Boys usually get only two cracks at attending their high school prom, and girls not much more. I, on the other hand, am one of the few people who have finally lost count. I started my prom run as a nervous Texas teenager in a hoop skirt before I was promoted to student teacher at the water table in a tiny high school in Missouri. Since then I’ve been the chaperone with the flashlight, the door checker, the dress code enforcer, the clean-up crew, the impromptu romance counselor, the freak dancing monitor, the restroom attendant, and ticket-taker.

My memories of each one are shaped by the themed photo backdrop created in the fantasy-driven imaginations of an eleventh grade committee:  the NYC skyline, a jungle tiki room, an English garden, the red carpet at the Oscars, a Paris boulevard, and even a ghastly pumpkin carriage made of light blue crepe paper, presumably waiting for a bootleg Cinderella.

Teenagers are still ripening, and prom showcases the way that human beings morph into adults practically overnight. The boys who flop into my classroom desks on Friday become grown men in shiny shoes a day later. Ashley and Carmen, two average girls in sweatpants, can drop some serious coin at the salon and frighten their fathers with their gorgeous updos and strapless dresses.

I always tell my students the same thing year after year. Don’t let the anticipation kill the event. Like Jay Gatsby, I tell them, you will build up the night in your head until it cannot possibly live up to its billing. But still, all over America teenage girls are waking up Sundays at noon and wondering what all the fuss was about.

This year, I was determined to harness some of that raw enthusiasm and put it to better use. With eighty-one juniors in my Advanced Placement English class, I made a proposal: let’s do a little research and see if we can’t turn an American tradition into something more worthwhile than limo rides and awkward dancing. We discovered that teenagers spend about four billion dollars every year on an event that rarely lives up to its hype. We discovered that consumerism might not equal happiness. We discovered the word promenade sounds a lot like Prom-n-Aid. We researched different charities and figured that while we were getting an education why not try to raise money for others to do the same?

We got into groups according to our gifts—graphic design, public speaking, performing, video production, journalism, technology—and we formed a nonprofit organization on our campus. Our goal? Encouraging studentsand their dates to give up one luxury item and donate it to our cause. Some girls gave each other manicures, borrowed dresses, made their own corsages, and went without new earrings.  Some dates skipped the awkward dinner reservations and found creative ways to enjoy a meal together. There was even an idea for a Prom-n-Aid Limousine, an old van with a crummy sound system strung with lame party lights designed to transport couples back and forth.

I learned that if you give kids a little nudge, they will push over all the dominoes themselves. Of course, it wasn’t always smooth. We disagreed on logos and slogans (“Give it up for prom this year!”) and some talents went unused. You can’t convince everyone (like the girl who famously bought a $300 pair of heels in Beverly Hills for the occasion), and some people still thought we were a little crazy.

As a public school teacher, my spiritual influence has its limits. I cannot share why, explicitly, my heart has been changed over the years by Jesus Christ, why I’m motivated to do more than push papers around. They might simply guess I was a good-deed-doer or hoping to get a commendation in my employee file, but I hope not. Prom-n-Aid, for me, was not simply about volunteerism or fundraising, but about letting God’s love leak out in new places—even public schools. Where will God’s love leak out of you today?