When I was seventeen, my father left for the last time. He had gone away before. This made time number five. It ended my parents' marriage, and it ended my relationship with my dad. It has shaped more than a part of me -- it has formed much of my identity. It has shaped the way I approach the love I hope to receive from my future husband. It has shaped my view of myself as a woman from a broken home, the child of a man who cheated on his family by giving his time to another. It has shaped my suspicions and my view of sins. It has shaped who I am and what I do in my relationships with friends and family. It has driven me to find comfort and fatherly support from men more godly than my father, and the realization kills me. Knowing that I have to pay one of my father figures to mentor me, that every time I form a bond with a man over the age of thirty, I'm probably looking for someone to fill the gaps that my father was supposed to fill. I am fully aware of the fact that others have it worse than I do. That doesn't change anything. When my father left me, my legs still turned to jelly. It still broke my heart. It still taught me on some small, ignorable level that he doesn't love me. And even though I know it was all his fault, part of me almost wonders why.

I can't answer this question in any substantial way. I don't stay true to myself, because if I did, I would proclaim my faith directly to everyone, not just in scholarships and writings that no one ever reads. I wouldn't hide my God from my roommate or my classmates. I would tell the people in my astronomy class that I would take my Bible with me to the moon if we were sent there for six months. (That was an actual question in that class.) I would invite my roommate to church even though the first time I tried, she didn't go. I would wear my space buns and my pigtails without worrying that all the laughter emanating from the sidewalks was directed at me. I wouldn't worry that people were staring, because I really believe what I say -- if you have pink hair, you can't laugh at my Abby Sciuto braids. I would believe the words to my favorite Francesca Battistelli song -- that on God's shoulders, "I'm free to be me." More importantly, I would live as though the words are true, that "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." Were I to stay true to the me God made me to be, I would preach these words to myself at the same time I preached them to everyone else.

As a future educator, much of my job will involve mentoring my students. For this task, I look to the example of the mentors I've had who have pushed me out of my comfort zone and into my calling. They have helped me face challenges and make good, difficult decisions, and they have helped me understand who I am as a daughter of God. That is who I want to be for my future students. When I was seventeen, I started seeing a counselor who quickly became one of the people I trust most in the world. He has been helping me make decisions about school, missions; he has helped me recover from family problems, and essentially become a father figure when I didn't have anyone else to serve in that capacity. I can disagree with him and not worry what he'll think of me. I can tell him things and know that he won't take them personally, because he's heard it all before. (And also because it's not about him, which is why I can't talk to my family about it.) I want to be a similar source of wisdom and encouragement for the children I teach. When I was eighteen, I went on a missions trip to Central America, and I went again when I was twenty. The second time, the man who lead the team literally had to drag me up a mountain to the village we wanted to serve. He listened to me cry, told me when I was hyperventilating, and stuck with me for four hours. I learned to trust him to push me, pull me, and guide me up mountains. I want to help my students do the same. We all face struggles and mountains. I want to face them with my students.

I started forming a picture of my dream life when I was three years old, though I didn't know how big it would get. My dream always lay with missions, and through all the questions and worries and doubts, it has remained there. Of course, even dreams held in certainty can be questioned. When I realized that I couldn't be like my heroes and that mission work could kill me if I went where I thought I should go at the time, I certainly questioned mine. More than that, I abandoned it. I wanted to be a nurse in Kyrgyzstan - Kyrgyzstan because of a false impression that it was relatively safe, a nurse because that was a great need in that country. When I was thirteen, I discovered that Kyrgyzstan wasn't safe, I don't enjoy science or medicine and am in fact quite awful at both, and because of those two realizations, I gave up on my dream of missions. I lost heart at that point. I had no idea what to do with my life except that I wanted to write. Therefore, I resigned myself to never having money, never having success, and possibly working in fast food for the rest of my life to pay the bills. I had almost finished my first semester of college before I discovered a more complete version of my original dream. Yes, I would be a missionary. Yes, I would meet a need. No, it would not be in the 10/40 Window. I discovered my God-given dream here in my own hemisphere, though not my own country, teaching others the thing I am most passionate about - with God as a given in this situation, the passion I'm referring to is writing. Teaching those with few teachers seems a worthy dream.

