What if instead the apocalypse is simply a choice? What if today we could decide it would be the end of the world as we know it – and create the world we’ve always wanted?

Today, there will be no cataclysm. No Doomsday. No Armageddon.

There will be only our decision – if we dare to make it – to come together to create a new future for our world. Today, from Times Square to Tanzania, and from the Netherlands to Nepal, we will come together to make a simple promise to one another: a promise to change our selves. A promise to let go of what is no longer working. A promise to do our part to create a world that works for us all.

We hope you’ll add your intention to put an end to the world as we know it – and create the world we’ve always wanted – at www.LoveApocalypse.com.
• What will you let go of?
• What world will you create?

Join us for the Love Apocalypse.

Much Love,
Stacey
(a.k.a. Girl on Fire)

I wanted to share with you this video of 14-year-old Leah reading the thank you note she wrote to the universe.  As we prepare to celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday here in the US, I hope it fills your heart with as much hope, love and gratitude as it did mine.

Today, we once again launched Epic Thanks.  I hope you’ll consider sharing your gratitude on the site & making a gift in honor of whatever you’re most thankful for this year.  If we are able to raise at least $10,000 USD by ThanksGiving Day to fund cows, chickens, computers, classrooms and more for Leah’s school in Tanzania, a generous donor has agreed to make an additional $5,000 gift to Epic Change.  Combined, that’s more than enough to build a classroom, technology lab, or a school farm at the secondary school built from your gratitude last year.

Perhaps you remember the classroom we built from gratitude when we originally launched Epic Thanks as TweetsGiving in 2008.  This year again, we plan to commemorate each gift on the walls of Mama Lucy’s school.

We’ve seen time & time again that gratitude changes everything.  I really hope you’ll join us by bringing your thankful heart to the party at www.EpicThanks.org.

With love & so much gratitude,
Stacey

I spent last night with Amani and his eighth-grade (known here as Form 1) classmates in Manyire, the small quiet village in whose fertile soil the secondary school has now been planted. Yesterday afternoon, the students and I sorted, organized, numbered and labelled the over 1,000 books that have been collected in the secondary school’s makeshift library – a small room that also now serves as a second classroom, a lunch room, the teachers’ offices, and, at night, a room where students can gather to read and socialize. Mr. Hussein, the science & math teacher, has also made a temporary home for the television and his own DVD player here so that the children can watch cartoons or current events when electricity allows. Leah, the library prefect, organized her class into three teams that finished the work in only a few hours. Albert, the class artist and a brilliant boy who skipped the seventh grade to move directly to the top of this secondary class, used a six-inch ruler to carefully construct a library poster on which each and every letter was perfectly straight.

While we sorted, Lossim, the budding zoologist, older brother of Oltesh, and one of the tallest in his class, disappeared for a moment. Soon, he was back with his new pet, a chameleon he named Jupo, for whom he’d fashioned a small cage out of rusty chicken wire he’d found nearby and a plush nest of fresh grass. The day before, I’d found Lossim with a nameless pigeon sitting on his shoulder – a young one, he said, whose family had flown away. He would feed it for a few days in the nest he’d made – until surely enough the downy bird grew stronger and flew away on his own. Now, Lossim shared that he’d studied Jupo for awhile before catching the hissing creature by grabbing the back of his neck. He learned the chameleon preferred butterflies and, sure enough, Lossim caught those too and Jupo gobbled them up. We studied Jupo for a bit, placing him on plants and watching him turn from concrete gray to bright leafy green. “Jupo,” Lossim explained, “means an animal who likes other animals.” Lossim, I think, believes he is the other animal. From inquiring from the other students, though I’m not entirely sure, “jupo” doesn’t seem to be a Swahili word, but one instead whose definition Lossim created himself especially for his new pet.

