The Center for Children’s “Seeds of Support” fundraiser drew heartfelt support, serious stories, and new funding to help protect kids across Mesa County.

It wasn’t just dinner and a silent auction. It was a night of solidarity. Of listening. Of remembering why child advocacy centers matter, and why their services must remain free for those who need them most. And for the Center for Children in Grand Junction, April 29 wasn’t just another fundraiser — it was a lifeline.

One story, one time: a different way to help children heal

It’s hard enough for a child to talk about abuse once. But before the rise of child advocacy centers, they had to tell their story five, maybe even seven times.

Police. School counselors. Child Protective Services. Again and again.

“Now, they tell their story just once,” said Annie Lampard, Development Coordinator for the Center for Children. “We bring all the agencies into one room so the child doesn’t have to relive that trauma repeatedly.”

The Multidisciplinary Model isn’t just smart — it’s compassionate. It involves:

• Law enforcement officers

• Mental health professionals

• Forensic nurses

• Child advocates

• Prosecutors

Everyone hears the same account. Everyone works from the same place. And the child, finally, is treated like a person, not a case.

Dinner, stories, and a silent auction that spoke volumes

Guests weren’t there for glitz. They were there for purpose. The event brought community leaders, local families, law enforcement partners, and medical professionals together at one table — literally.

Tables were decorated with flower centerpieces and notes from child survivors. Small handwritten thank-yous that said more than speeches ever could.

Dinner was served. Conversations flowed. Then came the stories.

Some were hard to hear. Some brought tears. All were real.

A silent auction wrapped up the night, with proceeds going straight to fund services the center offers free of charge.

Keeping services free — and that’s no small feat

Funding doesn’t come easy.

“We provide therapy, forensic interviews, child advocacy, and sexual assault nursing exams,” Lampard said. “And we don’t charge a dime to the families. That’s why fundraisers like this mean everything.”

Mesa County isn’t exactly flush with public money. And child abuse cases aren’t declining. If anything, they’ve held steady or ticked up.

The Center for Children has to hustle to keep the lights on. But the team doesn’t complain. They dig in.

One short sentence made that clear:
“We’ll do what it takes,” Lampard said.

Why this work matters in Mesa County

Mesa County’s numbers aren’t outliers. Child abuse happens here like it does everywhere else.

But the way this county handles it — that’s changing.

Before CACs, coordination between agencies was patchy. Kids were pulled from school multiple times. Interviews got messy. Evidence slipped. Emotions broke down.

The new approach has helped:

• Streamline investigations

• Reduce emotional trauma

• Build stronger court cases

• Improve long-term recovery for victims

And that’s not just a theory. According to the National Children’s Alliance, children served by accredited CACs are more likely to receive forensic medical exams and mental health treatment, and investigations are more likely to result in prosecution.

Mesa County is following that playbook — and it’s working.

Funding, healing, and planting seeds for the future

This isn’t a one-and-done.

The Center for Children treats over 600 children annually. Their stories aren’t over. And the fundraiser wasn’t just about paying for this month’s bills — it was about keeping things going for the long haul.

A quick look at how some services stack up:

One sentence cut through all the data and dollars:
“We watch kids heal and grow,” said Lampard.

That’s the goal.

One event, many voices — and a lot of hope

Not everyone in the room had the same background.

There were doctors. Cops. Teachers. Parents. Survivors. Retirees. Students. But they were all there for the same reason: to protect the kids of Mesa County.

And for many, it was personal.

You could feel it in the way they listened during presentations. The quiet in the room as speakers shared what happens behind closed doors. The gasps when a survivor’s letter was read aloud.

By the end of the evening, more than just money was raised.

Awareness. Support. And for some, a deep commitment to keep showing up long after the dinner tables were cleared.