Most people have the idea that faith and science are opposites, incompatible. They perceive faith as belief in something regardless of evidence to the contrary, and science as observation leading to "provable" fact. In short, one is grounded in superstition while the other is grounded in logic. As for math, it's often not discussed in the same breath as faith, which is odd considering how closely it is tied to science. I find this all rather vexing. Let me explain. The scientific method is composed of steps: make an observation/ask a question, research the topic, form a hypothesis (possible explanation or answer), construct and perform an experiment proving or disproving hypothesis, adjust experiment and/or hypothesis as needed, continue experimenting, form a conclusion. A basic example of this would be if I observe that it's bright outside. I form the hypothesis that the brightness is the result of it being daytime and the fact that the sun is out. I construct an experiment wherein I go outside and I look up. I go outside and see the sun in the sky, thus confirming my hypothesis. I just walked through a simple explanation of how to apply the scientific method to the natural world. Now I will do the same thing in the realm of my faith in the Bible. When I was nine, my brother, grandmother and I were caught in a hailstorm. I observed that it was loud and I wanted to stop. I recalled all the times I heard about God's power over nature and how He answers prayers made in faith. Therefore, I asked Him to make the hail stop. It stopped. Then it started again, just as loud and heavy as before. Since I had just observed previous result, I repeated the procedure and prayed for the hail to stop. He stopped it again and it didn't come back. I made an observation, pulled information from resources I had already learned about, I performed the task, and I formed a conclusion based on the result: God answers prayer. This is a practical way to apply the scientific method in a spiritual matter. The principles of science can, however be applied to this example in another way. In Scripture, we read about numerous examples of God's provision and power and faithfulness to answer prayer. One could view the prayers and actions of the people in the Bible who lived through these situations as inadvertent experiments for the benefit of those who now read their stories. For example, Elijah asked God to show his power to the priests of Baal, and God said yes. Moses begged God to show mercy to His people when they made an idol, and God said yes. David walked out in faith to kill Goliath, and God blessed him. I can observe these accounts and conclude based on the evidence that God (a) uses circumstances to make His power known, (b) blesses the desires of faithful and compassionate leaders, and (c) blesses the faith of those who follow Him. A writer like myself would say this falls into the rule of "Character is fate," meaning that God is the kind of person who would do x, y, and z, and therefore He does x, y, and z. Tying all this together, faith, math and science are all orderly when they're done right. Math has rules to follow that will get the right answer. Faith has rules to follow that will affect your spiritual walk and practical life, as well as those around you. Science has procedures to follow. Thus, faith is scientific and mathematical.

In this era, many people probably answer this question similarly. They probably admire Lincoln, Susan B. Anthony, Harriet Tubman, or any number of other human rights activists who've come and gone over the years, all of whom are worthy of admiration, at least for their actions that made it into the history books. When answering these types of questions, though, I tend not to think of these people. I figure they have plenty of admirers without me jumping on the bandwagon. The people I admire most are the ones who did the same things without ever giving speeches to legislators and would, therefore, never be named. I admire the little people who did the right thing; things like working the Underground Railroad, marching for suffrage, fighting for abolition, standing in the way of tanks, or sitting in segregated restaurants for hours when they knew the result could/would be disastrous for them and they would probably not be remembered. I think of men like Hugh Thompson and the people in his chopper who ended the My Lai Massacre. I think of men and women who were burned and beaten, imprisoned and stripped of livelihoods, raped and assaulted for the sake of the truth when believing the truth was their only crime. I admire people like Bruce Olsen, Eric Liddell, Cameron Townsend, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Jim Elliot, Mary Slessor, and so, so many others who put everything on the line to serve. I cannot pick just one of these amazing people to look up to, but they are the most admirable to me. It's not popular nowadays to write about those who never fought for Civil Rights. I hope that won't impede my abilities to win this scholarship.

