With ten years of intensive theatre and voice training, along with several adult Broadway musical productions, my heart’s desire is to pursue an Acting Performance degree at the #1 film school in Texas. Here is the story of how a teacher like Tebra Hopson changed the trajectory of my life. I’ll never forget that day. I was in the second grade, sitting in my mom’s closet, and unable to focus on ten simple math homework problems. She placed me there hoping that a quiet space would help me concentrate. Instead, I screamed and cried for hours. In full meltdown mode, I tore my worksheet to shreds and yanked clothes off the hangers. I wanted to focus, but my brain wouldn’t let me. Because of my ADHD, I hated math. I hated reading. Honestly, I hated everything about school. It felt like a prison. The entire trajectory of my life changed in one conversation with my seventh grade teacher, Lanita Edmonson. Her wisdom and perspective have consistently challenged me to grow, think deeper, and not give up. We talked before school and sometimes after school, and she encouraged me through various teen drama episodes. I still remember our conversation after school when I was overly frustrated with myself. As I kept comparing myself to people who don’t have ADHD, she told me something that I’ll never forget: “Alyssa, life is a matter of perspective. Having ADHD is hard, but it doesn’t define you. You can look at it with frustration and see it as a limitation, or you can change your perspective and accept it as a blessing. Don't be conformed by the world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. This gift gives you opportunities and strengths that many people don’t have.” That conversation completely changed my perspective. Because ADHD gives me an incredible amount of energy, I now use it to influence, encourage, and lead others. I have developed perseverance and a strong work ethic because I often have to push myself harder to achieve the same results as others. ADHD is now my superpower! With this newfound confidence and a “gift” for talking, my mom encouraged me to join a competitive speech and debate club where I flourished. I have competed at the state, regional, and national level. In 2025, with over 2,300 students in the league, I placed in the top 10% for team policy debate in the country. In speech, which is my favorite competition, I finished in the top 4% nationally in several events, and I won the Humorous Interpretation category at our National Invitational Tournament in May 2025. To this day, I still talk with Ms. Edmonson and keep her updated on all of my activities and competitions. Because of her investment in me, I was appointed to be the Vice President of Student Coaching and Mentoring at my speech and debate club. Her investments paid dividends in my academics where I was recently elected as the President of the local chapter of the Eta Sigma Alpha National Honors Society. Yes, because of Ms. Edmonson, my life has been transformed. She spoke life into me, and that life has given birth to new dreams and opportunities. I’m now on a mission to speak life into people and open doors for others that might seem closed. Thank you Ms. Edmonson for helping me see my gift; I want to be like you. I know Ms. Hopson would have transformed my life. Thank you for the opportunity to carry forward the memory of Tebra Hopson with integrity and respect.

Seven years ago, my sisters and I stood beside my father at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., tracing names etched into black granite. We took turns reading them aloud. My dad reminded us these were not just names, but fathers and mothers, sons and daughters. “Freedom is never free,” he said. That day, I began to understand that the greatness of our country rests on the quiet sacrifices of those willing to protect it. My father served in the 101st Airborne Division and received a Bronze Star in Iraq. His father served from the occupation of Japan through Vietnam. Three of my great-grandfathers served in World War II. One flew missions as a B-17 gunner. One was an Army cook in Europe. One was a Marine captured on Guam in 1941 who survived nearly four years as a Japanese prisoner of war. Service runs through my family, but more important than the history are the values I grew up learning. Quiet courage. That is what I watched growing up. I had a front-row seat to what real service looks like. It means volunteering when something needs to be done and doing the right thing even when no one is watching. Sacrifice often happens quietly. It does not seek attention. It is simply there, steady and dependable. I saw that example not only in my father’s military service but in how he invested in others. At our church, he taught a discipleship class for sixth, seventh, and eighth grade boys. When those students moved on, he stayed connected with several of them, mentoring them through high school. Today, three of those young men have continued that path of service through ROTC in college. Watching my dad invest in their lives showed me that leadership is not about recognition. It is about commitment. Those lessons shaped how I approached my own path. From a young age, I was drawn to storytelling through performance. For ten years I trained in theatre performance through a performing arts consortium and studied voice for nine years. During high school, I also competed in speech and debate for three years, learning to communicate clearly, think quickly, and connect with audiences. Today, I am a freshman at a nationally ranked film, production, and acting school, pursuing a degree in Acting Performance in Applied Arts as I transition into film and screen acting. Storytelling allows people to see the world through someone else’s experiences. It builds empathy, challenges perspectives, and reminds audiences of the values that hold communities together. Service has also been a constant part of my life. Throughout high school I completed more than 500 volunteer hours and was honored with two Presidential Volunteer Service Awards. I participated in church mission trips to Houston, New Orleans, Waco, and Belize, where I saw firsthand how small acts of service can impact entire communities. Today, I try to carry that forward. I currently mentor four high school theatre students, helping them develop confidence, discipline, and courage in their performances. Being the child of a veteran shaped how I see leadership and responsibility. My father showed me that real influence comes from steady service and integrity. Whether mentoring young actors, serving my community, or pursuing a career in film and performance, I carry that lesson with me: do the right thing, even when no one is watching.

