Mental health is not something I always understood, and for a long time, it wasn’t something I talked about. Like many people, I learned early on to push things down, to keep moving forward, and to handle problems on my own. That mindset carried me through the Marine Corps and into my career, where strength, discipline, and resilience are expected. But over time, I began to realize that strength without honesty can become isolation. I have seen mental health struggles both personally and in the lives of those around me. In the military and in law enforcement, you see things that stay with you. You carry responsibility, stress, and sometimes trauma, whether you want to admit it or not. For a long time, I believed the answer was simply to endure it. Don’t talk about it. Don’t show it. Just keep going. But that way of thinking comes at a cost. I began to understand that mental health is not a weakness to overcome but a reality to acknowledge. Ignoring it does not make it disappear. It affects how you lead, how you love your family, and how you see yourself. It can create distance in relationships, even when you care deeply about the people around you. What changed for me was learning that I don’t have to carry everything alone. For me, that began through my faith and through conversations with people I trust, including my pastor. Instead of isolating, I started to open up, to listen, and to recognize that struggles do not define a person, they are part of the human condition. This shift has had a direct impact on my relationships. As a husband and a father, I have become more intentional about being present, patient, and honest. I want my family to know that it is okay to talk about what they are going through, and that they do not need to hide their struggles. I have also become more aware of the people around me, coworkers, friends, and those I serve, who may be carrying burdens that are not visible. In my professional role, where I am responsible for enforcement and often work in high stress environments, this awareness has shaped how I lead. I still value discipline and accountability, but I also recognize the importance of compassion. People perform better, live better, and serve better when they are supported, not just expected to endure. My experience has also shaped my goals. I am pursuing higher education not just for personal advancement, but to better serve others. I want to lead in a way that balances strength with understanding. Whether that is in my current role or future opportunities, I want to be someone who creates an environment where people can be honest about their struggles without fear of judgment. More broadly, my understanding of the world has changed. I see now that many people are fighting battles that are not obvious. What may look like anger, withdrawal, or failure is often something deeper. This has made me slower to judge and quicker to listen. Destigmatizing mental health does not happen through large statements alone. It happens in small, consistent actions, checking on someone, being willing to listen, and being honest about your own experiences. It happens when people in positions of responsibility show that it is okay to acknowledge struggle without losing respect or purpose. Mental health is not separate from who we are. It shapes our decisions, our relationships, and our future. For me, facing it honestly has made me a better husband, father, leader, and man. And moving forward, I want to continue to be part of the effort to bring these struggles into the light, because that is where real healing begins.

My faith in God has not been something abstract or distant, it has been something lived, tested, and proven in the realities of my life. It has shaped how I see myself, how I endure hardship, and how I serve others. I joined the United States Marine Corps at 17 years old. Like many young men, I thought strength came from what I could do on my own. Over time, through deployments, responsibilities, and the weight of leadership, I came to realize my own limits. I saw firsthand that no amount of discipline or determination could fix what was broken inside. That realization could have led to despair, but instead, it led me to Christ. God met me not when I had everything together, but when I didn’t. Through His Word, I came to understand that my worth is not based on my performance, but on what Christ has done for me. That truth changed everything. It gave me peace where there had been restlessness, purpose where there had been confusion, and humility where there had been pride. As a husband, father, and now a student returning to school later in life, my faith continues to sustain me. Balancing family, work, and education is not easy. There are real pressures and sacrifices. But my faith reminds me that my vocation is not just about achievement, it is about service. God has entrusted me with my family, my work, and my education, not for my own glory, but so that I may serve others faithfully. This understanding directly shapes how I approach my future career. I am pursuing theological studies with the hope of serving in pastoral ministry. My goal is not simply to build a career, but to serve the Church by proclaiming the Gospel and caring for people in their real struggles. The same grace that met me in my brokenness is the grace I want to share with others. Faith will guide my career by anchoring me in something unchanging. In a world that often measures success by status or wealth, my faith calls me to measure success by faithfulness. It teaches me integrity, not just when it is easy, but when it is difficult. It reminds me that people are not problems to solve, but souls to care for. Ultimately, my faith gives me confidence, not in myself, but in God’s promises. I know that whatever challenges come, I am not facing them alone. That allows me to step forward with courage, to lead with humility, and to serve with love. God has not only helped me in my life, He has transformed the way I live it. And that transformation is what I carry with me into my future.