My mom taught me to love the written word, how to get lost in a page until you suddenly realize it's nighttime and you've been reading for hours. One of the easiest books for me to get lost in over and over again is Ellen Raskin's The Westing Game. For one thing, it's hilarious. For another, it takes place in Michigan, which means that, as a Michigander, I'm obligated to appreciate it. Probably the most important reasons to enjoy it are the people portrayed. I don't even think of them as characters because they're not written that way - they're written like real people. I love how the writer allowed the audience into the minds of everyone in the story right up until the end. Speaking of the end, that's my favorite part of the book. I don't usually have an opinion about epilogues. I enjoy them when they contribute to the story more than the writer's wordcount. The best ones wrap up all the character and story arcs, and leave the reader feeling satisfied that there was no other way to end the novel, even if they dearly wish there were more to read. The ending of The Westing Game does all of those things. It's my model for how to end my books. It feels excessive to say the book is perfect or that it's the most amazing children's book I've ever read. (I've read the Chronicles of Narnia, for crying out loud.) But it's a special book in my journey as a reader and as a writer. I hope you'll enjoy it, too.

I have always wanted to be a full-time missionary overseas. Starting at the age of 3, I told my mom that God wanted me to be a missionary, because we studied people like Gladys Aylward and William Carey, Joanne Shettler and Bruce Olsen. Naturally, my mom was skeptical at first (I wasn't even saved yet), but she didn't discourage the idea. As I heard more stories about these people and how God used them and how they led so many to Christ, the more I wanted to be just like them. By the time I was thirteen, I had settled on Kyrgyzstan as my field of choice, but I quickly discovered that it was my choice, not God's choice for me. I began to question whether I was called to missions at all. I realized that I couldn't be just like all these other people I had dreamed of emulating. I'm from the middle of nowhere, I have never had money, I didn't even know what I would do when I got there. At that time, I let go of my dream. When I was seventeen, my church announced that it would be sending a team on a week-long mission trip to Guatemala. When the leader stood at the front and said this, I just knew I had to go. I turned to my mom and told her as much. I signed up, terrified that God would use the trip to tell me I had to be a missionary after all. Isn't that ridiculous? I was scared of the very thing that I had always dreamed of doing. Anyway, it turns that's exactly what He did -- He used the trip to stir my heart for Guatemala. I was cautious at first to commit to going there, since committing myself hadn't worked the last time, but I had a chance to confirm my calling as we went on another trip to the same place. Going in, I prayed that God would show me how risky life in Guatemala could be so that I would know I wasn't being lulled into a false sense of security and if I still felt Him leading me there, I would know it wasn't my choice, but His. He said yes, and what I learned broke my heart, but that became the reason I can't imagine going anywhere else. That's the long answer to why I want to become a missionary to Guatemala. The short answer is simply that that's who God made me to be, and though I have the freedom to say no and disobey Him, I can't. I don't want to. He has shaped my dreams to match His and I can't imagine anything better, or bigger, or more glorious this side of Heaven. I hope this answers the question sufficiently. Thank you for your consideration.

"Integrity is doing the right thing. Even when no one is looking." - C.S. Lewis I saw this quote hung up on the time clock at work four years ago after my boss pointed it out to me. She said she thought I'd like it. That made me feel good about myself, but after the warm, fuzzy feeling died a little, I wondered if it was accurate to me at all, especially at work. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became as to why my boss - the lady who always had to remind me to use tongs on the food, or to make sure my food was timed properly, the same lady who had to tell me I couldn't be late again - could tell me this quote applied to me. When I realized this, I knew I had to change some things. It started with using the tongs properly. I realized that following the rules wasn't just a way to avoid getting into trouble (not that that didn't motivate me), but it is the height of respect to your employer, and ultimately to God, because we're told to work as to God and not to men. After that, I worked at getting to work on time. This idea of doing the right thing when no one is looking has spilled over into most areas of my life, but it started with a quote hung up in the break room of Burger King by someone who has probably never read a C.S. Lewis novel in her life. As someone who has read many of them, the truth of this quote should have occurred to me years ago. I want to be known as someone who lives this truth - that "Integrity is doing the right thing. Even when no one is watching."