When I was in high school, my dad had an annoying habit of turning sleep-in Saturdays into “character-building exercises.” My dad is a military veteran, which means he got more things done by 9am before most people do all day. He believes mornings begin at a time most normal people consider the middle of the night. One Saturday when I was a sophomore, he knocked on my bedroom door at 4:00 a.m. Honestly, that was almost the time that I went to bed. Saturday was supposed to mean sleeping late, eating cereal at noon, and pretending I didnt' have homework. Instead, my dad stood in my bedroom with all of the lights on and holding two fishing poles. Because this was not the first 4am fatherly visit and I have had cold water poured on me before, I instinctively started moving. As my alertness overcame my drowsiness, I could recognize my dad's determined look he used whenever he was about to teach me something. He told me we were going fishing. I think I just stared at him for five minutes with my mouth open. I had no words. Thirty minutes later I was in the passenger seat anyway, wrapped in a hoodie and holding a thermos of hot chocolate while trying to decide if this counted as a parenting violation. My dad drove us to a small lake outside town. It was quiet and peaceful in that early morning way that made me suspect the rest of the world was still asleep. He set up the fishing gear like someone who had done it a thousand times before, which he probably had. My job was mostly to watch and pretend I understood what was happening. Once our lines were in the water, nothing happened. And then nothing kept happening. At first I was bored. I checked my phone. I kicked a rock into the lake. I wondered if fish even lived there. My dad just sat there calmly, watching the water. Eventually I asked him if he ever got bored in the Army. He smiled and said something that stuck with me: boredom usually meant things were going well. I had never thought about it that way. Not long after that, my fishing pole suddenly jerked so hard it almost jumped out of my hands. I panicked immediately. My dad calmly told me to reel it in, which would have been more helpful if I had any idea what I was doing. The fish fought harder than I expected. I nearly tangled the line in a nearby tree, stumbled backward once, and probably looked ridiculous the entire time. My dad was trying very hard not to laugh. Eventually the fish landed on the shore. It was small, shiny, and clearly unimpressed with both of us. Still, it was my first fish. We released it back into the water and watched it disappear with a quick splash. I sat down again and looked out across the lake. The funny thing was that by then I was no longer thinking about how early it was or how bored I had been earlier. The quiet was actually kind of nice. That morning I learned something my dad probably knew all along. Some things in life take patience. You put in the effort, you wait, and sometimes the reward is bigger than you expected. And sometimes the reward is simply realizing that waking up early with someone who cares about you was worth it after all.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 24 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. Performing is more than art-it's a form of public service that brings people joy, healing, and hope. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Riley—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Riley’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I have auditioned and have been accepted into the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help the pubic feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents because I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. The obstacle of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue the Mark Green legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

For most of my life, I’ve walked around in an imaginative fantasy world, dreaming of fictional characters, learning through song and dance, and relating to others through creativity. I never quite fit the “normalness” of my sisters or classmates. I used to regret being different. But in 2nd grade, everything changed because I was chosen. Yes, me—the different one—was chosen by the high school choir and drama teacher to play a lead child’s role in the high school musical. My 2nd grade self got to practice and perform on stage with teenagers in a production that changed the course of my life. The very next year, I auditioned and was selected for an intensive theater conservatory program. For the next eight years, I trained hard—acting, singing, and dancing. I fell in love with the arts and began to see my differences as a blessing. Since then, I’ve had the opportunity to perform in professional productions for audiences of tens of thousands. Recently, I’ve started transitioning into the film industry. It’s been a long journey through middle and high school, but I’ve learned to be proud to be an artist. Because of this platform, I’ve had the privilege to help others. I worked with a 13-year-old autistic boy whose father passed away from COVID, helping him write and perform a dramatic piece for a competition. The smile on his face and the confidence he gained was one of the most meaningful rewards I’ve ever received. I’ve also mentored younger kids in theater camps and in my conservatory, many of whom I still keep in touch with. I’ve led worship for children at my church and youth group for the past six years and written and performed interpretive speeches meant to inspire and uplift audiences. Although I have the grades to attend a traditional four-year college—I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA in both high school and 21 dual credit college hours—I believe I have been called me into the Performing Arts. I need additional training and opportunities to network with professionals in order to thrive in this competitive field. I have a strong desire to bring clean, positive, and family-friendly messaging back into entertainment. I want to use my gifts in theater, music, and film to create stories that uplift and inspire audiences of all ages. I plan to continue my training at KD Conservatory College of Film and Dramatic Arts in Dallas, Texas. This 15-month program offers an Associate of Applied Arts Degree in Acting Performance and includes 71 credit hours of intensive training in theater, television, and film. It is accredited by the National Association of Schools of Theatre (NAST) and approved by the Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board. Students learn from active industry professionals and the program concludes with a showcase in front of agents and casting directors. To attend this school, I need financial support. I am the second of four sisters, all one year apart. My dad’s last two employers both filed Chapter 11 bankruptcy, and my parents are facing the overwhelming cost of four girls in college and four teen drivers at once. The cost of college is out of reach for me on my own, and my parents’ are struggling as well. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 24 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Riley—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Riley’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I have auditioned and have been accepted into the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me in enabling women's empowerment so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 24 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Riley—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Riley’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I have auditioned and have been accepted into the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 24 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Riley—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Riley’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I have auditioned and have been accepted into the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 24 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Riley—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Riley’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I have auditioned and have been accepted into the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school, completed 24 dual credit hours, and earned a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income—but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher—who also happened to direct the high school musical—to join their show. That experience changed my life. Afterward, I auditioned for and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years immersed in theatre and dance, alongside seven years of weekly vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a role, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been fortunate to audition for and earn significant roles in professional adult theatre—Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and several others. But chasing my dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives, parents—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional path. But after much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that my passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Riley—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and build confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Riley’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. That moment helped me understand what theatre can do—how it can change someone’s life, not just entertain, but empower. That’s why I’m choosing to pursue acting and theatre now—while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take a leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than spend my life wondering what could have been. I’ve already auditioned and been accepted into a top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’ve performed in more than 21 shows since the second grade, but the roles closest to my heart were Annie in Annie and Jane in Mary Poppins. These were large-scale, Broadway-style productions performed for a combined audience of over 20,000. My dream role is to portray a leading character in a family-friendly historical series set in the mid-1800s—a story that brings the era’s hardships to life while illuminating themes of loss, courage, perseverance, and hope. I’m drawn to roles that move and uplift—stories that stir something deep in the heart—grounded in resilience, integrity, and the enduring human spirit. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me, so together we can change the world—one heart at a time.