Returning to school at this stage of life has not been a simple decision, it has been a weighty one. As a husband, a father, and a full-time professional, my time is not my own. Every hour I spend studying is an hour that must be taken from somewhere else, and that reality brings both challenge and responsibility. One of the greatest challenges I’ve faced is balancing my roles. I am a father first. My children depend on me not just to provide, but to be present, to lead them, guide them, and love them. At the same time, I have a career that requires significant commitment, including being on call at all hours. Adding school into that already full life means there is no excess time. It requires discipline, sacrifice, and a willingness to be uncomfortable. There will be nights when I am exhausted from work, when my children need my attention, and assignments still need to be completed. There will be moments when it would be easier to put school aside and continue on the path I am already on. But I know that returning to school is not just about me, it is about what I am building for my family and how I am preparing to serve others more faithfully. Another challenge will be stepping back into an academic environment after years away. Learning how to study again, how to write academically, and how to manage coursework in a structured way will take effort. It has requires humility, recognizing that I am no longer the same student I was years ago, but also trusting that I bring something more now: life experience, discipline, and a clearer sense of purpose. Financially, returning to school also brings pressure. Providing for a family while taking on educational expenses is not easy. Every dollar matters, and every decision must be made carefully. This has forced me to plan ahead, seek out opportunities like scholarships, and remain focused on the long-term goal rather than short-term comfort. Despite these challenges, I do not see them as obstacles alone, they are refining tools. They are shaping me into someone who is more disciplined, more intentional, and more aware of what truly matters. Returning to school has strengthened my resolve, not weakened it. I am pursuing my education with a clear purpose: to grow in knowledge so that I can better serve my family, my community, and those entrusted to my care. This is not simply about earning a degree. It is about preparing for a life of service, grounded in responsibility and guided by conviction. My children are watching. They see the late nights, the effort, and the commitment. My hope is that through this, they learn that growth requires sacrifice, that perseverance matters, and that it is never too late to pursue what is right. Returning to school has been challenging, but it is a challenge I willingly embrace.

Recovery, to me, is not just the absence of alcohol, it is the decision to live honestly. I have been sober for over five years. I initially quit drinking in solidarity with a fellow veteran who was seeking treatment for alcohol. What started as support for a friend became something much deeper. I began to realize how much better I felt without alcohol, both physically and mentally. More importantly, I came to understand what alcohol had become for me. It was not a solution, it was an escape. I used it to avoid problems rather than face them. It buried things temporarily, but nothing was ever resolved. Recovery forced me to confront that truth. Today, recovery means choosing discipline over avoidance and responsibility over escape. It means facing challenges head-on, even when it is uncomfortable. It has shaped how I lead my family, how I serve in my career, and how I pursue my education. Recovery awakened something in me. It gave me clarity, purpose, and the ability to be fully present in my life. It is not something I completed, it is something I continue to live out every day.

Incarceration became real to me at a young age. My uncle spent time in prison for selling meth, and I remember going with my father to visit him. As a young adolescent, I didn’t fully understand it. I knew he had done something wrong, but I also knew he was still my uncle. That tension stayed with me, how someone could make serious mistakes and still be someone you love. As I got older, that early experience took on more meaning when I began working as a wellness instructor and counselor in a juvenile detention facility. There, I saw something I had only glimpsed as a kid: many of these young men were not “bad people.” They were young, often without guidance, who had made poor decisions, sometimes serious ones, but decisions that did not define the entirety of who they were. I saw myself in them more than I expected. I have made my own mistakes. The difference is often not character, but circumstance, influence, and the presence or absence of someone willing to guide you. Through these experiences, I learned that justice and compassion are not opposites. People must be held accountable, but they also need to be seen, heard, and given the opportunity to change. I also learned a hard truth: you cannot force someone to accept help. But that does not remove our responsibility to offer it, consistently and faithfully. These experiences have directly shaped my academic and career path. I am pursuing theological education with the goal of serving as a pastor. I feel called to meet people where they are, especially those who feel defined by their worst decisions, and to point them toward something greater than themselves. My time around incarceration showed me how deeply people need both truth and grace. Not one or the other, but both. Incarceration did not define my uncle, and it did not define the young men I worked with. It also does not define the future of those willing to seek a different path. That belief has shaped who I am, and it is what drives me forward in my education and my desire to serve others.

What I want to build is not something you can hold in your hands, but something that shapes lives, faithful men, strong families, and a community rooted in truth and love. I am pursuing a degree in theology, intending to become a pastor. That is not just a career path to me, it is a calling. I have seen firsthand how broken the world can be. Through my time in the Marine Corps, my life as a husband and father, and my experiences in the Church, I have learned that people are searching for something real, something steady. Too often, what they find is noise, confusion, or temporary solutions. What I want to build is something lasting. I want to build a life centered on serving others. That starts in my own home, loving my wife, raising my children in the faith, and being present in their lives. From there, it extends outward into the Church and the community. I want to build a ministry that does not chase trends or try to entertain, but instead remains rooted in God’s Word. A place where people can come as they are, hear the truth, receive grace, and be strengthened. Education is a critical part of that. It is not just about gaining knowledge, but about being formed, learning how to rightly handle Scripture, how to care for people in their struggles, and how to lead with humility. My education will equip me to serve in a way that is faithful, not just effective. The impact I hope to make is simple but meaningful. I want to help build up families, support those who are struggling, and point people to something greater than themselves. In a world that often feels uncertain, I want to be part of building something steady, something rooted in truth, shaped by love, and lived out in service. This is not about building something for myself. It is about building something that will outlast me, something that serves others, strengthens communities, and reflects the love and truth that I have been given.