What does legacy mean? To answer that question, I have to explain the legacies I chase. I grew up hearing stories about Church-builders. Gladys Aylward was one of my earliest introductions to defining what a missionary was. This is a lady who moved to China as a young adult with the sole purpose of spreading the Gospel, though I doubt she had any idea what would happen in the process. She had the opportunity to meet the emperor of China and share the Gospel with him. In this position, she was instrumental in ending foot-binding in China, and she did this in the name of Christ, saying that God made every woman perfectly and they didn't have to change their bodies to be beautiful. In 1949, she saw the rise of Communism in China, and was forced to leave as Christianity (especially evangelism) was discouraged, and punished by the execution of many. Learning about Gladys Aylward and others like her impressed upon me that I would one day be a missionary, too, even at the age of three. I learned about the calling God and put in my heart because of these people, and I started chasing after their stories. I think that's what a legacy does. It shows you what you're meant to do and provides an example of how to do it. I look at the family that got me into the mission field. I see the grandparents teaching the grandkids about evangelism by handing out Bible tracts to people in the store, the kids and the grandkids leading mission trips to various countries (mostly Guatemala), even living in these countries for extended periods of time. I see the kids following God to wherever He sends them in total faith. That internal family legacy is an inspiration to me. I look to the family I'll be interning with next summer, and how the parents are teaching their kids to bless others with the blessings they've been given in the name of Christ. I see them building churches and training pastors, and idiots like me who have no idea what they're getting into, to build the Body. I look at these people and I want to be like them, leaving the same legacies behind. I want to leave a legacy of teaching, preaching, loving, and grace for my family, my church, and whoever comes after who needs reminding that God can send anyone (even a nobody from Bliss Township) to any place He wants. I want to leave a legacy for the nobodies of the world so that they can know how God can use them mightily. That's my dream.

When I got up in the morning and heard someone ask who thought their knees wouldn't make it walking up the mountain, I hesitantly raised my hand. Even though I was only seventeen, how was anyone else supposed to know my knees were fine? Well, they either didn't notice or they guessed that I was lying, because when everyone else got out of the truck to start walking, I did, too. They said the hike would only last four hours. Clearly they had never met me. At first, it wasn't too bad. Then about halfway up the first hill, I started having trouble breathing. That was my first clue as to how out of shape I was, and it didn't get any better. About three hours in, I ran out of water. An hour after that, I had to squat, so I found a nice little bush that wasn't too close to the edge of the cliff. Only after I had dropped my shorts did I notice the ants, which by then had made to my skin. I held it the rest of the way to the village. An hour later, I and two of the people I was with thought we were gonna die. We stopped at an old stone building with an overhang, sent the rest of our group ahead of us, and waited for a truck to come get us. Instead we got Greg. That is to say I got Greg, while the other two got the truck. Rather than having me climb in with them, Greg told me, "I'll walk with you the rest of the way, but you're not gettin' in that truck." Like an idiot, I just said, "Okay." I don't know why I said that, and I regretted it immediately. Eventually, the truck swung back around with water pouches and he cut a few of them open and dumped them on me so I wouldn't have to sweat as much and lose what little water was in my system. I also drank some like a normal person, which is when I discovered that boiled water tastes like smoke. After that, I started feeling less nauseas and finally, after six hours in the humidity and 90 degree weather, we made it to our destination and I ate a sandwich, which I then threw back up. I went on the same hike two years later, didn't throw up, did cry, but got some of the greatest advice I have ever received. The morning we started the climb up the mountain, Greg said, "Don't tell yourself you can't do it, because you already did." Now when I start freaking out about my classes at the beginning of the year, I remember what he said, and I don't tell myself I can't do it - I've done it already. So what did I learn from this? 1) Bring more than 32 ounces of water for a four hour hike. 2) When Guatemalans say a hike will take four hours, they mean it takes four hours for them, not out-of-shape Michiganders. 3) Examine all bushes before squatting. 4) Don't argue with the guy who says you're not getting in the truck - he's probably right. 5) Be careful how much you eat and drink after excessive exertion. 6) Don't tell yourself you can't, because you already know you can. And what do I hope to achieve in the future? I'd like to move that mountain.