Anxiety has impacted nearly every area of my life. I’ve had panic attacks in public, sat silently through conversations I desperately wanted to join, and lost friendships simply because I didn’t know how to explain what I was going through. In high school, my friend group was full of high-performing debaters who prided themselves on logic and intellect. Emotions were labeled weak. Fear was something to be mocked. Anxiety, if admitted to, was a moral failure. I wanted to belong—so I hid everything. I stayed quiet. I pretended I was fine. It wasn’t until I was formally diagnosed with anxiety and ADHD that I understood that what I experienced wasn't my fault or that I wasn't a bad person for feeling afraid. But even then, I still wanted to run. Not just from people, but from opportunities, from attention, from the unfamiliar or unknown. I thought hiding was safer. But the truth is, it only made the fear worse. The one place where anxiety never seemed to touch me was on stage. Acting felt like stepping into a world where I was allowed to feel. It was where I could be bold. Encouraging. Fearless. It was where I could tell stories that mattered. It wasn’t just a talent—it was the first time I ever felt powerful, like I had something to offer. Still, I tried to run from it. Everyone around me—friends, their parents, and for a while even people in my own family—told me the arts weren’t a viable future. That I needed to pursue something practical. That passion doesn’t pay the bills. And I wanted stability so badly. My dad is a contractor, and oftentimes his work situation is great, and we get to eat out as a family. Other times, I have lived through the tension of watching every penny. The idea of intentionally choosing a career path known for its lack of stability terrifies me. But no matter how many times I tried to bury my acting dream, it wouldn’t die. It kept coming back—this unshakeable sense that I am meant to help others through stories in the way that stories have helped me. Movies and shows have changed me, challenged me, transformed me into a kinder, stronger person. I want to be a part of that kind of impact. I want to use my voice—not the one anxiety tries to silence, but the one I’ve found through the arts—to bring light to others who feel like they have to hide too. College, to me, is more than just education—it’s the bridge between my passion and my purpose. It’s where I’ll continue to train, to grow, to refine my skills, and to gain the tools I need to reach people through powerful, truth-filled storytelling. I’ve earned a 1300 on the SAT and a 4.0 unweighted GPA in dual credit and honors classes. I know I have the discipline and the heart to succeed in this. But because of the financial risk of an arts degree, I won’t be able to pursue this future without help. Overcoming anxiety hasn’t meant becoming fearless—it’s meant showing up. Choosing honesty. Letting others see my struggle so they know they’re not alone. That’s what I want to do, through film, through story, through every role I’m given. And that’s why college matters. Because it’s the next step toward becoming the person I’m meant to be—and helping others believe they can get there too. It would be an honor to continue the legacy of the Elizabeth Schalk scholarship.

Anxiety has impacted nearly every area of my life. I’ve had panic attacks in public, sat silently through conversations I desperately wanted to join, and lost friendships simply because I didn’t know how to explain what I was going through. In high school, my friend group was full of high-performing debaters who prided themselves on logic and intellect. Emotions were labeled weak. Fear was something to be mocked. Anxiety, if admitted to, was a moral failure. I wanted to belong—so I hid everything. I stayed quiet. I pretended I was fine. It wasn’t until I was formally diagnosed with anxiety and ADHD that I understood that what I experienced wasn't my fault or that I wasn't a bad person for feeling afraid. But even then, I still wanted to run. Not just from people, but from opportunities, from attention, from the unfamiliar or unknown. I thought hiding was safer. But the truth is, it only made the fear worse. The one place where anxiety never seemed to touch me was on stage. Acting felt like stepping into a world where I was allowed to feel. It was where I could be bold. Encouraging. Fearless. It was where I could tell stories that mattered. It wasn’t just a talent—it was the first time I ever felt powerful, like I had something to offer. Still, I tried to run from it. Everyone around me—friends, their parents, and for a while even people in my own family—told me the arts weren’t a viable future. That I needed to pursue something practical. That passion doesn’t pay the bills. And I wanted stability so badly. My dad is a contractor, and oftentimes his work situation is great, and we get to eat out as a family. Other times, I have lived through the tension of watching every penny. The idea of intentionally choosing a career path known for its lack of stability terrifies me. But no matter how many times I tried to bury my acting dream, it wouldn’t die. It kept coming back—this unshakeable sense that I am meant to help others through stories in the way that stories have helped me. Movies and shows have changed me, challenged me, transformed me into a kinder, stronger person. I want to be a part of that kind of impact. I want to use my voice—not the one anxiety tries to silence, but the one I’ve found through the arts—to bring light to others who feel like they have to hide too. College, to me, is more than just education—it’s the bridge between my passion and my purpose. It’s where I’ll continue to train, to grow, to refine my skills, and to gain the tools I need to reach people through powerful, truth-filled storytelling. I’ve earned a 1300 on the SAT and a 4.0 unweighted GPA in dual credit and honors classes. I know I have the discipline and the heart to succeed in this. But because of the financial risk of an arts degree, I won’t be able to pursue this future without help. Overcoming anxiety hasn’t meant becoming fearless—it’s meant showing up. Choosing honesty. Letting others see my struggle so they know they’re not alone. That’s what I want to do, through film, through story, through every role I’m given. And that’s why college matters. Because it’s the next step toward becoming the person I’m meant to be—and helping others believe they can get there too. It would be an honor to continue the legacy of the Online ADHD and Mental Health scholarship.

