From the moment I could speak, I was learning about Christ. My journey to Christianity began before I could fully comprehend what it meant. At eighteen months old, I was christened into a faith that would become the backbone of my identity. From preschool through eighth grade, I attended a Christian school where Bible verses were as fundamental as reading and writing. I spent nearly every weekday immersed in the Word, through Bible class, daily devotionals, and memory verses that taught me more than scripture. They taught me character, patience, and the importance of faith. Sundays meant church; Wednesdays meant AWANA and Bible study. Faith wasn’t just something I practiced; it was the lens through which I understood the world. Christianity surrounded me, grounded me, and shaped me into the young woman I am today. Yet, like any meaningful journey, my walk with God would require more than passive inheritance. It would demand choice, resilience, and a willingness to carry His light into unfamiliar spaces.
High school shattered my insulated spiritual bubble. I transitioned from a close-knit Christian school to a laboratory school affiliated with a local university. I encountered peers who viewed faith as irrelevant and even fictional. For the first time, I was the outlier, the one who paused to pray before meals while others rolled their eyes. The contrast was jarring. I remember telling my mother, “These kids need Jesus,” not with judgment but with a visceral recognition of the emptiness I saw. Many of my new classmates were experimenting with drugs, alcohol, sex, and profanity; reckless, unfamiliar behaviors that exposed me to struggles my sheltered life had never shown me.
I wrestled with doubt, questioning everything: Why would God allow such suffering? Why did my faith feel so out of place here? But those questions didn’t shatter my belief. They strengthened it. Like a tree anchoring itself deeper in a hurricane, I held fast to the roots of scripture, worship, and discipleship that had shaped me. Slowly, I understood: Christianity wasn’t designed to be a safe bubble, but a compass, pointing me toward love even when it cost me my comfort. That season taught me faith isn’t inherited; it’s claimed.
No longer was my faith just a product of my environment; it became a personal and deliberate choice. It wasn’t about fitting in with other Christians, but standing firm when I was the only one. High school stripped away the illusion that faith guarantees ease. Instead, I learned its true weight: conviction. It’s choosing to shine even when the darkness feels endless.
Then there was the pandemic, which exposed fractures in my community that I wasn’t really aware of. When COVID-19 hit, I assumed everyone had a warm bed and Wi-Fi until I saw news reports highlighting homeless teens in my community. The shelters were full, and teens were sleeping in parks and going from house to house, sleeping on couches. These were kids my age with no safety net. That’s when faith stopped being a routine and became a response. Do something. James 2:17 (“Faith without works is dead”) took on new urgency. Within days, I launched a GoFundMe, sharing stories of these teens on social media. The response stunned me. Friends, church members, and even strangers donated over $1,300, enough to fill 53 backpacks with blankets, warm clothing, hygiene kits, socks, and snacks. We even included a note that said, “You Matter” in each backpack. Partnering with Project Oz, a local organization supporting homeless youth, we distributed these supplies during the Christmas season of 2020.
That winter, I discovered that true faith demands more than awareness. It requires action, even when it’s inconvenient. When asked, “Why backpacks?” my response was unwavering: “Dignity.” For someone without a home, a backpack isn’t just a bag; it’s a vessel for their entire world. That simple act of kindness planted the seed for Cana Cares, a nonprofit dedicated to supporting youth through mental health initiatives, educational programs, and community service, organizing monthly outreach to serve those in need.
Cana Cares started as a way to give back. Now, it’s my life’s work. Each month, we plan small acts of kindness, from book drives featuring Black authors to care kits for students and hygiene packages for shelters. The work is rooted in service, but it’s also rooted in my faith. Jesus didn’t just preach; He fed, He healed, He cared. That’s the model I try to follow through with Cana Cares. Because of my faith, I don’t just want to talk about change, I want to be part of it. Whether it’s in an WNBA front office, a school gym, or a community clinic, I want to be a voice for the voiceless and a safe place for the overwhelmed. My Christian faith fuels this mission. It reminds me that I am not working for recognition but for restoration.
Today, I’m a Junior at Howard University majoring in Leisure Studies with a concentration in Sports Management, and minoring in History and Sports Administration. My career goal is deeply intertwined with my faith. I want to advocate for marginalized youth through sports. The athletic world is a microcosm of society, rife with inequities but also brimming with transformative potential. As a Black woman with ADHD and anxiety, I understand the toll of being overlooked. My mission is to create systems where young athletes, especially those of color, receive holistic support: mental health resources, academic mentorship, and spiritual grounding.
This scholarship represents far more than financial assistance; it's an investment in a lifetime of service. Each dollar would free me from worrying about survival, allowing me to fully devote myself to creating meaningful change. With this support, I could pursue my education without interruption, expand Cana Cares' impact without limitation, and walk confidently in the purpose God has placed on my life. With this scholarship, I’ll be one step closer to a future where faith and vocation merge seamlessly. Wherever God leads, I’ll go with open hands, trusting that He who began this good work will see it to completion (Philippians 1:6).
My journey with Christ has been a tapestry of grace, woven through childhood devotion, teenage doubt, and adult calling. I’ve learned that faith isn’t an inheritance but a living, breathing relationship that demands courage and action. Whether in a classroom, a boardroom, or a homeless shelter, I carry the same conviction: The world needs Jesus, and I’m called to reflect Him, not just in words, but in deeds.