Here we are at last. After the many days of contemplation and daydreaming, here I stand, in a position I never fully expected to be in. Behind me are twenty men and women, transformed from the children that still exist in our hearts. In just four short years, I have seen these guys grow up, as I have matured beside them. In fact, we have almost raised each other, and in turn, become family.

As children, it is almost impossible to believe that you will ever grow up. Adulthood is a status that is not to be achieved, only admired from afar, beautiful yet obscure and unknown. But one day it hits you. You find yourself trying to remember the last time you built a fort. The last time you read scary stories, or played flashlight tag by moonlight. Or the last time you helped your father sweep grass off the sidewalk, while simultaneously warding off evil ninjas with your broomstick/samurai sword combination.

You finally realize that those times are no more; that memories imprinted in your mind are nothing more than the emotion of the moment. You may even try, in vain, to slow this inevitable process. Yet, unbeknownst to most, we have been fitted with the magical wheels of time, made to never stop. These wheels roll, never ceasing, only increasing speed as you travel through your life.

So now, here we are, atop this new hill, with our skates fitted, waiting for that last push from above. From here on, all will be a blur, so let's not forget where we have come from.

I drove through those stone pillars almost four years ago, unsure and not fully convinced that this place could be a home. For many weeks my room remained as sterile as it had upon my arrival. Only months later had the shock, and the love set in.

Mooseheart wrapped me in its wings, crystallizing me in hope and passion, easing me into a cocoon of which I have been bursting from day to day, learning life and learning to love, shedding the layers of hate under the sunlight of happiness.

And in turn we have all become part of this, and made it home. For this place has been a home, and a heart for many.

As I stand before you, take a second to think about where your heart may lie. Maybe nestled between the pages of inspiration, or cradled in the arms of nature, energized by sunshine of the wilderness. Or perhaps your heart lies in the classroom, organized and tentative. Or for some, your heart may lie between the notes on a page, or intertwined among passionate melodies of which you dedicate your heart.

Yet, for many of you among us, you have found your heart within others. You have dedicated your lives to help others find the way. We are forever in debt to your passion, for without yours we may have never realized our own.

For me, my heart is strewn about this place, remnants of my soon-to-be-departed past. The very halls of this building, and the fields beyond them, have seen my blood and sweat, and my growing love and passion, as they have for years.

I shall forever hear my youth laughing in the school halls, and the locker-bank melodies on the tail of that.

School mornings with fresh dew on the front of my sneakers and the smell of Irish Spring. Dazzling summers with hushed heated nights, the AC unit revving outside my window.

Sunrise snow shoveling and the House of God on Sundays, with the sound of vacuuming and the swish of brooms upon our arrival.

Sleepless nights and sweaty sheets, with the wind counting sheep outside my windowpane.

Family Teachers have come and gone, yet my brothers and sisters have remained the same.

All these things have become a part of me, as I have become a part of them, yet they shall never be the same, for the eyes of children are blessed in their ignorance.

Mooseheart, more than I could have ever comprehended, has become a home for me, even as I leave through its gates for the last time. While even though I have left, my heart shall never leave, remaining as steadfast as the love that made Mooseheart possible.

Jacob Stegeman
May 24, 2008