I always got mixed messages about whether I needed college. My dad always viewed education differently than my mom did. He considered it school, whereas my mom always considered it akin to having a job. You work hard, you do well, you don’t fail, and you get rewarded. My dad always liked his rewards to be more tangible than grades. And when I still had no idea what to do with my life, I considered going into some sort of trade school, seeing as how it would be cheaper and faster and I would get paid while I learned. However, the more I thought about it, the more I knew that would not be for me. I have a specific skill set, which does not include using tools, engineering, mechanics, or physical labor. My skills are best set in the classroom. That’s what I began to realize when my dad walked out and the only person I had around to please was my mom. Naturally, my mom wanted me to go to college and get a degree, even if it was just an Associate’s degree. I took it for granted that I would go to college and get some kind of degree, but I had no idea what kind. Honestly, I had no idea what I wanted to do. At least I couldn’t think of anything that would pay well. I knew I wanted to be a creative writer, preferably a novelist, and I worked really hard to become one. But I knew I could never make a living at it and I knew for a solid fact that I would want to eat at some point during my career, so by the time I started college, I still didn’t know what I wanted to do. The same cannot be said of my mom. She knew what I would be good at, even though I didn’t want to hear it. She always said I would be a good teacher and I always refused to consider it. After a while, even the people at my church started to say the same thing, and I got really sick of hearing about what an amazing teacher I would make and how much my students would love me, and even that I would still be able to write while I taught. But it turns out that my mom and everyone else were right, and now I am going into elementary education. Now that I have made the decision that there is no other possible job out there that I would enjoy more than teaching, and as I consider whether I’ll be able to finish earning my degree before I run completely out of money, I’ve started thinking about what I’ll teach. As an elementary school teacher, I know I’ll have to teach the basics of every subject, but my heart still bends toward writing. So I will teach kids how to write good stories. Currently, I attend His House Christian Fellowship and I co-lead a Bible study through them. Aside from working at the cafeteria in my residence hall, that is my only extracurricular at the moment.

No one in my family has died, but one member left. In some ways, it seems like he's dead. The last time I saw him was four years ago for a few hours. It was the weirdest feeling, because by then, I'd already started to forget him. The longer I went without him being a part of my home, the more I forgot. It's almost as if he was never there. I hear people talk similarly about when a loved one dies. Maybe that's because this man is mostly dead to me. But you're a Christian! you say. Christians are supposed to forgive! Well, yes, we are called to forgive - we're not called to forget. I can't forget what it did to my family when this man - the one who was supposed to lead us - decided we were less important than himself. I can't forget the heartbreak, or the one time I found myself asking why my father didn't love me. I remember all the times feeling like a lost little girl, just wanting to hide away somewhere and cry until I couldn't. But what have I learned? I've learned that who I am is not what my dad said about me through his actions. I've learned that I have a Father who will never abandon me even when He knows and I know that I deserve it. I know that even though He has led me through things that I don't understand and that hurt me to the core, that He is good and strong enough to hold me - and He will never let me go, no matter who else will. I've also learned how to fight. I've learned about sacrifice and selflessness and how I want to live as a future parent and teacher and wife. I've learned that it's just as important to correct as it is to be kind, and that maybe there are ways to do both. My father taught me what things are important to fight for - things like family, faithfulness, and listening to the truth - so thanks, Dad.

I've been writing since I was nine, but I only started getting good when I was in my teens and I devoted time and practice to the craft. I finished my first book when I was eighteen, and am currently working on two more. I generally incorporate my faith into my writing, and even when I'm not explicit, I try to include the same values that are displayed through my faith. Such is the case with one of my current projects, a murder mystery/conspiracy/redemption story. I wanted to have more happen than one murder case, so each chapter contains its own murder. The other book I'm working on is speculative fiction/allegorical/conspiracy/faith story that I started out of frustration with shows like Star Trek. The idea that in a few hundred years, everyone will be friends and have enough to eat and not get sick irks me to no end, so I wanted to show a more realistic version of the future. When I don't write stories, I write poetry and try to come up with a tune for it so it can be a song. Most of the time, that doesn't work so well, so most of my poems stay poems. I've been writing those the longest. My goal as a writer, aside from giving God glory, is to say as much as I can with as little as I can. I want to emulate writers like C.S. Lewis who could say the most profound things in the simplest ways, so that anyone can understand my meaning. Right now, I'm at the stage where I try to be profound and I end up just being cryptic, which defeats my original purpose of wanting to be understood. I don't know that it's possible to clearly differentiate my work from everything else that's being written aside from the things I already described with the stories above. I write murder mystery novels like I'm writing a murder mystery show. I write sci-fi as though I were writing about faith. I write conspiracies as though I were writing about horror, because conspiracies are horrible and suspenseful just like horror stories. I write fantasies like they could really happen. If you want to see what I mean about the murder mysteries, feel free to check out my website. (lebprout.weebly.com)

These pictures are from the second time I hiked from Lampacoy to La Palmilla. Between those two villages were two mountains. It took us four hours. The first time, it took six. I was scared to do the hike this time around because I don't like heights and I'd thrown up the last time, but I had to do it, so I did. No throwing up this time!