When the library was finished, we opened a deck of brain bender cards and the self-named “smarties” fought off the “geniuses” to win a heated intellectual battle.  Remsome, a quiet, unassuming boy of 13 who sits in the back right corner of the room, led his team to victory by quickly and correctly answering critical thinking questions like these by Gary Gruber, PhD:

• I am four times as old as my daughter. In 20 years I shall be twice as old as her. How old are we now?
• In the subtraction problem ABA - CA = AB, each letter uniquely identifies one digit from 0 to 9. Find the values of A, B, and C.

After the game, we sat down for a supper of ugali (a stiff porridge made of maize), lentils and cabbage – all cooked patiently by the matron over a wood fire in the small shack-kitchen. Ugali and beans are on the menu for nearly every meal at the secondary school. Sometimes rice replaces the ugali, and – on the one day per week many children like best – they have chapati, a warm, flat bread that the matron rolls individually by hand. On Wednesdays, another favorite, pilau, is on the menu – it’s the one meal per week that includes a bit of meat. We dined outside under the tree listening to the Manchester United-Newcastle football (er, soccer) match on a radio that is literally only a radio – not a CD, mp3, cassette or even an 8-track player in sight. Aside from Silas, whose wide charming smile is broken only to occasionally nervously bite his bottom lip, everyone seemed to be hoping Manchester would win. We sat literally in the dark. The school is not on the electrical grid, and there is no generator, so the children have learned to carefully conserve the limited power produced by the two solar panels. On a sunny day, the two panels provide light nearly until morning – which in the stark and total darkness of the nights here is necessary to guide the children safely across the stony field in front of their classrooms-turned-dormitories to the toilets. Last night, the children were conserving energy so that the electricity would last long enough to watch a movie on Mr. Hussein’s DVD player. We’d arranged for a very special movie night: I’d brought popcorn the matron, with her sidekick Gideon, popped fresh over the fire, and Jolly Ranchers I’d carried from the US. Together, we watched Finding Nemo and Alice in Wonderland. Afterward, I asked if anyone had ever seen Alice before. A few had read the story, but not one had seen the film. Of those who read the book, each confirmed that they never imagined wonderland to look quite like Disney’s version.

After the movie, I followed the girls back to their dormitory to get ready for bed. We laid down on pink-sheeted bunks, and while the girls on the top bunks complained they were too hot, the girls on the bottom bunks said they were too cold. Eventually, to my delight, the windows were all opened and a cool breeze blew into the room…and the girls started to sing themselves – and me – to sleep. Glory began by asking me if I remembered the songs I taught them years ago in primary school: Ain’t No Mountain High Enough and One Moment in Time. Of course. They sang those for a bit, then broke into the song LaLaLove which my friend Robbie wrote last year as part of our LaLaLove effort that helped to build this school out of song. I texted it to him from the bottom bunk, and he wrote back words of love that I read to the girls. As I did, I heard the boys singing next door, and went next door to record them when my phone died for the night. I tiptoed back into the girls room, and we began to whisper to one another. When I asked their favorite songs, Salma giggled about Justin Beiber (yes, even here!), and the girls continued to sing popular Swahili songs, songs by Adele, and then, as we drifted to sleep, Leah sang us a lullaby in her tribal language. We went to bed at 9, but didn’t fall asleep until well after 11.

This morning, the matron woke each girl by name just after 5:30am: “Aziza, Glory, Leah, Anna, Irene, Deborah, Salma…wake up!” The girls quickly wrapped themselves in khangas (local cloth wrap skirts), and hurried with the Matron to the classroom to meet the boys who were already there. Immediately, Leah began to sing and, in harmony, the whole class joined in as loudly as I’ve ever heard them – singing to God. While the school is not religiously affiliated, spirituality in Tanzania is deeply woven even into the most secular spaces. Here, God is everywhere: business meetings, government ceremonies, and every school I’ve visited. I’ve approached the question in every way I know how – and it seems from every answer I’ve received culturally infathomable not to infuse spiritual practice (regardless of religion) into the daily life of children – so both a Christian pastor and a Muslim Shaikh consult and provide spiritual guidance and instruction. When they finished singing, the kids all simultaneously began having an individual conversation aloud with whatever God they worship.  Everyone spoke independently at the same time – none of the memorized prayers I remember from my own youth, but instead personalized reflections from each child spoken all at once.  Only a divine being could have made sense of this sacred symphony, so I asked them later what they prayed for. Allen responded that he was asking God about a dream he had last night about their upcoming exam competition with another local secondary school. Then others chimed in: “I prayed for God to be with me today;” “I asked for forgiveness;” “I prayed for God to bless our school;” “I prayed for you to stay with us until December.”

