I remember the day the doctor said I needed spine surgery. The room felt smaller, heavier, and quieter. As he explained the risks and the cost, my mind was not thinking about the medical terms. I was thinking about my parents. How would they afford something so expensive when we were already living in a refugee camp, a place where even basic needs were uncertain? Surgery sounded like something meant for people with stable lives, not for a young girl whose family was still trying to survive day by day. In that moment, fear did not just come from the diagnosis. It came from the reality that the solution seemed far beyond our reach. Financially, the surgery felt impossible. My family did not have the resources to afford such a major medical procedure, and the weight of that reality almost made me lose hope. I remember moments of deep fear and uncertainty, wondering if I would ever live a normal life or continue doing the things I loved. It was during this time that my faith became my anchor. My parents, who are strong believers, constantly prayed and reminded me that God was still in control even when the situation looked impossible. What followed is something I can only describe as faith in action. Through the support of good Samaritans, my hospital bills were covered in ways my family could never have planned on their own. I was admitted to a missionary hospital where faith was not separate from healing. Before my surgery, the doctors prayed. During my long surgery, Christian support staff stayed with my mother, encouraging her and strengthening her when fear tried to take over. In my recovery period, I was surrounded not only by medical care, but by prayer, encouragement, and hope. Despite all the risks we had been warned about, the surgery was successful. I was not paralyzed. I was not blind. I was not left with the complications we had feared. That moment changed my understanding of faith forever. I realized that faith is not the absence of fear, but the decision to trust God even when the outcome is uncertain. That experience shaped the way I face every challenge in my life today. Later, as I navigated displacement, financial hardship, and the challenges of pursuing education abroad, I continued to rely on the same faith that carried me through my medical journey. As an underrepresented minority student with financial need, there are still moments when obstacles feel overwhelming, but my faith reminds me that my story is guided by purpose, not just circumstance. Today, as a nursing student and aspiring CRNA, my faith continues to guide my ambition and service. I want to provide compassionate care to others, especially those who feel vulnerable, afraid, or unseen, just as I once did. My journey has taught me that faith and perseverance work hand in hand. When challenges arise, I no longer see them as the end of my story, but as moments where my faith grows stronger.

I grew up in an environment where opportunities were limited and the future often felt uncertain. Later, life in a refugee camp made that reality even clearer. In a place where basic needs like food, safety, and stability were not guaranteed, education became the one thing that gave me a sense of direction. While many around me struggled with hopelessness, I held onto learning as something no circumstance could take away from me. It was more than schoolwork. It was a lifeline. Being a first-generation college student means I am walking a path no one in my family has walked before. There were no academic guides at home, no one to explain applications, college systems, or how to navigate not only higher education but also higher education in a foreign country. I had to learn everything through my experience, my mistakes, and my persistence. Yet, instead of that discouraging me, it really strengthened my determination. I understood early that my education was not just about me. It carried the hopes of my parents, my siblings, and many children in the refugee camp. When the opportunity came for me to pursue education in the United States, it seemed impossible financially. But my community came together and raised money for my flight because they believed in what my education could become. They did not invest in me for personal success alone. They believed I would return the impact. Even now, as I continue my studies, I feel the weight of that promise daily. I know that younger children in my family and in the camp look at me as proof that their dreams are valid. I carry their expectations with humility and purpose. Education, for me, is the bridge between hardship and possibility. As a nursing student and future aspiring CRNA, my education is directly tied to the legacy I hope to leave. I want to create a future where vulnerable communities, especially children and individuals with developmental disabilities, feel seen, cared for, and supported. I also hope to build initiatives focused on youth empowerment, mental health awareness, and healthcare access in underserved communities, including refugee and immigrant populations. But the legacy I hope to leave begins much closer to home. I want to be the first of many, not the only one. I want my younger siblings, my family, and the children who grew up watching me to see that higher education is possible even when the odds are heavy. I want my journey to open doors so they do not have to struggle the same way I did. Education matters to me because it represents transformation. It represents breaking cycles of limitation and replacing them with opportunity. Most importantly, it represents legacy. Not a legacy of titles or recognition, but a legacy of courage and access. If my education can inspire even one child from my background to believe that their future is still within reach, then every sacrifice along this journey will have been worth it.