Anxiety has impacted nearly every area of my life. I’ve had panic attacks in public, sat silently through conversations I desperately wanted to join, and lost friendships simply because I didn’t know how to explain what I was going through. In high school, my friend group was full of high-performing debaters who prided themselves on logic and intellect. Emotions were labeled weak. Fear was something to be mocked. Anxiety, if admitted to, was a moral failure. I wanted to belong—so I hid everything. I stayed quiet. I pretended I was fine. It wasn’t until I was formally diagnosed with anxiety and ADHD that I understood that what I experienced wasn't my fault or that I wasn't a bad person for feeling afraid. But even then, I still wanted to run. Not just from people, but from opportunities, from attention, from the unfamiliar or unknown. I thought hiding was safer. But the truth is, it only made the fear worse. The one place where anxiety never seemed to touch me was on stage. Acting felt like stepping into a world where I was allowed to feel. It was where I could be bold. Encouraging. Fearless. It was where I could tell stories that mattered. It wasn’t just a talent—it was the first time I ever felt powerful, like I had something to offer. Still, I tried to run from it. Everyone around me—friends, their parents, and for a while even people in my own family—told me the arts weren’t a viable future. That I needed to pursue something practical. That passion doesn’t pay the bills. And I wanted stability so badly. My dad is a contractor, and oftentimes his work situation is great, and we get to eat out as a family. Other times, I have lived through the tension of watching every penny. The idea of intentionally choosing a career path known for its lack of stability terrifies me. But no matter how many times I tried to bury my acting dream, it wouldn’t die. It kept coming back—this unshakeable sense that I am meant to help others through stories in the way that stories have helped me. Movies and shows have changed me, challenged me, transformed me into a kinder, stronger person. I want to be a part of that kind of impact. I want to use my voice—not the one anxiety tries to silence, but the one I’ve found through the arts—to bring light to others who feel like they have to hide too. College, to me, is more than just education—it’s the bridge between my passion and my purpose. It’s where I’ll continue to train, to grow, to refine my skills, and to gain the tools I need to reach people through powerful, truth-filled storytelling. I’ve earned a 1300 on the SAT and a 4.0 unweighted GPA in dual credit and honors classes. I know I have the discipline and the heart to succeed in this. But because of the financial risk of an arts degree, I won’t be able to pursue this future without help. Overcoming anxiety hasn’t meant becoming fearless—it’s meant showing up. Choosing honesty. Letting others see my struggle so they know they’re not alone. That’s what I want to do, through film, through story, through every role I’m given. And that’s why college matters. Because it’s the next step toward becoming the person I’m meant to be—and helping others believe they can get there too. It would be an honor to continue the legacy of the Sherri Rosser scholarship.

Anxiety has impacted nearly every area of my life. I’ve had panic attacks in public, sat silently through conversations I desperately wanted to join, and lost friendships simply because I didn’t know how to explain what I was going through. In high school, my friend group was full of high-performing debaters who prided themselves on logic and intellect. Emotions were labeled weak. Fear was something to be mocked. Anxiety, if admitted to, was a moral failure. I wanted to belong—so I hid everything. I stayed quiet. I pretended I was fine. It wasn’t until I was formally diagnosed with anxiety and ADHD that I understood that what I experienced wasn't my fault or that I wasn't a bad person for feeling afraid. But even then, I still wanted to run. Not just from people, but from opportunities, from attention, from the unfamiliar or unknown. I thought hiding was safer. But the truth is, it only made the fear worse. The one place where anxiety never seemed to touch me was on stage. Acting felt like stepping into a world where I was allowed to feel. It was where I could be bold. Encouraging. Fearless. It was where I could tell stories that mattered. It wasn’t just a talent—it was the first time I ever felt powerful, like I had something to offer. Still, I tried to run from it. Everyone around me—friends, their parents, and for a while even people in my own family—told me the arts weren’t a viable future. That I needed to pursue something practical. That passion doesn’t pay the bills. And I wanted stability so badly. My dad is a contractor, and oftentimes his work situation is great, and we get to eat out as a family. Other times, I have lived through the tension of watching every penny. The idea of intentionally choosing a career path known for its lack of stability terrifies me. But no matter how many times I tried to bury my acting dream, it wouldn’t die. It kept coming back—this unshakeable sense that I am meant to help others through stories in the way that stories have helped me. Movies and shows have changed me, challenged me, transformed me into a kinder, stronger person. I want to be a part of that kind of impact. I want to use my voice—not the one anxiety tries to silence, but the one I’ve found through the arts—to bring light to others who feel like they have to hide too. College, to me, is more than just education—it’s the bridge between my passion and my purpose. It’s where I’ll continue to train, to grow, to refine my skills, and to gain the tools I need to reach people through powerful, truth-filled storytelling. I’ve earned a 1300 on the SAT and a 4.0 unweighted GPA in dual credit and honors classes. I know I have the discipline and the heart to succeed in this. But because of the financial risk of an arts degree, I won’t be able to pursue this future without help. Overcoming anxiety hasn’t meant becoming fearless—it’s meant showing up. Choosing honesty. Letting others see my struggle so they know they’re not alone. That’s what I want to do, through film, through story, through every role I’m given. And that’s why college matters. Because it’s the next step toward becoming the person I’m meant to be—and helping others believe they can get there too. It would be an honor to continue the legacy of the Ethel Hayes scholarship.