After prayers, each child rushed off to do chores. Each one made his or her own bed by perfectly rolling up his or her blanket, then each did their community responsibility.  I saw Allen outside waving around a toilet brush as he made his way to the teachers’ toilets. Salma & Phineas each fetched a bucket of water to mop the floors of their respective dormitories with nothing more than a bucket of water and a towel. Leah led a cleaning crew in the girls’ bathrooms, where I found Glory doing a bit of laundry in a bucket on the porch. I caught Aziza shining her shoes in the dormitory – they buff them incessantly to keep their school shoes spotless, even in the endless dust. I saw Lossim and Albert helping the watchman to prime the water pump before they joined Silas to clean the classroom. No one complained. In fact, they sang while they worked. I asked later and while they admitted they sometimes don’t like to do chores, they feel “responsible” and well-prepared for daily life as adults – they also said “it’s not so hard.” (Quick, tell your kids!) Today, when school is done, they’ll each go and work in their own small garden plot on which the school’s vegetables are grown.

Once the floors and toilets sparkled from their elbow grease, the children (and I) moved on to our showers. They were cold, but not ice cold – more like “fresh spring on a warm day” cold. It actually (and I’m not even sugar coating here) felt great after a warm night. Again, the children sang – every one with his or her own song, with others joining in when they heard someone in the next stall.

Then, at breakfast, as I mentioned, Amani taught me the word for goosebumps. As were sipping our porridge, he said he had a question, and then asked Silas to translate for him from Swahili. Amani relayed a story that apparently was reported in the news and rumor mills here about five years ago. He said there had been a very clever, but very poor, villager who had invented some type of aircraft – and it worked. As a result, Amani relayed, the villager was falsely accused by the government of counterfeiting money (after all, how could one do something so brilliant without riches?), and he was imprisoned. In prison, the villager was killed. Then, Silas translated Amani’s next sentence: “I am frightened.” Amani and Silas worked together to explain that they were scared to do great things – scared of the possibilities inside them. They are scared they will be silenced, or imprisoned, even killed if they have the audacity to do something amazing. In front of his classmates, Amani said again, simply and clearly, in English and Swahili: “I am scared.” And his fear laid there bare as I tried to find English words that were no easier for me in that moment than they would have been for Amani. He had spoken a fear so real and so true that many of us find it ineffable. I swallowed an ocean of tears that welled in happiness for his insight and honesty, and in sadness for a world that insidiously teaches us that we should be afraid of offering the very best of ourselves to one another. I told him he’d given me goosebumps, and I described them, to which he responded by translating my English into his own Swahili: “msisimko.”

Just then, Lossim rang the school bell calling the children the morning assembly, where they sang their national anthem and, under Silas’ leadership, the students offered one another their morning announcements, and then began their morning parade – a practice that the teachers say encourages class unity by making them march in time with one another.  The parade ended with the students marching off into their classroom for first period: Mr Hussein’s math class.  His lesson covered profit, loss and calculating simple interest.  I sat in class for a bit, then moved into the office/library/break room/TV room/… to write this note to you.