I remember preparing for exams under emotional duress that most students around me did not notice. On the outside, I was just another college student going to courses, completing papers, and studying for examinations. On the inside, I was dealing with financial stress, homesickness, cultural adjustment, and the burden of being the first member of my family to seek higher education abroad. Every grade I received seemed like it signified more than just academic achievement. It embodied the sacrifice of a whole community that believed in me. I believe I should be considered for this scholarship because my academic career has never been easy but rather marked by discipline and purpose. I am currently a nursing student with a 4.0 GPA, and this is no accident. It is the consequence of numerous late nights, concentrated effort, and a resolve to let my circumstances limit my potential. As a first-generation immigrant student from a low-income family, I do not have the luxury of taking academic shortcuts. Excellence is my plan for survival and progress. My educational journey has been shaped by resilience since a young age. Growing up in a refugee camp, access to a steady education and basic supplies was not assured. Despite the uncertainty and shortage, I hung on to studying because it symbolized optimism. School was more than just a learning environment. It was a location where I could envisage a life without adversity. That mindset has accompanied me to higher education, where I continue to approach each lesson with gratitude and drive. Beyond academics, my efforts demonstrate my dedication to service and impact. I've volunteered at mental health facilities, providing support and presence to those who frequently feel unseen and unheard. These events increased my compassion and fueled my desire to work in healthcare. I've also participated in attempts to foster community among African immigrants, knowing how isolated it can be to acclimate to a new nation without cultural support. I believe that creating environments where individuals feel understood and less alone is extremely valuable work. My passion for service is directly connected to my career path. As a nursing student and prospective Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist (CRNA), I am dedicated to improve health outcomes by providing compassionate, patient-centered care. My long-term goals include creating care spaces for people with developmental disabilities and promoting mental health and nutritional knowledge in neglected regions. These goals are based on real experience rather than mere ambition. I've seen directly how a lack of healthcare access, poor nutrition, and inadequate education harm vulnerable communities, particularly children. Faith has also played a significant role in my journey. Raised in a Christian household, I was taught that perseverance, service, and integrity are not optional values but guiding principles. During my medical challenges with scoliosis, when surgery seemed financially and physically overwhelming, faith sustained my family and me. This foundation continues to guide how I approach my studies and future career in nursing. Financial need remains one of the most difficult challenges I encounter in higher education. As an international student, I have limited financial aid options while still covering tuition, clinical supplies, textbooks, transportation, and everyday living expenses. These financial constraints do not discourage me, but they necessitate consistent sacrifice and careful planning. Receiving this grant would considerably alleviate that load, allowing me to focus more on academic performance and service. What sets my journey apart is not perfection but persistence. I have learned how to keep showing up even when the path feels heavy, uncertain, and lonely... especially lonely. There were moments when giving up would have been easier, but I chose to continue, guided by faith, discipline, and a quiet belief that my life carries purpose beyond my present struggles. This scholarship would not simply recognize my achievements; it would acknowledge the unseen endurance behind them. It would affirm that resilience, service, and character matter just as much as grades and accomplishments. More than anything, it would allow me to continue my education with the same determination that has carried me this far, knowing that the journey I am walking is not just about where I end up, but about who I am becoming along the way. As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “If you can’t fly, then run; if you can’t run, then walk; if you can’t walk, then crawl; but whatever you do, you have to keep moving forward.” That is the principle that has shaped my academic journey, and it is the same mindset I will carry with me as I continue striving for excellence, growth, and meaningful impact.

