Krista D. Ford Memorial Scholarship

Growing up in foster care, I learned very early what it means to feel invisible. I was moved from home to home, never knowing how long I'd stay or if anyone truly cared about what happened to me. That kind of instability stays with you. But instead of letting it break me, it became the foundation for everything I believe in and everything I'm working toward today. My faith is what carried me through. Even in my darkest moments — when I didn't know where I'd sleep or who I could trust I held on to the belief that God had a plan for my life. That faith wasn't something I was handed. I built it through every hard season, every disappointment, and every time I had to start over. It taught me that my circumstances didn't define my worth, and that no matter what I went through, there was purpose behind my pain. That belief is what keeps me grounded today, and it's what pushes me to keep going even when things get hard. Foster care also gave me something I carry in everything I do — empathy. I know what it feels like to be overlooked, to feel like nobody is in your corner, and to wonder if your life even matters. That experience gave me a deep desire to help others who are going through similar struggles. I never want anyone to feel the way I felt as a child. That's why my goals aren't just about personal success they're about creating something that gives back and lifts people up. Right now, I'm working toward my Associate's degree in Cosmetology, which I'll complete in June 2027. I'm also building my own business, Diamond Drip Body Art, a premium teeth gem and tattooing studio. These goals didn't come out of nowhere. They were shaped by my experiences in foster care. I learned to be resourceful, independent, and driven because I had to be. I didn't have anyone handing me opportunities I had to create my own. That mindset is what fuels me as an entrepreneur and as a student. More than anything, my experience in foster care shaped my role as a mother. I have two children my daughter Marliannah and my son D'Angelo and everything I do is for them. I am determined to break the cycle. I want my kids to grow up with the stability, love, and security I never had. I want them to see their mother earn her degree, build a business, and stand on her own two feet, so they know that anything is possible no matter where you come from. Foster care tried to define my story, but my faith rewrote it. I'm not a product of my past I'm proof that with belief, hard work, and the desire to help others, you can turn your pain into purpose. That's exactly what I plan to do.

The first time I realized what “family” really meant, I was seven years old, sitting at my grandparents’ kitchen table while they helped me sound out words for homework. I wasn’t in their care because of a court order, but because life had shifted and they stepped up. That table became my anchor. Growing up with my grandparents taught me that stability isn’t guaranteed, but it can be built. They lived simply, grew food, saved carefully, and showed up for people. Their faith wasn’t loud, but it was constant: you help because that’s what you do. We said grace before meals, tended the garden together, and canned vegetables in the fall so we’d be ready for winter. I watched them give without expecting applause. That perspective stuck with me. Watching them care for me, and later helping care for them, shaped how I see the world. I learned early that dignity often comes from small things, a home-cooked meal, a safe place to sleep, someone who listens without rushing. When you’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of care, you don’t forget it. You look for ways to pass it on. That’s why I started my wig store. I meet women who’ve lost their hair to illness and, with it, a piece of their confidence. Designing a wig that feels comfortable and looks like they aren't just business. It’s restoration. I test cap constructions, blend colors, and adjust fit until it’s right, because I know what it means to look in the mirror and not recognize yourself. Giving someone back that recognition is holy work to me. It’s the same reason I became an unpaid home care worker. I’ve seen how one overlooked detail, like a missed medication or an uncomfortable day, can steal someone’s independence. So I problem-solve. I’ve even coded simple apps to track meds because tech should serve people, not confuse them. If a tool doesn’t make life easier for the person using it, I redesign it. My faith influences this work quietly but deeply. I believe we’re meant to protect and rebuild what life breaks. That belief drives my goals now: I’m studying computer science, graphic design, and cybersecurity because I want to build tools that make people safer and more self-reliant. I want to secure data the way my grandparents secured a home — with attention, consistency, and care. I’m not flashy with money or choices. I invest in Traditional and Roth IRAs, I garden, I care for my polydactyl cats with their extra toes — all reminders that steady, attentive care matters. Extra effort for the overlooked is always worth it. My grandparents gave me a foundation when I needed it. My goal is to pay that forward. Whether I’m securing someone’s data or helping them face the world with confidence again, I want my work to say: you’re not alone, and you’re worth protecting.