When I heard the students being dismissed for morning break, I entered the classroom again to ask the kids two questions:

1. Are you scared in the same way as Amani?
2. What gives you goosebumps?

Before I asked the first question, I invited Amani to share his story & his fear with the class in Swahili. Leah translated for me, and when I asked who was frightened like Amani, three brave children immediately raised their hands: Albert, Anna and Nathaniel. Nathaniel was clear and concise. He worried: “Because we are from a poor country, I fear people may assume our ideas are poor and not give us a chance.” Albert followed: “Mine is a bit different. Last year, at my other school, when I did well in class or on an exam, I thought my teachers would be proud. Instead, I was accused of cheating. It is almost as if I was punished for doing too well.” Finally, Anna wondered whether the rich might suppress the ideas of the poor in order to maintain their own power. She thought the rich may silence, imprison,  steal ideas from or even kill the poor who have good ideas or inventions.  I followed up by asking the class why they thought their classmates might be afraid, and Lossim responded very simply: “envy.”

Amani then asked: “What’s your advice on how to change our country?” I replied only: “Don’t be afraid.” I remember once teaching Gideon to swim. Those three small words were the only lesson I had to offer him, too.  If I have only one lesson to offer these children, let it be that one.  I then read to them this short passage by Marianne Williamson:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Finally, I told the class that their insightfulness and thoughtfulness gave me msisimko (goosebumps), and I wondered what gave them the same. “When the electricity goes out and it’s very dark,” said Gideon. “When I’m praying,” said Phineas. “When I’ve just found out I’ve done well on exams,” said Albert. And then, perhaps my favorite of all, from Allen, whose chipped-tooth smile could light up an entire room, “Maybe when I see my mom after so long a time.”

And then, my msisimko returned.

So I leave you with the same two questions:

1. Are you scared in the same way as Amani?
2. What gives you goosebumps?

This September, our second class of seventh graders will graduate from Mama Lucy’s school in Tanzania. Whether you gave thanks during TweetsGiving/Epic Thanks, invested in honor of your mom during To Mama With Love, or were inspired to give by children who sang their little hearts out during LaLaLove, the love you’ve poured into Epic Change has made this graduation possible – and we’re hoping you’ll join us in the celebration.

Last year, nearly a thousand parents, students and friends from nearby villages came together to witness the school’s first graduation. While it would be impossible for the thousands of people across the globe who have created Epic Change in Arusha to visit Tanzania this fall, we’re hoping you might want to join us in spirit by sending a small gift to one of this year’s eighteen graduates. We’re hoping to give each child a book, with a personal note of hope, encouragement and congratulations inscribed in the front cover.

If you’d like to send a book to one of this year’s graduates, fill out your name and email address in the form below (don’t forget to click the “Submit” button afterward), and we’ll email you the name of a seventh grader to whom you can inscribe your special graduation gift. Once you’ve received a student’s name, simply mail your book, with your personal note, to Epic Change, 315 Jackson Avenue, Satellite Beach, FL 32937 – to arrive no later than Monday, September 17th. We’ll be departing on the following day and will deliver your gifts personally to the class of 2012 on graduation day.

Stay tuned to the blog over the next several weeks for updates from our trip, and to see photos of the graduation, and of Tanzania’s future leaders as they mark their transition to the secondary school you helped to open earlier this year.

As we wish congratulations to these graduates, I’d like to congratulate you too for all the possibilities you’ve helped to create in the world by investing in them, and in Epic Change, over the past five years. This September also marks the fifth anniversary of Epic Change, and we’re so grateful for every last ounce of hope, love and gratitude you’ve poured into our efforts.

