"

I didn't make this shift overnight. It was a gradual awakening. It happened in small moments, like when a teacher praised a paper I'd written, and I realized I could be more than my struggles. It happened when I joined the choir and discovered that my voice mattered, that I could contribute something beautiful.

And it happened years later, when I returned to Sabetha after moving away and saw it with new eyes, not as a cage I needed to escape, but as a community that had shaped me in ways I was only beginning to appreciate.

Joseph's Story: An Ancient Echo

There's another story I want you to hear today. It's much older, but just as real.

It's about a boy named Joseph.

He was young, too, seventeen.

He had big dreams and a coat of many colors.

But not everyone liked those dreams. His brothers hated him for it. So one day, they threw him in a pit and sold him into slavery.

Now... if anyone had the right to tell a victim's story, it was Joseph.

Betrayed by his own family. Ripped away from his home. Wrongly accused, imprisoned, forgotten.

That could've been his story.

And no one would've blamed him for it.

But Joseph didn't stay in the pit.

He kept rising, not because life was easy, but because he refused to let bitterness write the ending.

He served. He helped. He forgave.

And years later, when the same brothers who sold him stood before him in need...

Joseph didn't say, "Now it's my turn to hurt you."

He said something remarkable:

"You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good."

Joseph chose the hero's point of view.

The Deeper Lessons from Joseph's Journey

Think about the magnitude of Joseph's choice. His own brothers, his flesh and blood, saw his gifts and responded with jealousy so intense they wanted to kill him. They settled for selling him as property, erasing him from their family as if he never existed.

In Egypt, Joseph worked hard, gained trust, built a reputation—only to be falsely accused and thrown into prison. He helped others, interpreted dreams, asked for help himself—but was forgotten again, left to languish.

Each time, Joseph had a choice: become bitter or become better.

Each time, he chose the latter.

In prison, he didn't withdraw in resentment. He noticed others' distress. He used his gift of interpretation to help fellow prisoners understand their dreams.

Eventually, this servant-hearted approach led him to interpret Pharaoh's dreams. His wisdom saved Egypt from famine. And ultimately, it positioned him to save the very family that had betrayed him.

What strikes me most about Joseph's story isn't just that he forgave his brothers. It's that he recognized a bigger narrative at work. "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good."

Joseph saw beyond the immediate pain to something beyond him. He recognized that his suffering wasn't meaningless—it was part of a larger story with purpose and redemption woven through it.

And here's what's powerful: Joseph didn't just passively accept his fate. He actively engaged with it. He didn't say, "Whatever happens, happens." He took responsibility, used his gifts, made wise choices, and showed kindness at every turn.

That's the difference between resignation and resilience. Between a victim mentality and a hero's journey.

Your Story in the Making

And so can you.

Because here's the truth: life will not spare you from struggle.

There will be days when you'll feel forgotten, misunderstood, knocked down.

But the power is always in your hands to decide how you tell your story.

Not as someone stuck in the pain.

But as someone who grew from it.

Not as a victim of what happened...

But as the hero of what's next.

Class of 2025, you're standing at the edge of a story that hasn't been fully written yet.

And yes, the pages so far may have held chapters you didn't ask for.

Moments of pain. Injustice. Loss. Silence.

But from this day forward, you choose the lens.

You choose if the hard things define you… or refine you.

The Stories That Shape Our Lives

I want you to think about the stories you tell yourself about your life right now. The narratives that run through your mind when you face disappointment, rejection, or failure.

Maybe some of you tell yourselves: "I'm not college material." Or "I'll never be as successful as my older sister." Or "No one understands what I'm going through." Or "I don't belong here."

These stories feel true when we're in pain. They make sense of our suffering. But they also limit what's possible.

What if, instead, you tried these stories: "This challenge is teaching me persistence." "My unique path might not look like my sister's, and that's okay." "I have the courage to reach out and share my struggle with someone who cares." "I bring something valuable to this community that no one else can."

The stories we believe shape the actions we take. And the actions we take create the lives we lead.

I'm not saying it's easy. I'm not saying you can just flip a switch and suddenly see everything through rose-colored glasses.