I come from a multi-generational military and sports family. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents because I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. And because of my failure, I experienced significant anxiety, depression, and panic attacks. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. The obstacle of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" and overcoming anxiety taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue the Social Anxiety Step Forward Scholarship legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

My motivation for a career in cybersecurity comes from my deep-rooted connection to service through my multi-generational military family. My dad served in the Army’s 101st Airborne Division during the Iraq War, and both of my grandfathers were in Vietnam. Going back even further, my two great-grandfathers served during World War II—one in Europe, and the other, a Marine who was captured on Guam by the Japanese in 1941. He survived nearly four years as a POW before being released in September 1945. With this family legacy, I always felt a strong desire to follow in their footsteps. My dream was to attend a military academy to serve my country just like they did. During High School, I served my community and documented over 550 service hours, and was awarded a Presidential Service Award in 2023. While I was pursuing a military academy nomination, I learned that medical issues would prevent me from qualifying for a military academy, I was heartbroken. I felt lost—like my dreams just evaporated at the stamp of a military medical doctor. Months later, my life changed during a National Honor Society career event. An FBI agent came to speak about careers in cybersecurity, and something just clicked. For the first time since surrendering the military dream, I felt a new spark. Cybersecurity could offer me another way to serve my country—not with boots on the ground, but on the digital battlefield. I realized I could combine my strength in math, my love for technology, and my passion for justice to help defend our nation against cybercriminals, domestic terrorists, and international threats. My journey into STEM and cybersecurity started like any ordinary day back in the 3rd grade while on a field trip to the Ross Perot Science Museum, where we began with a programmable robot exhibit. We all took turns moving block code around on the computer screen to see if we could make robots move. One-by-one, the other kids gave up and went to the next exhibit, but not me. I was mesmerized; I couldn’t leave. Even amidst the activity, noise and distractions that would divert a 3rd grade ADHD brain, I never lost focus. My mom, who was a chaperone on this field trip, told me that I couldn’t stay focused on anything more than a few minutes, but she let me stay there – for two hours. That experience led to a programmable Sphero robot for my birthday and then Scratch programming using block-coding on a MIT educational website. In 7th grade, my science fair project was titled “Preventing SQL Injection Attacks on Websites”, and I won first place at my school. Because my ADHD made public high school learning difficult, I moved to homeschooling. What once felt like a setback turned to opportunity when my school flexibility allowed me to take Python, JavaScript, and Java programming classes. I also took a SQL Database course and a networking class. For the first time, learning was fun. Cybersecurity is more than just a career choice for me—it’s a calling that brings together my family’s military legacy, my personal strengths, and my drive to protect others. From a third-grade robot to a SQL injection project, and now to college-level coursework, my passion has only grown stronger. With the support of the CH2M HILL Alumni Association Scholarship, I’ll be equipped to continue my education and apply for the FBI CyberSquad where I can help defend our nation from cybercriminals, domestic terrorists, and international threats.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He’s told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad hoped I’d be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball. After soccer, my parents tried gymnastics, swimming, and finally volleyball—which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more disappointed—my parents, or me, for not being the child they imagined. Then I found my calling. In elementary school, my piano teacher—who also directed the high school theater program—invited me to be in their winter production. That single invitation changed everything. After that show, I auditioned for a premier theater consortium and spent the next eight years studying theater and dance, and seven years in vocal performance lessons. As an introverted girl, something powerful happened when I stepped on stage. In the spotlight, I became the character. Telling a story, I found my voice. And watching the audience feel something real—that’s when I knew I had found where I belonged. I’ve had incredible opportunities, from leading roles in Broadway-quality productions to singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event. But my most meaningful experience wasn’t on a big stage—it was at a summer camp where I interned under my Theater Director. That’s where I met Carey, a shy girl who reminded me of myself. As her “big sister” in the consortium, I helped her memorize lines, practiced choreography by her side, and encouraged her every step of the way. We laughed and cried together. I brought flowers to every performance, cheering her on from the front row. When I graduated, Carey gave me a collage of our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had changed her daughter’s life. That moment taught me that the greatest stories aren’t told from a stage—they’re lived out in the relationships we build. With a 1300 SAT score, I have options. But I feel called to the performing arts—not for fame or fortune, but for connection. I want to create stories that heal, awaken, and inspire. Because storytelling isn’t just about entertainment—it’s about building relationships that change lives. Thank you for considering my journey. It would be an honor to continue the Bulkthreads.com's "Let's Build Together" Scholarship—making a lasting impact, one heart and one relationship at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents because I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Riley—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Riley's life, and how I changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even with a 1300 on the SAT and speech competition success, I could pursue many different fields, but I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. My experience of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue Ms. Sturz legacy — making a positive impact, one heart at a time.