So many thanks,
Stacey

As we think about the future of Epic Change, I keep coming to ground in these words…

“What can turn us from this deserted future, back into the sphere of our being, the great dance that joins us to our home, to each other and to other creatures, to the dead and unborn? I think it is love. I am perforce aware how baldly and embarrassingly that word now lies on the page—for we have learned at once to overuse it, abuse it, and hold it in suspicion. But I do not mean any kind of abstract love (adolescent, romantic, or “religious”), which is probably a contradiction in terms, but particular love for particular things, places, creatures, and people, requiring stands, acts, showing its successes and failures in practical or tangible effects. And it implies a responsibility just as particular, not grim or merely dutiful, but rising out of generosity. I think that this sort of love defines the effective range of human intelligence, the range within its works can be dependably beneficent. Only the action that is moved by love for the good at hand has the hope of being responsible and generous. Desire for the future produces words that cannot be stood by. But love makes language exact, because one loves only what one knows.”

Our own sense of self-aggrandizement feels that big, important problems need to have big, important – and most of all expensive – solutions attached to them. And yet what behavioral economics shows time after time after time is in human behavior and behavioral change there’s a very, very strong disproportionality at work – that actually what changes our behavior and what changes our attitude to things is not actually proportionate to the degree of expense entailed or the degree of force that’s applied. But everything about institutions makes them uncomfortable with that disproportionality. So what happens in an institution is the very person who has the power to solve the problem also has a very, very large budget. And once you have a very, very large budget, you actually look for expensive things to spend it on.

What is completely lacking is a class of people who have immense amounts of power but no money at all.

What would the world look like if people like Mama Lucy had power?  What kind of MacGyver educational system could they create with a paperclip & some string?

We restore power to those who remember how to do something with nothing.   In classrooms where kids share pencils, teachers share a piece of chalk between classrooms until it’s turned to dust, and every child values each piece of paper to the point that every last inch is covered before it’s tossed – in those classrooms, solutions will be born that don’t needlessly exploit the planet’s resources.  In those classrooms, solutions for all of us, not just the few, the lucky or the rich – but that are accessible for all of us – will be created.

This is why we amplify the voices & visibility of grassroots changemakers like Mama Lucy.  This is why we are predominately funded by donors who are able to invest immense love, but only a few dollars. (For more on that, read this.)

“It is easy to despair that you can’t create change; so my role is to provoke people to believe in their power” #AshokaFellow

— Ashoka (@Ashoka) May 21, 2012

We think those with the smallest bank accounts just might have the biggest ideas.

Special thanks to my friend John from the Florida StartupBus who shared this video with me.

Because I’ve been scared.

Scared that I couldn’t wed and do this work.  Scared that I’d never have a child because I’d chosen this path, that I’d never be healthy or well-rested or beautiful again. Scared that I’d never again have the time or money to take care of myself or my family. Scared that whatever I’d build would turn on me like a monster and devour me whole – and wreak havoc or harm rather than the good I’d intended.  I am wary of good intentions.  Even my own.

But I have decided to trust myself.  And to trust the universe.  And to trust love.

I’m letting go of the fear for now.  I do not yet know where that will lead. Or what Epic Change will become.

I cannot control the outcome.  But I choose now to invest my heart in whatever the universe has in store for me next.

(I still hope it comes with a baby.)

And so, an invocation for beginnings from Ze.  Beware.  He will cuss.  A lot. And you’re probably gonna like it.

PS:  This site may go quiet, or even go away.  I’m not sure yet where the road leads.  I just know I’m ready to travel.

As expected, by far, the most interesting responses were found in the open-ended sections of the questionnaire. We were incredibly moved and motivated by your heartfelt, thoughtful responses.  Here’s a few of the key findings:

SAMPLE SIZE:
Nearly 220 people responded to the survey.

MOTIVATIONS:
In response to the multiple-choice question “What motivated you to participate in Epic Change?”

The most highly rated responses were:

• “I believe in the power of positive emotions like love & gratitude.”
• “I appreciate their innovative use of social media & technology.”

The lowest rated responses were:

• “I feel specifically connected to a particular project because of its purpose or geography.”
• “I feel directly connected to the organization’s partners in Tanzania.”

