The Mentors Who Shape Our School
When parents imagine the coming school year, they often picture new classrooms, fresh notebooks, color-coded calendars, and the inevitable first-day photograph taken on the front porch before everyone rushes out the door. They wonder whether their child will enjoy Latin, finally conquer long division, discover a favorite novel, or find confidence on the stage or athletic field. Beneath all of those questions, however, lies another that is rarely spoken aloud but quietly occupies the heart of nearly every parent:
Who will influence my child this year?
For all our conversations about curriculum, technology, assessments, and college preparation, education has always depended upon something far more ancient than any textbook. It depends upon people. Children spend thousands of hours watching adults—not merely listening to what they say, but observing how they respond to frustration, how they treat others, how they solve problems, how they celebrate beauty, and how they carry themselves through disappointment. Before children imitate ideas, they imitate lives.
This conviction sits at the heart of classical education. The ancient Greeks understood that education was never simply the transfer of information. It was the formation of character through apprenticeship, conversation, and the shared pursuit of wisdom. Scripture tells a remarkably similar story. Moses prepared Joshua. Elijah formed Elisha. Paul invested deeply in Timothy. Christ Himself could have written a book, established a university, or left behind a detailed curriculum. Instead, He gathered disciples and invited them to walk with Him. Christianity has always understood that truth is most deeply learned when it is embodied.
That philosophy shapes how we think about every mentor who joins the Innovate Academy community. We certainly value expertise. We are grateful for accomplished educators, experienced professionals, gifted artists, entrepreneurs, scientists, coaches, photographers, and theologians. But résumés, impressive as they may be, are not what ultimately convince us that someone belongs in the life of a child. We look for something more difficult to measure. We look for lives that have themselves been formed.
As we welcomed several new mentors this fall, I was struck by how often our conversations drifted from careers to stories. We had asked each person about degrees, experience, and professional accomplishments, but those were rarely the answers that lingered. Instead, they spoke about grandparents, childhood teachers, favorite novels, unanswered prayers, and the surprising ways God quietly redirected the course of their lives. Somewhere between conversations about theology, photography, coding, entrepreneurship, and dance, we also discovered a fly fisherman, a weather enthusiast who reads Doppler radar for fun, a photographer who loves thrift stores, a lifelong ballerina inspired by Amy Carmichael, and a veteran teacher who still remembers the exact books her fifth-grade teacher placed in her hands. The résumés were impressive. The people behind them were even more interesting.
Teresa Appleby, who devoted thirty-six years to public education before joining Innovate, didn't begin by describing curriculum or instructional strategies. She remembered growing up in a close Italian immigrant family in West Philadelphia and the remarkable teachers who first awakened her imagination. One fifth-grade teacher introduced her to the Betsy-Tacy books, eventually leading her to Little House on the Prairie and Anne of Green Gables, stories that shaped the teacher she would one day become. When asked why she was drawn to Innovate, her answer was immediate: "Teaching at Innovate has been a longtime dream ever since the Lord gave Monica the vision to start a classical school." After decades of investing in children, she believes Innovate's commitment to educating the "head, heart, and hands" prepares scholars not simply for careers but for lives of purpose.
Every interview seemed to take an unexpected turn. Ask Kayla Benson about teaching dance and within minutes you're talking about missionary Amy Carmichael. Her favorite verse, John 10:10, reminds her that Christ came so that we might have life abundantly. "Life has such a big and beautiful meaning when it's surrendered into the hands of its Maker," she reflected. "Life is precious; life is a gift." She shared the story of Amy Carmichael praying for blue eyes as a little girl, only to discover years later that her brown eyes allowed her to blend into Indian culture while rescuing vulnerable children. "God knew exactly what her calling would be," Kayla said, "and He equipped her in His own way and in His perfect time." It is hard to imagine a more beautiful lesson for young people learning to discover their own unique calling.
Amy Cerrato's story unfolded differently. A professional photographer and former managing editor in publishing, she traced her faith journey to meeting her husband, whose quiet conviction led her to Christ. She returns often to Psalm 126, a song of restoration that reminds her, "Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy." As we talked, she mentioned photographer Saul Leiter, who believed happiness deserved just as much artistic attention as sorrow. "I stand by that in my practice and how I share it with others," she said. It struck me that perhaps photography and education have something in common. Both require learning to notice what others often overlook.
Aidan Langan's conversation wandered from theology to Young Life to fly fishing. Growing up in West Chester, he describes coming to faith in high school when the Gospel became deeply personal. "It was at Young Life that I came to understand my sin and God's love," he shared. Today, after studying theology at Wheaton College, he remains drawn to thinkers such as Athanasius and Herman Bavinck. When asked what attracted him to Innovate Academy, his answer was wonderfully concise: "Their classical approach teaches the fundamentals that translate into every discipline." Somehow, the image of reading fourth-century church fathers before heading out to quietly cast a fly into a Pennsylvania stream seemed perfectly fitting.
Alyssa Klock also surprised me. Most people know her as an accomplished gymnastics coach, but she enthusiastically confessed another passion: weather. Not simply enjoying a good thunderstorm, but studying meteorology, reading weather radar, and watching documentaries about historic storms. She laughed while describing it, but her deeper passion quickly became clear. Years of coaching taught her that confidence grows when someone believes in you before you believe in yourself. Her favorite verse, inherited from her grandmother, is Isaiah 40:31: "Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength." It is a promise she has watched unfold in the lives of countless young athletes—and one she now hopes to share with her scholars.
Even Becky Tingle's remarkably varied career—from classroom teacher to Boeing contracts specialist to entrepreneur—reflects the same conviction that learning should prepare young people to build meaningful things. What drew her to Innovate wasn't simply the opportunity to teach coding or entrepreneurship, but the school's desire "to think big thoughts and seek excellence in what might seem small." That sentence feels uniquely classical. Great civilizations, after all, are built by people who learn to pursue excellence in ordinary things.
Looking back over these conversations, I realized almost no one measured their life by promotions, awards, or titles. Instead, they remembered the teacher who handed them a beloved novel. The pastor who explained the Gospel. The coach who believed in them. The missionary whose story reshaped their imagination. The grandmother who shared a favorite verse. Again and again, they pointed not to success but to the people who had quietly formed them.
Perhaps that shouldn't surprise us. Classical education has always believed that wisdom is handed from one life to another. Children certainly need excellent curriculum, challenging books, meaningful projects, and thoughtful discussions, but perhaps even more than that, they need adults whose own lives have been shaped by truth, goodness, and beauty—adults who are still learning, still wondering, still creating, and still allowing God to refine them.
This fall, our scholars will certainly learn mathematics, literature, theology, science, entrepreneurship, dance, photography, and coding. My hope, however, is that years from now they will remember something even greater. They'll remember the mentor who recommended Anne of Green Gables. The teacher who noticed beauty through a camera lens. The coach who reminded them to trust God's timing. The theologian who made ancient ideas come alive. The entrepreneur who taught them to build with courage.
Schools are often remembered for buildings, traditions, or academic programs, yet if you ask adults to recall the schools that most deeply shaped them, they almost always answer with names rather than places. They remember the teacher who stayed after class, the coach who saw potential before anyone else did, the mentor who listened patiently, or the adult whose character quietly became a model for their own.
Our prayer is that years from now, Innovate scholars will remember this community in exactly the same way—not simply because they mastered algebra, read Homer, or completed an iLAB project, but because they encountered men and women whose lives reflected truth, goodness, and beauty. In the end, that has always been the deepest work of education.