Student debt is not just a future concern for me. It is a reality I think about every single day as I pursue my nursing degree. As a BIPOC, immigrant student living with a physical condition and navigating higher education largely on my own, I cannot afford to treat debt as an afterthought. I have had to be intentional, disciplined, and strategic about how I finance my education from the very beginning. One of the ways I am actively addressing my current and future student debt is through academic excellence. I maintain a 4.0 GPA, not only out of personal pride, but as a financial strategy. Strong academic performance allows me to remain competitive for scholarships, which are my primary source of support. As an international and non-traditional student, my access to federal financial aid is limited, which means scholarships are not just helpful, they are essential to my survival in higher education. I am also extremely mindful of my spending and financial planning. I budget carefully, prioritize educational expenses, and avoid unnecessary costs whenever possible. Nursing school comes with hidden expenses such as scrubs, clinical supplies, transportation, and textbooks, all of which add up quickly. By living modestly and focusing only on what is necessary for my education, I am actively reducing the amount of financial burden I will carry into the future. Living with scoliosis has also shaped how I approach debt and long-term stability. My medical journey taught me early that unexpected challenges can come with significant financial implications. Because of this, I view financial independence as a form of security. I am determined to graduate with as little debt as possible so that I can focus on my health, career, and service rather than being overwhelmed by long-term financial strain. Looking ahead, my career path is one of the strongest ways I am planning to address future student debt. I am currently pursuing nursing with the long-term goal of becoming a Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist (CRNA), a highly skilled and stable profession that offers both financial sustainability and meaningful impact. This path is intentional. It allows me to serve communities in critical healthcare settings while also ensuring I can responsibly repay any educational expenses without being trapped in decades of debt. Beyond repayment, I am committed to long-term financial responsibility through continued scholarship applications, strategic career advancement, and disciplined saving once I enter the workforce. I do not view debt as something to ignore and hope resolves itself. I view it as a responsibility that must be managed with planning, resilience, and foresight. Receiving the Ruthie Brown Scholarship would significantly reduce the financial pressure I currently carry as a BIPOC student with a disability pursuing a demanding healthcare degree. More importantly, it would allow me to stay focused on completing my education without the constant anxiety of accumulating debt. I am not only working to earn a degree, but to build a stable, sustainable future where my career in nursing and future role as a CRNA can be centered on service rather than financial survival.

I did not always think about nutrition in terms of calories, labels, or balanced meals. Growing up in a refugee camp, nutrition meant survival. There were many days when food was scarce and meals were uncertain. Sometimes we would go to sleep hungry, and other times we ate whatever was available, regardless of its nutritional value. As children, we did not understand vitamins, protein, or deficiencies. We only knew hunger. The effects of malnutrition were visible everywhere. Many children, including myself, experienced constant fatigue, frequent illnesses, and difficulty concentrating in school. Weak immune systems meant that simple sicknesses lasted longer and felt heavier. I watched young children struggle with growth and energy, not because they lacked potential, but because their bodies lacked proper nourishment. At the time, I did not have the language to explain it, but I now understand how deeply nutrition shapes physical development, mental focus, and overall health outcomes, especially in children. When I later came to the United States, I experienced a different kind of heartbreak. For the first time, I saw children surrounded by abundant food, yet still facing serious health risks. Many were consuming highly processed foods, sugary drinks, and fast food daily, often paired with limited physical activity. Instead of malnutrition from lack of food, I began to notice overnutrition and poor dietary habits leading to childhood obesity, low energy levels, and increased risk of chronic diseases such as diabetes and heart conditions. It was shocking to witness two extremes of the same issue: lack of access in one environment and lack of nutritional awareness in another. It was not until I took my nutrition class in nursing school that I became fully aware of what I was eating and how it affects the body. That course changed how I view food, health, and prevention. I realized that nutrition is not just about eating enough but about eating intentionally. This knowledge ignited my desire to educate others, especially children and families who may not fully understand the long-term impact of their dietary choices. As a nursing student and aspiring CRNA, I plan to use my career to improve people’s nutrition and overall health through education, early intervention, and culturally sensitive care. I am especially passionate about pediatric health because early habits shape lifelong outcomes. I want to work closely with families to promote healthier eating patterns, teach the importance of balanced meals, and encourage small, realistic lifestyle changes rather than unrealistic restrictions. Whether in hospitals, clinics, or community settings, I intend to incorporate nutrition education into everyday patient interactions. I also hope to advocate for preventive health programs that address both undernutrition and unhealthy eating habits in underserved communities. By combining clinical knowledge with lived experience, I can connect with patients on a deeper level and offer guidance that is compassionate and practical. My nursing journey is not only about treating illness but also about preventing it. Having lived on both sides of nutritional hardship, I am committed to helping others develop healthier relationships with food so they can live stronger, healthier lives from childhood into adulthood.