When responding to the open-ended question “Share why you participate in and/or follow the work of Epic Change,” the most commonly provided response was a relationship to or respect for one or both of the organization’s founders.  Other often-cited themes appear in the wordle below.  Specific people, projects, and programs were excluded from this analysis, as well as categories that comprised less than 1% of the data set.  Word height is presented relative to the number of survey participants whose response was reflective of each theme.

IMPROVEMENTS & NEXT STEPS:
When asked about desired next steps and proposed improvements to Epic Change, respondents were somewhat divided.  Some wrote comments suggesting expansion and additional projects, like:

• “Expand beyond Tanzania programs,” and
• “Grow the organization.”

Many others, however, requested that Epic Change remain small & focused on our efforts in Tanzania, commenting:

• “Deliver and expand on the current projects rather than spreading thin;”
• “I’d keep the original consistency in place – don’t be a slave to the #techsoc sector’s misguided obsession with big scale;”
• “Keep a focus that continues to build on existing projects. Don’t look to expand too broad, both in terms of theme and geography;” and
• “I  personally enjoy the connection to Mama Lucy, the school, and the kids. I’d prefer to have the organization continue to work with them in various ways, rather than to see them branch out to other projects.”

Other than comments suggesting scale or focus, respondents most often suggested improvements to organizational communication, with comments like:

• “Better communication and follow up. I receive very little correspondence from them. Until receiving this survey, I kind of forgot about the organization and initially couldn’t even remember what Epic Change was.”

In addition, several respondents suggested improved focus on organizational sustainability, saying things like:

• “Find new ways to make money. Epic Change will not survive if it doesn’t take care of itself.”

OVERALL EXPERIENCE:
In response the question asking respondents to rate their overall experience as a member of the Epic Change community, the average rating was 5.66 (+/- 1.15) on a 7-point scale, where “7″ represented an “incredible” experience and 1 represented a “terrible” experience.  Nearly 33% rated their experience a perfect 7, and nearly 55% of respondents rated their overall experience with Epic Change a six or above.  Only 2 respondents rated their overall experience below average. Zero respondents rated Epic Change below 3 on the 7-point scale.

DEMOGRAPHICS:

• Nearly 99% of respondents reported completing at least some college-level coursework.  Over 86% reported completing a bachelor’s degree, nearly 40% reported completing a Master’s degree or higher, 5% reported receiving professional degrees, and 5.5% reported receiving PhDs.
• Approximately 75% of respondents were female, and 25% were male.
• 23.5% of respondents reported annual income under $50K, nearly 9% reported they were not in paid employment, over 30% reported annual income of over $90K, and 67% reported annual income of over $50K.
• Respondents were nearly evenly split 50/50 between those who were over & under 40 years of age.
• Nearly 50% of respondents reported that they worked in the social change sector.  (e.g., social change consultant, social entrepreneur, nonprofit employee, etc.)

Additional charts, aggregate data and anonymized responses to open-ended questions are available in this Google Doc.

Over the coming weeks and months, your thoughts and ideas will help create the future of Epic Change.  As you review this information, we hope you’ll let us know if any interesting insights or ideas emerge by commenting below.

We’re so grateful for your open, honest feedback.

Thanks!!!

Because of you.

Imagine the possibilities their education could represent for the world we share. Perhaps Gideon will go on to discover new planets. Maybe Leah will finally find a cure.

You created these possibilities.

By telling your mom you love her during To Mama With Love. By opening your heart, and your home, to friends from so very far away on a miraculous journey you made possible. By singing your little hearts out with LaLaLove. By simply giving Epic Thanks for what matters most.

By investing in the dreams of a woman audacious enough to believe that love would somehow be enough.

She was right.

Children have now started secondary school on a patch of land purchased with your love.

Never doubt your heart holds the power to create Epic Change.

Thanks so much. For everything.

With love & so much gratitude,
Stacey

It was the middle of the night, as it always is, because she’s got a full-time job changing lives in LA. And she’s an artist too. And a digital magazine publisher. And, oh so much more.