My name is Brandon Snyder, and I served in the Marine Corps. I joined when I was seventeen years old. To get my parents to sign my enlistment paperwork, I agreed to choose a job outside of the infantry. However, determined to be an infantryman, I found a path through Fleet Anti-Terrorism Security Team (FAST) and later transferred to a regular infantry unit. I served five years in the Corps and was honorably discharged as a Corporal. During my service, I was stationed in many locations and participated in a variety of missions. I attended boot camp at MCRD San Diego and later the School of Infantry at Camp Pendleton. I went through Basic Security Guard School at NSA Chesapeake and served with 1st FAST Company at Camp Allen in Virginia. I supported refuel and defuel operations for the USS Carl Vinson, as well as the USS San Francisco and USS Honolulu. I later served on a QRF deployment at CENTCOM in Bahrain. Afterward, I was assigned to 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marines at Camp Lejeune and deployed with the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit aboard the USS Fort McHenry, operating throughout Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. During that deployment, we also conducted humanitarian aid operations in Haiti following the devastating earthquake. My final assignment was as a “Coyote,” an instructor/controller in Twentynine Palms, where I helped train Marines preparing for deployment. After leaving the Corps, my educational goals began to take shape as I searched for a new way to serve others. I am currently pursuing a degree in Theological Studies through Concordia University Wisconsin to eventually attend seminary to become a Lutheran pastor. My military service shaped these goals by instilling in me a deep sense of duty and responsibility toward others. In the Corps, leadership meant caring for the Marines around you and ensuring they were prepared for the challenges ahead. I believe pastoral ministry carries a similar responsibility, serving others, guiding them through difficult times, and providing spiritual leadership within the community. Like many veterans, I faced challenges when transitioning back to civilian life. When I first left the Marine Corps, I struggled with both my mental and physical health. I wrestled with a loss of purpose and survivor’s guilt after losing brothers to suicide. I also live with physical injuries sustained during my service. While manning a vehicle checkpoint during a VBIED threat, I fell from a two-story machine gun tower, suffering a spinal cord injury and a severe arm laceration. These injuries and experiences have presented obstacles in my life, but they have also strengthened my resilience. Over time, through faith, family, and support from my community, I have made significant progress in managing both my mental and physical health. Service to others has continued to be an important part of my life after the military. Shortly after leaving the Marine Corps, I worked with delinquent youth, helping mentor young people who were struggling to find direction in their lives. I later worked in law enforcement and emergency medicine, continuing to serve my community in times of crisis. Today, I am actively involved in my church, where I help lead the youth group, participate in men’s ministry, and serve as a lector. These roles allow me to encourage others in their faith and contribute to the life of my congregation. John Acuña’s commitment to education, veterans, and community service reflects the values I strive to live by. My goal is to continue serving others, first as a student, and eventually as a pastor, dedicating my life to strengthening the communities I am called to serve.

When I was eighteen years old and a young United States Marine, I witnessed the death of one of my fellow Marines during a training exercise. It was vehicle ambush training, and in a moment that changed my life, a Humvee rolled over. Jeff, who was standing in the turret, was crushed beneath the vehicle. I remember the dust settling as we ran toward the wreck. We lifted the vehicle off him and loaded him into another vehicle to get him medical aid as quickly as possible. Some memories from that day have never left me: the smell, the urgency, the shock that something like this could happen so suddenly. I do not need to describe the graphic details to explain the weight of that moment. What mattered most was that a brother was gone. Jeff was more than a Marine in our unit. He was our designated marksman, a friend, and someone whose presence made the hard days a little lighter. We had met his girlfriend and talked about life beyond the Marine Corps. In the military, the word “brother” is not used lightly. We train together, suffer together, and rely on one another with our lives. Jeff truly was our brother. Later, we attended his funeral and met his family at their church. Standing there with them, seeing their grief and hearing stories about Jeff’s life before the Marine Corps, made the loss even more real. It was the first time I had truly faced death up close. At eighteen years old, it forced me to confront how fragile life really is. That experience changed me in ways I did not fully understand at the time. I learned that life is not promised. The people we love will not always be there tomorrow, and the words we leave unsaid may never get another chance to be spoken. Because of that loss, I try to live with intention. I take the time to tell people I love them. I take pictures with friends and family. I do not assume there will always be another opportunity. Jeff also shaped my outlook on faith and purpose. Seeing how quickly life can end forced me to think about what truly matters. Over time, that reflection led me deeper into my faith and toward a life focused on serving others. I realized that the greatest impact a person can have is not measured in achievements alone, but in how they care for the people around them. Today, that perspective influences my goals and the way I live my life. I am pursuing theological education with the hope of serving others through ministry, helping people navigate both the joys and the hardships of life. Loss has a way of reminding us of what truly matters. Jeff taught me many things while he was alive: discipline, commitment, and brotherhood, but in many ways, his death taught me even more. His loss reminds me every day to live faithfully, love deeply, and make the most of the time we are given.