Golf has taught me that life, like the game itself, is full of hazards, tricky lies, and the occasional "snowman" — but with perseverance, patience, and a positive attitude, you can always find your way back to the fairway. After receiving a plastic set of golf clubs on my sixth birthday, golf became a part of my life’s course. I joined First Tee at age seven, advancing from “Player” to “Par” while learning the core values of honesty, resilience, and respect. I also competed in junior tournaments and participated in Drive, Chip, and Putt for three years, earning one 1st-place and two 3rd-place ribbons. Today, I still tee it up occasionally with my dad on weekends, but my main focus has pivoted toward musical theatre — and the lessons golf taught me have been instrumental in preparing me for the stage. Playing in junior golf tournaments in front of spectators helped prepare me for auditioning in theater, where you perform not just for judges, but often in front of your peers. Standing on the first tee, your heart pounds as you look down the fairway, knowing you only get one chance to make a strong start. Grip too tightly or overthink it, and you risk slicing it into the trees or hooking it into someone’s backyard. Auditioning feels exactly the same way. After weeks of preparation, nerves kick in at the crucial moment. You get one shot to show your best — and if you let the pressure get to you, you might miss the “green," whether that’s forgetting lines or missing a note. Golf taught me that, just like with the first swing of a round, confidence, calm focus, and full commitment are key to delivering your best performance when it counts. Before every round, a golfer studies the course—learning yardages, spotting hazards, and understanding club distances. This mental preparation allows quick, confident decisions under pressure. Memorizing lines for a play is just like learning your yardages: when you know your material cold, you free yourself to focus on delivery, emotion, and connection with the audience, instead of scrambling to remember what comes next. Just like in golf, preparation behind the scenes is what frees you to play the moment with confidence when it matters most. Hitting the driving range before a tournament is also just like rehearsal. You hit ball after ball, fine-tuning your swing, sharpening your tempo, and getting comfortable with your clubs. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about building trust in your skills. In musical theatre rehearsals, you do the same — experimenting with your character, adjusting your timing, taking feedback, and running the scenes over and over. By the time you step onto the stage, or the first tee, you know you’re ready to swing freely and perform with confidence. Thanks to golf, I’ve learned that success isn’t just about medals or trophies — it’s about the relationships you build, the obstacles you overcome, and the impact you make on others. These lessons will guide me both onstage and off as I pursue my studies in musical theatre. I would be honored to carry forward Tom LoCasale’s legacy by staying true to the values and character golf taught me — patience, perseverance, and purpose — whether I’m stepping onto the stage or navigating the challenges of life.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a year-round theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre, dance, and vocal performance. When this shy, introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I magically transform into character. There’s something electric about stepping into a role, breathing life into a story, and sensing the audience come alive. I’ve been very fortunate to be selected for major roles in near-Broadway quality adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and others. Now is the time to take my leap of faith, while I’m young and still have a safety net at home. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. Although I have a 1300 on the SAT and have options, I feel called to the performing arts. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel, understand, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents because I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. Overcoming the obstacle of not fitting into my parents "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue Valerie Rabb legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents tried gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a year long theater program, where I spent the eight years learning theater, dance, and vocal performance. Even though I could pursue many different fields, I feel called to impact the community through performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents that I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the public service areas of performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. The obstacle of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue Public Service Scholarship — changing lives, one heart at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents that I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience and greatest achievement to date came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire and what I hope to achieve in the future is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. This experience of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to help and serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue WCEJ Thornton Foundation's legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents that I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. The obstacle of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue Mary Louise Lindsey's legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents that I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. The obstacle of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue Mr. Caldwell's legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents that I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. The obstacle of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue Artense Lenell Sam Scholarship legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

I come from a multi-generational military family. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photos from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. He has told me stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing butterflies instead of the soccer ball on my team. After soccer didn’t work, my parents started me in gymnastics, then swimming, and eventually volleyball, which was a disaster. At that point, I’m not sure who was more hurt – my parents that I wasn’t the athlete they dreamed of, or me because I couldn’t meet their expectations. But then I found my calling. In elementary school, I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school theater director, to be in their end of semester production. That experience changed my life. After the Christmas play, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theater consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theater and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transformed into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional, Broadway quality adult theater – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. Even though I’ve had some amazing opportunities including singing the national anthem at a nationally televised sporting event, my most meaningful experience came when my Theater Director asked me to intern at her theater summer camp. And that’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always bringing flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me how much I have been a major influence in Carey’s life, and how I have changed the trajectory of her life. Now, every time I see that photo album, I’m reminded that it’s always more important to give than receive. Even though I have a 1300 on the SAT and could pursue many different fields, I feel called to the performing arts, film, and acting. I’m not choosing this path for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, and believe in something greater when they see a story come to life on the stage or big screen — because stories have the power to heal, inspire, and awaken the human spirit. The obstacle of not fitting into the traditional "athlete mold" taught me that true success isn’t about meeting someone else's expectations, but about discovering who I am and using my gifts to serve others. Thank you for considering my journey; it would be an honor to continue Mr. Mehall’s legacy — changing lives, one heart at a time.