In October of 2016, my church announced that it was sending a medical missions trip to Guatemala. Just like that, I knew I had to go. There was no question. While I was not a member of the medical team, I was part of the group that wrangled the kids. We did everything we could think of from playing catch and soccer, to painting nails, to playing Pato, pato, ganzo. (Duck, duck, goose!) Our last day was spent at the orphanage, hearing about the work that was done there and learning that the missionaries who ran it wanted the kids to learn English because of all the opportunities that could be gained from it. That stuck with me, but I didn’t know why. When I got back and I graduated high school, I realized I wanted to go back, but I still wasn’t ready to say I would go long-term. I don’t know why I refused to say it, but I refused as long as I could. Then I went to college and I still had no idea what I wanted to do. I thought it had something to do with writing, but since I couldn’t stand the thought of journalism and I couldn’t make money as a novelist unless some miracle happened, I didn’t know what kind of writing I could do. Eventually, as I was getting used to the idea that I may not know what to do with my life until I graduated, I saw this poster in the hall. It was an advertisement for Spring Arbor that listed all of its Masters programs, and right at the top it said “TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages).” It was seeing that neon sign that so many Christians beg for, and I knew what I was going to do – I was going to teach children English as a long-term missionary in Guatemala. Since then, I’ve gone back to Guatemala. More specifically, I went to a village called Capucalito. While I was there, I met two women with identical stories who absolutely broke my heart in two. Something you never see in the villages is crying, which is funny, because there’s an awful lot to cry about. There’s poverty, sickness, death, violence… You would think people would be crying everywhere, but the people have a thing about being vulnerable – they don’t do it. Later, I heard other people in our group talking about that, and as I thought about it a picture started forming in my head. I had already figured out that I wanted to teach English, but I hadn’t figured out how to use that to further God’s kingdom. Then He showed me. He also showed me how I was also going to be a writer. Let me explain. The Church is supposed to be the Body of Christ. We’re supposed to weep with each other when we’re in pain and laugh together when we’re happy. It’s hard to do those things when no one knows you’re in pain or happy. When you are vulnerable with your brothers and sisters, you give them the opportunity to be the Body. That’s what I want to do. As a teacher of English, I want to give children the means to find something better somewhere. As a child of God, I want to give His children the means to be what He’s called us to be – His Church.

As an artist, I create worlds in my mind. I meet new people who I know better than anyone and who, if they existed, would know me better than even my own family. I learn their stories and their languages. I cry with them and laugh with (or at) them, I get angry at the same things they do, I even get angry at them sometimes. I help them defeat the monsters, and I usually get them back home in one piece. If not, I at least end it quickly. Most of the time anyway... After I'm done creating all these things, I get to introduce them to the real world. I get to show other people these places and these things and these crazy people who inhabit my imagination. The amazing thing about being a writer, aside from being able to share all my ridiculous, crazy, over-the-top stories, is understanding my God better. We're told that God is the Author and Finisher/Perfector of our faith. My characters can run out of usefulness after a while, so I kill them off or just stop writing. The stories I write have an ending. I'll never know what happens after the point at which I stop writing. But God never runs out of use for His creations. He keeps us around forever, and even when He decides we've run out of usefulness here, He gives us a new story to live with Him. He writes an unending tale. That's the only explanation for why writing has captured my heart so much, and it's what drives me to write. How can I not be connected to that? My dream as a writer has always been to write, but now that I also dream of being a teacher, I have found a way to put the two together. I will teach other people (young children especially) how to tell their stories through writing. That is how you build community. That is how you form relationships. That is how you create understanding of yourself and others, because you can also write someone else's story, or a story like it. It is how you grow beyond your history and build your future. It can also give you insight into the wonder that is the glory of God. How can that not affect people? How can I pass up that kind of opportunity? This is what my art means to me. This is how I define what it means to be an artist.