It’s always them, you know, the ones with so much to do you can’t see them fitting one more thing in. They manipulate the laws of time & space to make anything possible.

And so she did with LaLaLove. Ann said “yes” – because this is just what Ann says. Always.

It’s not as if she owes me a favor, not as if we go “way back” – though maybe our souls do, if we go all the way back to that place in the primordial soup where love came to life. In the universe we now see, though, we live on opposite coasts, come from different places, and had no reason at all to even know one another. Except that a synapse of the universe fired somewhere in the form of a tweet or a talk or a blog post and serendipity decided we would be in this love-the-world thing together.

She said “yes,” along with countless others. Like Robbie, who poured his heart in at a time when I’m sure he wondered if his heart had any more to give. And Lulu, whose art always breathes life, humanity, tenderness, love, resonance and connection into every site she touches. And Sanjay, who missed the school’s first graduation to stay home & stay up for a week with Ann to make sure, once again, that love had a platform on which to work it’s magic.

They said “yes” to LaLaLove and, in doing so, they said “yes” to creating a world in which it was possible for hundreds of children from 30 schools, churches and scout troops in 19 states to build a school out of love and music.

The yes they whispered to the wind traveled – on the radio waves of our partners at Kids Place Live on Sirius XM – to 30 music teachers, parents and scout leaders who sang back with all the love in their hearts, and all the kids in their care, “yes.”

One of those music teachers was Missy O’Keefe, at Sylvia Rosenauer elementary school in Jackson, NJ. She said “yes” too. Her yes sounded like the voices of 345 children singing the words “Don’t Stop Believin’.” Her “yes” looked like this:

To her, and to those 345 children, 148 people gave $5,700 to say “yes” to the wish carried by these tiny voices that their song would somehow be enough to build a secondary school for 500 children they haven’t yet met half the world away. As it had been for Ann, Robbie, Lulu, and Sanjay, “yes” was probably not an easy answer for Missy, nor for the people who gave their support. When they learned they’d raised the most of all the schools who participated, the vice president of her PTA wrote us this note:

My name is Jackie Capasso and I’m the vice president of the PTA at Rosenauer elementary school. We entered the LaLaLove contest and since then our school has not been the same. But first I must give you a little background of our school. We are the smallest elementary school in our area with about 345 kids from kindergarten to 5th. We are also considered to be of the lowest income in our area. We are like a family here and the fact that we have come so far in so many ways including this contest is amazing. Our children are so excited they watch their video and sing it all day long. They know what it’s like to go without and the fact that they know they are helping to build another school in Tanzania just gives them such pride.

Students at their local high school said “yes” by holding a bake sale to support them. A local yoga teacher said “yes” with a benefit yoga class. To these children who “know what it’s like to go without,” who raised their voices to ask the universe for a gift to give away, the universe said “yes.” You shall be heard.

During LaLaLove, 697 people gave $27,740 to say a resounding “yes” to hundreds of children who raised their voices in love in hopes that they could build a school out of song.

And now, in a tiny Tanzanian village, that school is being built. Out of music. Out of gratitude. Out of love.

View photos of the secondary school under construction.

Each brick will echo the song of hundreds of children singing “I love you.”

Each child who enters will faintly hear their voices filling the walls with music and love.

All because Ann and so many others said “yes” – when “no” would have been a whole lot easier.

Their voices all echo and amplify one remarkable woman who dared to say “yes” to the dream of building a school that would transform her village, and her country. Even when she had only chickens to build it.

This is what happens when we dare to say “yes” – even (especially) when yes seems impossible.

Yes begets yes.

No begets nothing.

This November, during LaLaLove and Epic Thanks, so many people said “yes” to Mama Lucy’s dream of building a secondary school that we are able to invest over $65,000 USD – and the school will be open in January so that Leah, Gideon & their classmates can continue their education without interruption.

Thank you for saying “yes.”