I remember the moment I realized I was truly alone. I was sitting in a quiet room thousands of miles from home, holding my phone after a call with my family, assuring them I was doing fine. When the call ended, the silence felt heavy. That was when it sank in that immigrating to the United States meant learning how to be strong even when no one was watching. Coming here was not easy or glamorous. I am a first-generation college student, and everything felt unfamiliar. I had to figure out school systems, immigration rules, and daily life on my own. The financial pressure was constant. Tuition costs were overwhelming, and my options to work were limited. There were moments I questioned whether I could keep going, but giving up was never truly an option. Too many people believed in me. Before I ever boarded a plane, my community came together to raise money for my flight. They believed that if one of us made it out, she would come back for the rest. That belief still follows me every day. When I study late into the night or push through exhaustion, I remember that my journey does not belong to me alone. My success carries the hopes of an entire community, and I owe it to them to keep going. Life as an immigrant student has been emotionally demanding. I have faced loneliness, homesickness, and the pressure to appear strong for my family back home. There are days when the stress feels unbearable, but those same days have taught me discipline and resilience. Despite everything, I have maintained a 4.0 GPA, not because it has been easy, but because education is my way of honoring every sacrifice made on my behalf. My experiences as an immigrant have shaped my career aspirations. I am pursuing nursing because I have seen how powerful compassionate care can be, especially for people who feel unseen. I hope to become a Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist and eventually build care spaces for individuals with developmental disabilities, as well as support mental health initiatives for immigrant and refugee youth. This scholarship would not simply help me stay in school; it would help me keep a promise. A promise I made to the community that believed in me before I ever believed in myself, to my family who sacrificed so much, and to every young immigrant watching my journey and wondering if theirs is possible too. Because when I rise, I rise with purpose...and I rise for many.

I still remember the feeling of packing my life into a suitcase and wondering if I was strong enough to carry it all. Leaving home meant leaving my family, my community, and everything familiar behind, with no guarantee that the sacrifice would be worth it. Yet deep down, I knew that if I did not take this step, the future I dreamed of and the future of the children who looked up to me would remain out of reach. I come from a family that values education deeply, even when access to it is limited. My parents raised me with faith, discipline, and the belief that education is a responsibility, not a privilege meant to be wasted. My childhood was shaped by instability and displacement, and later by life in a refugee camp where resources were scarce and survival was the priority. In that environment, books became my only escape and hope. The decision to pursue higher education in the United States was born out of both necessity and faith. I wanted access to quality healthcare training and academic opportunities that simply were not available to me before. When the opportunity arose, my community came together to raise the funds for my flight abroad. They invested in me because they believed that if one of us made it out, I would look back and lift others. Carrying that collective trust across borders gave my journey deeper meaning. Who would have thought I would ever step on this land? Even now, it feels like a miracle Life as a low-income international student has been one of the hardest challenges I have ever faced. There are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable: high tuition, limited work opportunities, unpaid bills, and cold mornings waiting for the bus to get to class. I have cried so many times, overwhelmed by the fear of failing not just myself, but the many people who depend on me. Despite it all, I have maintained a 4.0 GPA, holding onto the belief that excellence is my way of honoring every sacrifice that brought me here. The person who has inspired me most is my mother. From my birth, which was marked by medical complications, she taught me what quiet strength looks like. She stood firm through my health challenges, displacement, and uncertainty, always choosing faith over fear. Her resilience shaped mine. Watching her endure hardship without losing hope taught me that strength does not always roar; sometimes it simply refuses to give up. When I graduate, I plan to pursue a career in being a CRNA and eventually establishing a care home for individuals with developmental disabilities. Spaces that will create love and a sense of belonging. I also intend to build initiatives that support youth empowerment and mental health in immigrant and refugee communities. My education is not mine alone; it belongs to my family, my community, and every child watching from a place of hardship, wondering if their dreams will ever come true. The Pierson Family Scholarship would not only ease the financial burden I carry; it would allow me to continue this journey with stability and hope. More than anything, it would affirm that my story matters and that my dreams are worth investing in.