What has inspired me the most is the knowledge that I have to leave. I don't mean that in the Lee Marvin 'Wandering Star' sense. More in the Jason Roy 'The Same God' kind of sense. In fact, my journey can be summed up in parts of that song. Much like the writer of the song, I left the country when I was seventeen. I just had to. I had to "climb a mountain (it was two of them, actually) and find You there...sing 'Hallelujah!' in a language I'd never known." And much like the writer, I've grown in my understanding of who God is, and He hasn't changed - He's only gotten bigger. That is what drives me. I want to keep learning and growing in what God has laid out for me. The fact that He has given me a dream on top of a calling is more than I could hope for. What is this dream, you ask? Well, my dream is to hear the belly laughs of eight- to ten-year-olds, to see their faces when they finally understand something, to hear them tell me stories and to teach them to tell them better. My dream is to lead and mentor young people so that they don't have to deal with the same things I've had to deal with, to speak courage and life into their hearts so that they don't have to be afraid that they're not good enough. That is being a teacher, but mostly it's being a follower of Christ. That is what drives me, and it is my only inspiration.

Travel has always been a good source of fodder for writers. It helps you understand people, and it gives you ideas on what to write. I've wanted to be a writer since I was fourteen years old and I found out I was good at it. All four years of high school, I couldn't think of anything else I would rather do than write my stories. Then again, I also couldn't think of a way to survive on writing, so I assumed I would end up working in fast food my whole life or something. Then I discovered Guatemala. I've been to Zacapa, Guatemala twice now, and I'm scheduled to go there again next year on an internship. I plan to teach there after I graduate with my Bachelor's degree. Officially, I'll be teaching elementary school, so I'll be teaching everything. With my minor, I'll be expected to teach English as a Second Language. Unofficially, I want to do this by teaching children how to write stories. Putting yourself into a character in a story is a great way to understand yourself and also to understand how people act in different situations. It allows you to gain insight into other people as well. Writing your own story autobiographically helps you see things in your life that you wouldn't normally see, and it allows you to be vulnerable, what I would call being a true member of Body of Christ. Creating a story that couldn't happen allows you to explore limitless concepts and worlds without having to fight the dragon yourself. It shields you, but it also makes you face things and answer questions that are difficult to address in the real world. As a writer, it's important to explain to people how to write, to critique the writing of others as well as your own, and to learn how other people think so that you can improve. It's also important to gain as much insight as possible and as many ideas as you can so that you never run out of stories. That is a part - if only a small part - of my motivation for teaching in another country eventually and going there as many times as I can before I move there for good.