Matthew 23:1–12, ESV Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, “The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses' seat, so do and observe whatever they tell you, but not the works they do. For they preach, but do not practice. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people's shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger. They do all their deeds to be seen by others. For they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long, and they love the place of honor at feasts and the best seats in the synagogues and greetings in the marketplaces and being called rabbi by others. But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all brothers. And call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven. Neither be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Christ. The greatest among you shall be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted. Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, is teaching that true greatness does not come from status, titles, or being honored by others. Instead, He shows us that greatness in the kingdom of God comes through humility and serving others. Jesus is warning us about the dangers of religious pride and showing what leadership among God’s people should look like. It is completely different from the kind of leadership the world often celebrates. At the beginning, Jesus points out the problem with the scribes and Pharisees. They teach the law of God, but they do not live it. Jesus even tells the people to listen to what they teach because they sit in a place of authority, but not to follow their example. The deeper issue is not simply hypocrisy. The real problem is their faith has become something they perform for others to see. They want recognition, respect, and public honor. Their actions are less about serving God and more about being admired. Jesus describes how they make their religious clothing noticeable and seek the best seats at feasts and in the synagogue. These actions reveal something about the human heart. People often want their good works to be seen and praised. The Pharisees were not just obeying God’s law; they were trying to elevate themselves in the eyes of others. Jesus shows us this as a dangerous misunderstanding of what faith should look like. Another important point is how Jesus describes the burdens the Pharisees place on others. He says they tie up heavy burdens and place them on people’s shoulders, but they are unwilling to lift a finger to help. This is a great example of leadership that serves and leadership that controls. The Pharisees used their authority to demand things from people without caring about their struggles. Instead of helping people follow God, they made life more difficult for them. Jesus contrasts that kind of leadership with what true leadership should be. He tells His followers not to chase titles or recognition because we all stand equal before God as brothers. Our focus should not be on being called “teacher” or “rabbi” but on learning from the one true teacher, Christ Himself. The most important line is when Jesus says, “The greatest among you shall be your servant.” This completely flips the way most people think about greatness. In this world, greatness usually means power, influence, or being in charge. But Jesus teaches that greatness in God’s kingdom is measured by humility and service. The person who serves others faithfully is the one who is truly great. This teaching becomes even more powerful when we consider that Jesus Himself lived this way. He did not come seeking honor from people. Instead, His ministry was marked by compassion, sacrifice, and service. He healed the sick, taught the crowds, and cared for those who were rejected by society. Ultimately, His life led to the cross, where He gave Himself for the sake of us. Jesus does not just command humility; He demonstrates it. The final statement gives us a warning and a promise: “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” This reveals a deeper truth about how God’s kingdom works. When people seek glory for themselves, they are building something that will fall. Pride cannot last. But when we humble ourselves and serve others, we are living in a way that honors God. This passage speaks to something every person struggles with: the desire to be recognized. It is easy to want appreciation or respect for the things we do. But Jesus reminds us the goal is not to be seen by people but to be faithful before God. Real service often happens quietly and without recognition. The deeper meaning of this passage is that following Christ requires humility. It means putting others before ourselves and serving them not for praise, but out of love. The world may value status and recognition, but Jesus shows that the greatest life is one lived for the good of others. In the end, Jesus is teaching that true greatness looks like humility, service, and faithfulness. The one who humbles himself and serves others is the one who is truly following Christ.