But I am saying that perspective is a practice. A muscle you can strengthen. A skill you can develop.

And it starts with awareness, noticing the stories you tell yourself, and asking: "Is this the only way to see this situation? Is this story limiting me or liberating me? Is it pulling me toward victim-thinking or hero-thinking?"

Becoming the Heroes of Your Own Lives

Joseph chose.

I chose.

And now it's your turn.

You don't have to ignore the pain to rise above it.

You just have to refuse to let it be the last word.

You get to say: "Yes, that happened. But here's what I did with it."

You get to say: "Yes, I've been hurt. But I became someone who helps others heal."

You get to say: "I may not control the storm, but I can still steer the ship."

You are not a background character in your own life.

You are the hero.

The one who grows.

The one who gives.

The one who matters deeply.

And the truth is, success isn't just about grades, medals, or future job titles.

It's about how you choose to show up in the lives of others.

How you choose to live with purpose, not just survive on autopilot.

Finding Your Unique Purpose

Each of you sitting here today has gifts that are uniquely yours. Talents, perspectives, experiences that no one else can offer the world in quite the same way you can.

Some of you know exactly what those gifts are. You've felt the spark of purpose when you're using them, that sense of "This is what I'm meant to do."

Others of you are still discovering. And that's perfectly okay. Some of the most meaningful journeys involve periods of searching, questioning, and exploring.

But here's what I want you to know: Your purpose isn't necessarily about finding the perfect career or achieving conventional success. It's about bringing your full self to whatever path you choose.

It's about showing up authentically. Serving generously. Loving deeply. Creating beauty. Solving problems. Building connections.

And sometimes, it's about transforming your deepest wounds into sources of healing for others.

Think about it: Who better to understand loneliness than someone who has felt alone? Who better to guide others through grief than someone who has navigated loss? Who better to champion justice than someone who has experienced injustice?

Our hardest experiences, when processed and integrated, often become the very things that enable us to help others. They give us empathy. Insight. Wisdom no textbook can teach.

This doesn't mean we should seek out suffering. But it does mean that when suffering finds us, as it finds everyone eventually, we can choose to let it soften our hearts rather than harden them. We can let it expand our capacity for compassion rather than shrink it.

The Measure of Success

There's a poem I'd like to leave you with.

It says more in a few lines than I could say in a hundred.

To laugh often and much;
 to win the respect of intelligent people
 and the affection of children;
 to earn the appreciation of honest critics
 and endure the betrayal of false friends;
 to appreciate beauty;
 to find the best in others;
 to leave the world a bit better
 whether by a healthy child,
 a garden patch,
 or a redeemed social condition;
 to know even one life has breathed easier
 because you lived here,
 This is to have succeeded.

These words, often attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson, remind us that success isn't measured by wealth accumulated or achievements listed on a resume. It's measured by impact, by how our presence makes a difference in the lives around us.

And that kind of success is available to every one of you, regardless of your career path, regardless of whether you stay in Sabetha or move across the world, regardless of how many degrees you earn or how much money you make.

It's available because it's not dependent on external circumstances. It's dependent on the choices you make each day about how you'll show up, how you'll serve, how you'll love.

Conclusion: Writing Your Story

Class of 2025, as you leave this place and step into what's next, remember that you carry with you not just what Sabetha has given you, but what you've chosen to make of it.

Remember that the most powerful stories aren't the ones without struggle; they're the ones where struggle becomes a doorway to growth, resilience, and deeper connection.

Remember that you always have the power to reframe your experiences, not to deny reality, but to discover the meaning and purpose within it.

And remember that you're writing your story with every choice you make, not just the big ones about college or career, but the small, daily choices about how you'll respond to disappointment, how you'll treat others, how you'll use your unique gifts to make someone's day a little brighter.

Write a story you'll be proud to tell someday.

Write a story of courage, compassion, and growth.

Write a story where you're not the victim, but the hero, not because your life is perfect, but because you choose, again and again, to rise.

So go, Class of 2025

Write your story.

Be the hero.