I live in a generation that is losing access to good role models. Fathers leave their children, mothers are left as the sole provider for their families, children don’t have access to their parents even in unbroken homes. The children of my generation have learned not to trust their families for various reasons; they don’t know how they’ll react to what they have to say, they won’t understand, they’ll just start telling them what to do, or the parents might be abusive. In this generation, children and young adults have begun turning to others for guidance and support. They turn to their peers, who have as little wisdom and experience as they themselves do, or they turn to teachers who are not allowed to say things like, “I’ll pray for you,” even if their student is a person of faith. Some of us are fortunate enough to find mentors who are allowed to help them through matters of faith as well as more practical things. Those who have the experience and the wisdom and the freedom to mentor young people in the most beneficial way possible seem few and far between. Yet a mentor can be invaluable. I have witnessed the effects a mentor can have on a young person. More than that, I have experienced it. In high school, my art teacher became a mentor of sorts. He was the only teacher I had who was a Christian like me, and therefore the only one person I trusted to pray for me when my parents were split up. Once when I was having an especially difficult time, he set aside his planning hour to talk to me and help me work through things. He would always listen to what I had to say. I trusted him more than anyone else at that school. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him. He taught me more than art and how to play the guitar – he taught me how to be the teacher I want to be someday. I have a new mentor now. Granted, I have to pay to talk to him since mentorship is his job, but I have never had more courage or faith spoken into me by anyone in my life. I wouldn’t know how to deal with my father’s abandonment, which has led to my parents’ divorce; I would be wrestling to find the strength to leave my country behind in pursuit of full-time missionary work to Central America; I would not be the semi-confident person I am today if it weren’t for this man’s guidance and mentorship – I wouldn’t be confident at all. The last mentor I’ve had is a teacher like me. She went with me on a week-long mission trip to Guatemala two years ago, but the mentorship started the first time I met her. It was right after I got back from the first Guatemala trip I went on when all the group got back together to have dinner and hang out. I spoke with her after the party was over, about how afraid I was to consider going into long-term missions, how I had always dreamed of doing that when I was younger until I realized I couldn’t be like the heroes I had whose steps I’d be following. She said simply, “You’re not going to be any of those people. You’re going to be Elizabeth Prout. And you are going to do great things, because that’s what God made you for.” That’s a paraphrase, but it stuck with me, and I would say God used that conversation to flip me completely onto becoming a missionary overseas. I learned how to mentor others from these people of faith. Most of the mentorship I have given has been short-term, one or two conversations with people who needed someone in the moment. I actually said the same thing that Kara Everett told me once or twice, that if God wanted someone like [insert name], he would have made [insert name] and not whoever I was talking to. Beyond that, I was a leader at a kids’ club at my church. I’d been recruited specifically because the organizer thought I would be a good role model, which is really just another word for mentor. I met a little ten-year-old in that program who latched onto me, because she was struggling with things and I was the first person to notice. She had an amazing faith and maturity for her age, and I loved being her teacher. She also broke my heart when I saw how broken hers was. I never knew quite what to say, but I was there for her when she needed a hug or needed a friend or needed to talk. I haven’t seen her in a while, but I think about her sometimes. Mentorship has gotten me through a lot of things. It has given me courage and encouraged me to rest in God’s grace. I hope I have done the same for others. I hope I will always be able to.

I got saved when I was five, so in the way of immediate change, well there wasn't much there to be changed. I grew up in a Christian household, always knowing that the Bible was true and that the God of Scripture was the only true God, that Jesus was the only way to get to Him. Before I got saved, I even knew that God wanted me to be a missionary. I always knew that eventually I would become a Christian. It was a matter of when. I asked my mom all the time how to become a Christian and she kept telling me until I was five and she figured I had to understand by now. I started asking my brother instead. Later that year, I stopped asking how and asked my mom to pray with me. I remember being happy about it, but other than that, I don't remember a lot, except that it was the middle of the night and when I got up to tell my dad, the first thing he said was, "Shouldn't you be in bed?" He lightened up when I explained what had just happened. Most of the change that happened in my life came years later. I was thirteen when Bethany Hamilton inspired me to pray for something big in my life. Since I lived in Michigan, I wasn't counting on a shark or anything, but I figured I was surrounded by people with cars that could hit me, or maybe I could have an aneurysm or something. What I didn't expect was to be attacked. I started hearing lies in my heart telling me that I was worthless, that God couldn't love me, that I didn't really believe His words, so could I really be saved? I believed those lies and cut my wrists for a school year, praying to God to take away the pain. I wanted to die, but I couldn't imagine meeting Him in Heaven and telling Him to His face that everything He said was a lie, and I had given up on Him. I think my fear of Him and my fear of pain are the only reasons I'm alive, so I've learned to appreciate God's gift of fear in our lives. Anyway, when the school year had passed, I prayed one last time for Him to save me, and in an instant, all the pain was replaced with an indescribable joy that I have never experienced since then, though I've come close. He saved me a second time that day. The single greatest change that the Lord has brought in my life has been my calling. It turns out that I had always been right about being called into missions, and God pushed me out of the country to prove it. Specifically, He pushed me into Guatemala twice. He showed me on those trips that I wasn't supposed to measure up to all my missionary heroes who changed the world through their work. I'm just supposed to help Him work in the lives of a few people, mostly kids, in a small corner of the world that could literally fit inside of Michigan. He gave me a dream that was honestly bigger than anything my writer's imagination could have spun for itself. He gave me a dream of mountains and children and stories and outhouses and endless clapping in church services. (You have to have been to the Guatemalan mountains to understand that last bit.) Mostly, God has given me joy.