How I plan to make a positive impact on the world is not something I measure by recognition, status, or money. To me, real impact is much simpler. It is about faithfully serving God and helping the people around me. If my life helps even a few people find hope, truth, and purpose, then I will consider that a life well lived. I grew up in a small town. From a young age, I saw what it meant for people to show up for others, whether that was helping a neighbor in need, supporting a struggling family, or simply being present. Those experiences shaped how I see service. Real service is not about grand gestures. It is about consistently loving and caring for others. My path to this point has not been a straight line. After high school, I served in the United States Marine Corps. The Marines taught me discipline, responsibility, and the importance of serving something greater than yourself. In the military, you learn very quickly that your actions affect the people around you. That mindset of responsibility toward others stayed with me long after my service ended. Over time, I began to feel called toward something deeper. Through a lot of reflection, life experience, and returning to the church, I realized that I wanted my life to be centered around serving others through ministry. I am now pursuing theological studies to become a pastor. I hope to faithfully teach God’s Word, walk alongside people during both the best and hardest moments of life, and help build strong communities rooted in faith and service. I believe the church has a unique role in creating lasting impact in the world. While many organizations help meet physical needs, the church also speaks to the deeper needs people carry: loneliness, grief, doubt, and the search for meaning. When a church is healthy, it becomes a place where people care for one another, support their neighbors, and serve their communities. My goal is to help foster that kind of environment. Part of making an impact is also setting an example. I want my life to demonstrate humility, compassion, and a willingness to serve wherever there is a need. Whether that is volunteering in the community, helping families during difficult times, mentoring younger men, or simply listening to someone who needs encouragement, those small acts matter more than people often realize. This scholarship would help me continue my education and better prepare me for a life dedicated to serving others. Education will give me the tools to faithfully teach, lead responsibly, and care for people well. But more importantly, it will allow me to continue pursuing the calling I believe God has placed on my life. In the end, the impact I hope to make is simple: to serve faithfully, love people well, and help others see that they are not alone. If my life encourages others to care for their neighbors and live with compassion, then the impact will continue far beyond anything I could accomplish on my own.

Growing up as the son of veterans shaped the way I see duty, sacrifice, and purpose long before I fully understood those words. My parents' lessons from their service were always present in how they lived. They believed in responsibility, keeping your word, and putting others before yourself. Those values became part of the foundation of how I view my own life and the direction I want to go. Being raised in a veteran household meant understanding early that freedom is not free. I saw that service to something greater than yourself is not just a phrase, but a way of life. Veterans carry burdens that many people never see. Some of those burdens are physical, but many are invisible. Watching that reality shaped my respect for those who serve and helped me understand the cost that often comes with protecting others. Those lessons eventually led me to serve in the military myself. My time in service reinforced what I learned growing up: that leadership is about responsibility, humility, and sacrifice. It also showed me how much people need guidance, support, and hope during difficult seasons of life. I saw firsthand how many service members struggle with purpose, trauma, and finding direction after their time in uniform, including myself. Because of those experiences, my career goals have shifted toward serving others differently. I am currently pursuing a degree in Theological Studies to enter pastoral ministry. I desire to shepherd people, especially veterans and their families, who are searching for meaning, healing, and stability after hardship. Faith became central in my own life during difficult seasons. There were times when I wrestled with questions, failure, and uncertainty, but through those struggles, I came to understand God’s grace in a much deeper way. That journey has given me a desire to help others who feel lost or burdened by their past. Growing up as the son of veterans taught me that strength is not just about endurance, but about having the courage to seek restoration and guide others toward it. I want to be someone who can walk alongside people who are struggling and remind them that they are not alone. Many veterans carry wounds that the world cannot see, and many families quietly carry those burdens with them. If I can help even a small number of people find hope and direction, then I will consider my work meaningful. Education is a crucial step in preparing me for that calling. This scholarship would help ease the financial burden of pursuing my degree and allow me to focus more fully on my studies and ministry preparation. More importantly, it would represent an investment in a future where I can continue the legacy of service that shaped my life from the beginning. Being the child of a veteran taught me that service does not always look the same in every generation. My parents served our country in uniform. My goal is to serve people in my community by helping them find faith, healing, and purpose in their lives.