For most of my life, I’ve walked around in an imaginative fantasy world, dreaming of fictional characters, learning through song and dance, and relating to others through creativity. I never quite fit the “normalness” of my sisters or classmates. I used to regret being different. But in 2nd grade, everything changed because I was chosen. Yes, me—the different one—was chosen by the high school choir and drama teacher to play a lead child’s role in the high school musical. My 2nd grade self got to practice and perform on stage with teenagers in a production that changed the course of my life. The very next year, I auditioned and was selected for an intensive theater conservatory program. For the next eight years, I trained hard—acting, singing, and dancing. I fell in love with the arts and began to see my differences as a blessing. Since then, I’ve had the opportunity to perform in professional productions for audiences of tens of thousands. Recently, I’ve started transitioning into the film industry. It’s been a long journey through middle and high school, but I’ve learned to be proud to be an artist. Because of this platform, I’ve had the privilege to help others. I worked with a 13-year-old autistic boy whose father passed away from COVID, helping him write and perform a dramatic piece for a competition. The smile on his face and the confidence he gained was one of the most meaningful rewards I’ve ever received. I’ve also mentored younger kids in theater camps and in my conservatory, many of whom I still keep in touch with. I’ve led worship for children at my church and youth group for the past six years and written and performed interpretive speeches meant to inspire and uplift audiences. Although I have the grades to attend a traditional four-year college—I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA in both high school and 21 dual credit college hours—I believe God is calling me into the arts. I need additional training and opportunities to network with professionals in order to thrive in this competitive field. I have a strong desire to bring clean, positive, and family-friendly messaging back into entertainment. I want to use my gifts in theater, music, and film to create stories that uplift and inspire audiences of all ages. I plan to continue my training at KD Conservatory College of Film and Dramatic Arts in Dallas, Texas. This 15-month program offers an Associate of Applied Arts Degree in Acting Performance and includes 71 credit hours of intensive training in theater, television, and film. It is accredited by the National Association of Schools of Theatre (NAST) and approved by the Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board. Students learn from active industry professionals and the program concludes with a showcase in front of agents and casting directors. To attend this school, I need financial support. I am the second of four sisters, all one year apart. My dad’s last two small businesses both went under, and my parents are facing the overwhelming cost of four girls in college and four teen drivers at once. The cost of college is out of reach for me on my own, and out of my parents’ reach as well. Thank you, Prophetic Women Arise Ministry, for offering this scholarship and considering my application. The arts have transformed my life, and I want to use my story, talents, and passions to help transform others. My prayer is that God will provide the resources I need so I can glorify Him and encourage others through my career in film, song, and theater.

America’s military values have had a tremendous impact on my life, with a legacy of service than runs for generations. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photo from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. His Bronze Star is there too. He told stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. Both of my grandparents served in the Army and Air Force during Vietnam. Two of my great-grandfathers served in World War II—one as a cook in Europe, and PFC John E. Wickham was a Marine captured on Guam in 1941 to become a Japanese POW for nearly four years at Zentsuji POW Camp #1. Their stories taught me that life is about stepping up for others, working hard even when no one’s watching, and finding purpose in service. In high school, I completed over 585 documented service hours and earned three Presidential Volunteer Service Awards. I’ve gone on mission trips to Texas, New Mexico, and Belize, helped landscape homes for veterans, and packed meals with Feed the Hunger. I have also been a youth worship leader for kindergarten through third grade on Sunday mornings for almost four years. But what means the most to me are the one-on-one moments where I can make a direct impact on someone’s life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Carey’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I have auditioned and have been accepted into the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

America’s military values have had a tremendous impact on my life, with a legacy of service than runs for generations. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad’s Army uniform hanging in his office, surrounded by photo from Korea, the 101st Airborne Division, and Iraq. His Bronze Star is there too. He told stories about jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and fast-roping from helicopters. Both of my grandparents served in the Army and Air Force during Vietnam. Two of my great-grandfathers served in World War II—one as a cook in Europe, and PFC John E. Wickham was a Marine captured on Guam in 1941 to become a Japanese POW for nearly four years at Zentsuji POW Camp #1. Their stories taught me that life is about stepping up for others, working hard even when no one’s watching, and finding purpose in service. In high school, I completed over 585 documented service hours and earned three Presidential Volunteer Service Awards. I’ve gone on mission trips to Texas, New Mexico, and Belize, helped landscape homes for veterans, and packed meals with Feed the Hunger. I have also been a youth worship leader for kindergarten through third grade on Sunday mornings for almost four years. But what means the most to me are the one-on-one moments where I can make a direct impact on someone’s life. To provide some background, I joined a nationally competitive Speech & Debate team with over 2,500 student members in eighth grade. I won multiple events and finished 6th in a highly competitive category by year’s end. Recently, a mom in my club asked if I could help her eighth-grade son—who has Autism and severe ADHD—compete in a speech event. Using a children’s storybook he loved, I crafted a speech, and we practiced together over and over. At his first tournament, he completed all three rounds. Afterward, he surprised his mom by asking if he could compete again—so we kept practicing. At the next tournament’s awards ceremony, the audience of over 300 erupted in spontaneous applause when his name was called for fifth place out of 24 competitors. Seeing him stand on stage next to his mom, holding his medal, means more to me than the 30+ trophies, medals, and ribbons in my room, and it still brings tears to my eyes. This is just one of many stories I could share. Military values have taught me to go the extra mile and to use my talents in service to others.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 21 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Carey’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I have auditioned and have been accepted into the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 21 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Carey’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I’ve been accepted into a 15 month trade school focused on the performing arts through the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 21 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Carey’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I’ve been accepted into a 15 month trade school focused on the performing arts through the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 21 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Carey’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I’ve been accepted into a 15 month trade school focused on the performing arts through the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 21 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Carey’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I’ve been accepted into a trade school focused on the performing arts, where I’ll earn an Associate of Arts degree through the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