The cold has a way of making everything feel heavier. I recall standing at a bus stop in the middle of winter, my hands frozen, my bag heavy with books, and my mind racing with worries about school deadlines, unpaid bills, and the quiet grief of being away from home. In that moment, I realized how invisible the challenges of immigrant students can be. But…we keep moving, even if it hurts, because too many people depend on us back home. Responsibility and resilience have shaped my life as a firstborn daughter, an immigrant, and a woman of African descent. From a young age, I learned to carry more than my share, supporting others and pushing forward even when the path was unclear. My journey has not been defined by ease, but by endurance and purpose. Being an international student in the United States has tested me in ways I never expected. The financial pressure is constant. Tuition is high, employment options are limited, and every expense must be carefully calculated. I have lost count of the number of nights I have cried myself to sleep, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Yet when I speak to my family back home, I have to reassure them I am fine, because I know my strength gives them hope. For many children in my family and in the refugee camp where I once lived, my journey represents possibility. So, I cannot afford to give up. Living and studying in a new culture has pushed me to grow rapidly. I have learned how to navigate complex academic systems, stand up for myself, and remain disciplined even without a safety net. Maintaining a 4.0 GPA has required sacrifice, focus, and resilience, but it reflects my commitment to honoring every opportunity I have been given. Education, to me, is not just personal advancement; it is a responsibility I must fulfill. Loneliness is one of the most difficult parts of the immigrant experience. I know how isolating it can feel to exist in a place where few people understand your background or struggles. Because of this, I have volunteered to help build community among African immigrants, creating spaces where people can connect, share their experiences, and feel less alone. Building community has reminded me that even small acts of support can make survival feel possible. As a nursing student, my academic goals are deeply connected to the impact I hope to make. I am passionate about healthcare, mental health advocacy, and supporting underserved populations. My long-term vision is to establish a care home for individuals with developmental disabilities, spaces where they will be treated with dignity and compassion and have a sense of belonging. I also hope to continue supporting youth through mentorship and empowerment initiatives, especially those navigating displacement and hardship. Receiving the Rose Ifebigh Memorial Scholarship would ease a significant financial burden and allow me to focus more fully on my education and service. More importantly, it would affirm my journey as an immigrant woman striving not only to succeed but also to lift others along the way. I walk forward not only for myself, but for every child watching from a place of hardship, believing that if one of us can rise, then hope survives for us all.

I was born into a family that believes deeply in God, and my name was given to me in a moment of both fear and hope. During my birth, my mother faced serious complications, and in the uncertainty of that moment, my parents chose to name me Faith—declaring trust in God over fear. At the time, they could not have known how prophetic that name would become. Years later, when I was diagnosed with scoliosis, my faith was tested in ways I cannot describe. The condition was painful, progressive, and overwhelming. The cost of corrective surgery was far beyond what my parents could afford, and the medical risks were terrifying. Doctors warned my family of everything that could go wrong: paralysis, blindness, mental impairment. I almost gave up. Not because I lacked belief in God, but because the burden felt too heavy for a young girl to carry. Yet once again, faith met us in the form of people. God sent good Samaritans who covered my hospital bills when there was no other way forward. I was admitted to a missionary hospital, a place that restored not only restored me physically but also emotionally. What made that hospital unforgettable was the faith that surrounded it. Before my twelve-hour surgery, the doctors prayed. During the operation, Christian support staff stayed with my mother, encouraging her, and reminding her that she was not alone. During my recovery, I was met with prayer, scripture, and constant reassurance. I did not just experience healing, I experienced God’s presence through His people. Against every warning, the surgery was successful. I walked out whole. Clear-minded. Unparalyzed. Alive with purpose. That moment reshaped my understanding of faith. I learned that faith is not the absence of fear it is choosing trust despite it. Later, war forced my family to flee to a refugee camp, where hardship became daily reality. Life there took a heavy toll on mental health, especially among youth. I witnessed depression, hopelessness, and suicide become part of our shared story. In those moments, faith became my anchor again. It reminded me that even in displacement, God still had plans for my life. Education became my act of obedience. I study with intention, believing that God had not preserved my life for survival alone, but for service. Today, I am the first in my family to attend college and to move abroad. I maintain a 4.0 GPA, not as a personal achievement, but as stewardship of the opportunities God has placed in my hands. Coming to America still feels like a miracle. Who would have thought I would ever step on this land? I certainly could not have planned it. Yet somehow, deep in my spirit, I always believed I would be here. Looking back now, I can only say this journey has been guided by faith—faith that has carried me across borders, through pain, and into purpose. This scholarship opportunity is deeply meaningful to me because it reflects the life Jim Maxwell lived: one rooted in faith, service, and the holistic nurturing of young people. Like Jim, I believe that spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being are inseparable. This degree is not mine alone. It belongs to my family, my community, and every young person who wonders if God still sees them. The Jim Maxwell Memorial Scholarship would not only support my education-it would affirm a journey built on faith, sustained by grace, and dedicated to lifting others. My name is Faith. I have lived it, walked it, and witnessed it. And with God as my guide, I will continue rising—so others may rise too.