Faith is not just simply something I believe, it is the foundation that shapes how I live, how I serve others, and the direction of my future. My journey of faith has not been a straight line. It has been shaped by seasons of wandering, struggle, restoration, and ultimately calling. Looking back now, I can see that even when I felt far from God, He was patiently guiding me toward the life He intended for me. Sometimes right in front of me, although I often either chose to ignore it or was completely oblivious. My faith started in a small town where my family attended a Lutheran church. That congregation and pastor played an important role in forming my early understanding of faith. However, like many people, I spent years drifting away from that foundation while trying to figure out life on my own terms. During those years I served in the United States Marine Corps. The Marine Corps instilled discipline, resilience, and a deep sense of responsibility to others. Those lessons would later become important as my faith matured. Through the challenges of life, God steadily drew me back, no matter how stiff-necked I was. As I began to return to Scripture and the life of the church, I realized that faith is not just about personal belief, it is about transformation. It shapes how we view the world, how we treat others, and how we respond to the needs of our communities. My faith has taught me that leadership means service, humility, and stewardship of the gifts God has given us. Jesus said we are the light of the world. We should not hide it but let it shine, by walking our faith. Because of that conviction, I am pursuing higher education in theological studies with the long-term goal of pastoral ministry in the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod. My academic goals are not simply about earning a degree, they are about preparing to shepherd and serve others faithfully. I want to help people encounter the same grace and truth that brought me back to Christ. Faith also influences how I approach education itself. Scripture teaches that wisdom is a gift from God and that we are called to grow in knowledge and understanding. For me, studying theology is an act of stewardship. It is a way of preparing myself to teach, guide, and care for others in their spiritual lives. Education will equip me with the tools necessary to communicate the truth of Scripture clearly and faithfully. Several people have encouraged me to pursue higher education along this path. My pastors and brothers in Christ have been instrumental in challenging me to grow spiritually and intellectually. They have helped me recognize gifts for leadership and ministry that I once doubted in myself. My family has also played a significant role in supporting this journey, reminding me that pursuing God’s calling requires both faith and perseverance. Ultimately, my goal is to use my education not for personal advancement but for service. I want to give back to the church and the community by teaching the Word of God, mentoring others in their faith, and helping people navigate the struggles of life with hope grounded in Christ. Faith has given my life direction, and through education I hope to use that direction to help others. In many ways, pursuing higher education is my response to God’s grace, an effort to steward the calling He has placed before me and to serve others with integrity and compassion.

I want to make a change in my life because I believe the Lord has shown me my purpose. For much of my adult life, my identity was rooted in being a United States Marine. The Marine Corps shaped me through discipline, sacrifice, and commitment to something greater than myself. But after leaving the military and navigating the challenges of transition, disability, and rebuilding, I began to realize that my mission was not finished; it was changing. Through seasons of struggle, restoration, and spiritual growth, God made it clear that He was calling me into pastoral ministry. This desire has not come quickly or easily. It developed through prayer, repentance, and a deepening understanding of grace. I recognize that the leadership and resilience I learned in the military were not only for combat or career advancement, but also for shepherding people. I have experienced firsthand what it means to wrestle with doubt, pride, brokenness, and surrender. Those experiences have given me a heart for those who feel lost, burdened, or unsure of their place. I want to walk with people in those moments and faithfully point them to Christ. To move closer to this goal, I have taken many early steps. I have enrolled at Concordia University Wisconsin to pursue theological education with the intention of serving as a pastor in the LCMS. I have sought guidance from pastors and mentors, remained active in my congregation, and committed myself to regular study of Scripture and prayer. I have applied for scholarships, district grants, and vocational rehabilitation benefits to fund my education responsibly. At 37, with a family and responsibilities, this decision required careful planning and sacrifice. It is not a temporary interest but a calling I am pursuing with conviction. This scholarship would significantly ease the financial burden of returning to school later in life. As a disabled veteran without remaining GI Bill benefits, funding my education requires persistence and creativity. Financial assistance would allow me to focus more fully on my coursework, spiritual formation, and preparation for ministry rather than worrying about tuition costs. More than that, it would represent an investment in future ministry, supporting not just my education, but the congregations and communities I will one day serve. To pay this forward, I plan to invest deeply in others, especially veterans and men who are struggling to find purpose after service. I understand the difficulty of transition and the temptation to measure worth by past accomplishments. I want to mentor young men and women, walk alongside veterans navigating faith and identity, and serve congregations faithfully for decades to come. Ministry is not simply a career for me; it is a life of service. Just as others are helping equip me for this calling, I will dedicate my life to equipping, encouraging, and shepherding others in Christ.