As the second of four sisters, I’ve always lived somewhere in the middle—the one quietly chasing dreams while others claim the spotlight. I always give my best, having maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout high school and 21 dual credit hours, and a 1300 on the SAT. On paper, I look like someone headed into business or communications, ready to land a great career with a steady income, but my heart has always beat for something different. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing ladybugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience changed my life. After the show, I auditioned and was accepted into a premier theatre consortium, where I spent the next eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons every week. When this introverted girl is given a microphone and a spotlight, I transform into my character. There’s something electric about stepping into a character, breathing life into a story, and watching an audience feel something real. I’ve been very fortunate to audition and be selected for some significant roles in professional adult theatre – Jane in Mary Poppins, Annie in Annie, and a few others. But chasing that dream has always come with a warning: “Performing arts doesn’t pay.” I’ve heard it from teachers, relatives—even from myself in moments of doubt. The reality of student loans and financial pressure is real, and it often pulls me toward the safety of a more traditional career path. After much soul-searching, I’ve come to believe that passion is worth the risk—because I’ve seen firsthand how deeply it can touch a life. One of my most meaningful experiences came during my time as an intern at a theatre camp run by my consortium. That’s where I met Carey—a shy, quiet girl who reminded me so much of myself. When she joined the consortium, I became her “big sister.” When she struggled to memorize lines, I played the other roles to help her stay focused and gain confidence. When the choreography felt overwhelming, we practiced side by side, step by step, until it finally clicked. We laughed together and cried together. I cheered her on at every performance, always showing up with flowers to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a beautiful collage of photos from our time together. Her mom, holding back tears, told me I had been the biggest influence in Carey’s life. Now, every time I see that picture album on my desk, I’m reminded that it’s more important to give than to receive. Now is the time to pursue acting and theatre, while I’m young, living at home, and have the safety net to take my leap of faith. I’d rather try and fail than live wondering what could have been. I’ve been accepted into a trade school focused on the performing arts, where I’ll earn an Associate of Arts degree through the top-ranked Acting, Film, and Theatre program in Texas. I’m choosing this path not for applause, but for connection. Not for money, but for meaning. Not for fame, but to make a difference. My heart’s desire is to help people feel something, understand something, believe something—because stories have the power to bring hearts alive. I hope you’ll join me so we can change the world—one heart at a time.

Coming from a multi-generational military family, I’ve always had strong examples of what it means to serve. My dad served in Iraq, my grandfathers were in Vietnam, and one of my great-grandfathers was a Japanese POW on Guam during WWII until his release in 1945. Their stories taught me that life is about doing the right thing, working hard even when no one’s watching, and finding purpose in service. In high school, I completed over 585 documented service hours and earned three Presidential Volunteer Service Awards. I’ve gone on mission trips to Texas, New Mexico, and Belize, helped landscape homes for veterans, and packed meals with Feed the Hunger. But what means the most to me are the one-on-one moments where I can make a direct impact on someone’s life. As much as my dad wanted me to be a college athlete, I was the one picking flowers and chasing lady bugs on the soccer field. I found my calling in the second grade when I was invited by my piano teacher, who was also the high school musical director, to be in their show. That experience has changed my life. I auditioned and was accepted into a prominent theatre consortium. I spent eight years learning theatre and dance, and seven years of vocal performance lessons. But it was when I served as an intern for a kids theatre camp that means the most to me. Carey was like me, a shy girl until someone showed her attention and breathed encouragement into her life. She joined the consortium where I became her 'big sister'. When she struggled memorizing lines, I played the other roles and worked with her. When she couldn't get the dance right, I went to her house and practiced until evening. I laughed with her, cried with her, and celebrated with her. I also brought flowers to her performances to celebrate her success. When I graduated from the program, she gave me a collage of photos from our time together and then her mom told me that I have been the biggest influence in her life. That picture album still sits on my desk and reminds me that it is more important to give than receive. Another example is in the eighth grade when I joined a nationally competitive Speech & Debate team with over 2,500 student members nationwide. I won multiple events and finished 6th in a highly competitive category by year’s end. Recently, a mom in my club asked if I could help her eighth-grade son—who has Autism and severe ADHD—compete in a speech event. Using a children’s storybook he loved, I crafted a speech, and we practiced together over and over. At his first tournament, he completed all three rounds. Afterward, he surprised his mom by asking if he could compete again—so we kept practicing. At the next tournament’s awards ceremony, the audience of over 300 erupted in spontaneous applause when his name was called for fifth place out of 24 competitors. Seeing him stand on stage next to his mom, holding his medal, means more to me than the 30+ trophies, medals, and ribbons in my room, and it still brings tears to my eyes. My dad’s last 2 companies filed Chapter 11 Bankruptcy (2021, 2024). My mom homeschooled us but is now applying for jobs. Despite the circumstances I’ve maintained a 4.0 GPA thru 21 dual credit college hours. I'm receiving a Pell Grant does not cover everything. This scholarship will significantly ease my financial burden so I can focus on school, reduce my stress and encourage me to keep pushing forward.