My walk with Christ hasn’t been a straight line. It’s marked by wandering, loss, restoration, and, ultimately, calling. When I look back, I can see that even in the seasons when I thought I was far from God, He was never far from me. I grew up in a small town where our pastor faithfully shepherded our congregation. That church shaped my early faith. I was in Sunday school, played music during services, and was confirmed there. The church wasn’t just a building; it was my community. Even as a young man, people would ask if I had ever thought about becoming a pastor. I always brushed it off. I respected pastors deeply, but I had one goal in mind: become a United States Marine. Later, I left home and joined the Marine Corps. The structure, discipline, and brotherhood fit me well. But those years tested me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I sustained a spinal cord injury. I watched men I loved as brothers get wounded and killed. In the years that followed, I lost friends not only to war, but to suicide and drugs. Loss like that changes you. It forces you to wrestle with suffering, purpose, and eternity in ways most people never will. My faith was inconsistent. I would attend church occasionally, but I questioned God often. After my injury, I chose not to reenlist so I could prioritize my family. I left honorably, but I left without direction. The mission that had defined me was gone. I struggled with depression, survivor’s guilt, and a loss of identity. I never stopped believing, but I wasn’t walking closely with Him. In many ways, I was a sheep without a shepherd. I went into law enforcement after my service. Years passed without consistent church involvement. Then one morning, I felt an overwhelming urge to attend service. It didn’t make sense, but I went. The church was in a different town from where I grew up. That morning, the pastor leading worship was the same pastor who had guided me through childhood. Hearing him preach felt like more than a coincidence. Not long after, I responded to a domestic violence call that turned into a standoff. The suspect reportedly had multiple weapons. When he came out of the house, he suddenly raised something from his hip and pointed it at me. In that exact moment, my phone vibrated. The object wasn’t a handgun, but a stick, that vibration sharpened my focus enough that I didn’t pull the trigger. Driving home, I listened to the voicemail. It was that same pastor, calling to check in and invite my family to church. I called him back. We talked about faith, about missed signs in hurting people, about being fishers of men. Something shifted in me during that conversation. The emptiness I had carried for years began to lift. Some might call it a coincidence. I believe it was the Lord reminding me I had been in the darkness long enough. Through a faithful pastor, God not only intervened in a dangerous moment, but He brought me back to Himself. Since then, my faith has deepened and matured. My wife and sons have supported me every step of the way. Leading my family spiritually is no longer an afterthought; it is my clearest responsibility and greatest joy. The question of ministry returned, but this time I didn’t dismiss it. I prayed. I sought counsel. I examined my motives. I began to see how God had used military discipline to teach perseverance, loss to teach compassion, and suffering to teach dependence on Him. I am now pursuing a degree in Theological Studies to attend seminary and serve as an ordained pastor. I want to preach Christ faithfully, administer the Sacraments rightly, and walk alongside people in both joy and sorrow. Having wrestled with despair and buried friends, I know the Gospel is not abstract; it is life. As a disabled veteran who has exhausted my GI Bill benefits, further education requires sacrifice from my entire family. Receiving this scholarship would ease that burden and allow me to focus more fully on preparing for ministry. My plan is simple: complete my undergraduate studies with excellence, pursue seminary training, and serve wherever the Lord calls. Whether in a small rural congregation or anywhere else He places me, my desire is faithfulness. God found me when I was wandering. By His grace, I now seek to shepherd others with that same steadfast love.

Military service is woven into the fabric of my family. I am the son, grandson, and nephew of men and women who have worn the uniform of the United States with honor. Their service shaped my childhood, formed my character, and ultimately directed the course of my own life. My grandfather served in the United States Navy, retiring as a Radioman Chief. He fought in the Korean War and later worked in special communications with the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon. My grandmother also served in the Navy as part of the WAVES, faithfully supporting the mission until she was discharged after becoming pregnant with my father. Service was not simply something they did; it was who they were. That example carried forward to my parents. My father served in the United States Marine Corps as a signals intelligence Marine and saw combat during the Gulf War with the 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion. My mother was a Navy Russian linguist who later worked at the National Security Agency, earning a Joint Service Commendation Medal for her work. Much of what she did remains classified, but her quiet professionalism left a lasting impression on me. Service in my extended family spans the Navy, Marines, Army, and Air Force. Dedication to the country is our family legacy. I was born at what is now known as Walter Reed National Military Medical Center while my father was stationed at Camp Lejeune and my mother was serving at Fort Meade. When I was almost three years old, my father deployed for Desert Storm. I was too young to understand geopolitics, but I understood absence. Shortly after, we moved to Anchorage, Alaska, where my father finished his career on Inspector-Instructor duty for a reserve reconnaissance unit. I remember attending Toys for Tots drives and visiting his office on Elmendorf Air Force Base. Even in peacetime assignments, service never stopped. Being the child of military parents meant adaptability was not optional. We moved. We adjusted. We learned to build friendships quickly and say goodbye just as fast. It meant understanding that duty sometimes outweighed personal comfort. It also meant witnessing sacrifice firsthand, missed birthdays, long hours, and the emotional weight of classified or dangerous work that could not always be shared. After September 11, 2001, watching the attacks unfold, I felt the weight of my family’s legacy. The example set before me made the decision clear. I graduated early and enlisted in the Marines, determined to uphold the standard that had been handed down to me. The resilience and perseverance I learned as a military child became the foundation of my own service and now shape my academic ambitions. As I pursue higher education, I carry with me not only my own experiences but generations of sacrifice. My ambition is fueled by that legacy, my drive formed by it, and my desire to make a meaningful impact grounded in the values my military family instilled in me: honor, courage, commitment, and faithfulness to a calling greater than self.

My family has a strong history of military service, but when I think about what that really means, I think about my grandfather, the man I called Chief. My grandfather served in the United States Navy and retired as a Radioman Chief. He fought in the Korean War and was one of the last of what they called the “Wooden Ships and Iron Men.” He later served with the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon in special communications. He met my grandmother in 1956 when they were both stationed in Corpus Christi, Texas. She was serving in the Navy as part of the WAVES and was discharged when she became pregnant with my father. Service didn’t stop with him. My father served in the United States Marine Corps in signals intelligence and saw combat in Desert Storm with 2nd Recon Battalion. He met my mother in Misawa, Japan during the Cold War. She was a Navy Russian linguist, later working at the NSA, where she received a Joint Service Commendation Medal. Service runs deep in our family, uncles, cousins, Navy, Marines, Army, Air Force, but it was Chief who led our family. My grandfather was paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair. He was injured during his military service and later had a surgery at the VA that left him worse off. Many people told him he should sue them. Whenever someone criticized the doctor, he would simply say, “We all have bad days.” That was Chief. Kind and gentle. He understood we are human and make mistakes. He loved technology and was a HAM radio operator. You would often hear him yell, “JOAN!” across the house when he needed help, and my grandmother would come running. She cared for him faithfully for years. She is the strongest woman I have ever met, and I get to call her Grandma. Chief continued serving after retirement. He worked as a Veterans Administration benefits counselor, helping other veterans navigate the system. He was active in the VFW, American Legion, Disabled American Veterans, Fleet Reserve Association, and the Retired Enlisted Association. Even in a wheelchair, he never stopped serving others. In 2013, our family stood beside his hospital bed as he was dying. I watched him tell my father he was proud of him. Then he admitted he was scared. That moment has stayed with me. How could the bravest man I have ever known be afraid? It showed me something important, courage is not the absence of fear. It is faithfulness in the presence of it. My grandparents were also the ones who got our family into church when I was young. They were the spark that helped light the flame of my faith. When Chief passed, my grandmother lost her best friend. Our family lost our hero. But his legacy remains, in our family’s service, in our faith, and in the way we treat others with patience and grace. He started our families service, one I took on as well, serving in the United States Marine Corps. He continued to serve others, as most of our family continues to do. I hope to honor him and become a Pastor, shepherding others as he shepherded our family. He is up in heaven now, enjoying fair winds and following seas. I look forward to the day our family is reunited.

The standard image of an entrepreneur is often someone in a tech hub with a laptop, but the entrepreneurs who raised me wore combat boots and carried a sense of mission into the private sector. Both of my parents transitioned from decorated military careers into government contracting, building businesses that demanded the same high-stakes integrity they practiced in uniform. While their entrepreneurial journeys haven't necessarily sparked a desire in me to launch a startup, they have fundamentally defined my educational path and my commitment to a life of service. My parents’ businesses were not just about profit, they were about providing specialized, critical services that kept others safe. My father utilized his extensive background in the Marine Corps to provide executive protection as a military contractor. This required a level of strategic planning and risk assessment that few can master. Similarly, my mother channeled her naval discipline into becoming a PREA (Prison Rape Elimination Act) auditor, traveling to correctional facilities across the country to ensure safety and human rights standards were met. Watching them build these businesses taught me that an "entrepreneurial spirit" is really just advanced problem-solving. They didn't just wait for opportunities; they identified where the government and society had gaps and stepped in to fill them. Seeing them work tirelessly to provide for our family while maintaining these high-pressure contracts showed me that professional success is a byproduct of grit. My parents' military service and subsequent academic pursuits (both earning degrees later in life while working) set a high bar for my own education. They proved that learning is a continuous tactical advantage, not just a phase of life. Because they "served and then learned," they instilled in me the understanding that education is a tool to be used for the betterment of others. My educational journey has been defined by: The Pursuit of Excellence: Knowing my father was a Gunnery Sergeant and my mother an NSA linguist meant that "average" was never the goal. I approach my studies with the same mission-first mindset they applied to their service. Resilience in the Face of Adversity: Watching my mother balance a family and travel for her auditing business while pursuing her degree at Black Hills State University taught me that there are no excuses for stagnation. Global and Social Awareness: Their work in intelligence and auditing opened my eyes to the complexities of the world, pushing me to seek an education that addresses real-world issues. While my parents found their calling in the independence of business ownership, they inadvertently led me toward a different manifestation of their values. I may not share their specific entrepreneurial drive, but I have inherited their desire to help others. Their "servicing and learning" model is the foundation of my own goals: I want to serve my community and continue to learn so that I can be a more effective advocate for those in need. In conclusion, my parents’ journey from the front lines to the boardroom didn’t just provide for my childhood, it provided a moral compass. They showed me that whether you are wearing a uniform or running a company, the goal is to leave the world better than you found it. My career and educational goals are a direct reflection of that legacy, a commitment to service fueled by the discipline they spent a lifetime perfecting.