The night we fled war did not feel heroic. There were no speeches, no uniforms, and no certainty that we would survive. There was only fear, exhaustion, and the desperate hope that the refugee camp would be safer than the violence we left behind. Kakuma Refugee Camp became our new reality, a place where survival was the daily mission and dreams were considered dangerous luxuries. Life in the camp was harsh in ways that I cannot explain. Food was rationed, education was fragile, and healthcare? Healthcare did not exist. But the deepest wounds were invisible. I watched so many young people who were brilliant and full of potential slowly lose hope. Depression was common. Suicide was whispered about but rarely addressed. For many youth, the absence of opportunity felt like a life sentence. It was in this environment that I learned what sacrifice truly means. Like Sgt. Albert Dono Ware, whose life was defined by service to others, I came to understand that bravery is choosing to care when giving up would be easier. I could not save everyone, but I could show up. I began mentoring younger students, listening to them when no one else would, and reminding them(sometimes daily)that their lives mattered. Service became my way of resisting despair. That commitment followed me beyond the camp. Against overwhelming odds, I became the first in my family to attend college and eventually to move to the United States. When I arrived, I carried more than ambition with me—I carried responsibility. Every step forward represented countless young people back home who were watching and hoping. I knew that failure would be personal, but success would be communal. In college, I approach my education with the same discipline and sense of mission that Sgt. Ware demonstrated in his service. I currently maintain a 4.0 GPA, not out of competition, but out of conviction. Excellence is my way of honoring the sacrifices that made my education possible. I am pursuing a degree in nursing because I believe healing is both a science and a moral duty, especially in communities where trauma is inherited and mental health support is scarce. My service continues through volunteering in mental health institutions, where I see echoes of the refugee camp every day: individuals who's emotions are dismissed, misunderstood, or abandoned by the systems meant to protect them. These experiences have strengthened my resolve to focus on care for individuals with developmental disabilities(one of the most overlooked populations within the African diaspora). My long-term goal is to establish a care home that does more than provide shelter. I want to create spaces rooted in dignity, love, and a sense of belonging. Beyond the United States, my vision extends home. I have actively built a foundation dedicated to youth empowerment and mental health awareness in refugee and underserved communities. This foundation focuses on skill-building, mental health education, and suicide prevention; equipping young people with both practical tools and emotional resilience. For me, this degree is not mine alone. It belongs to an entire community that has invested hope in my journey. The challenges facing the African diaspora in the U.S.; mental health stigma, lack of culturally responsive care, and limited support for vulnerable populations, require both policy reform and grassroots action. Increased funding for community-based mental health services, caregiver support programs, and inclusive care models is critical. Equally important is involving those with lived experience in shaping solutions. Governments, healthcare institutions, community organizations, and educators must work together to ensure that service is not symbolic, but transformative. Sgt. Albert Dono Ware gave his life in service to others, believing in a future he would never fully see. Inspired by his sacrifice, I commit my life to saving others in the ways I can; be it through healing, advocacy, and unwavering service. I have beaten the odds, but I refuse to walk alone. This scholarship would not simply support my education; it would strengthen a mission rooted in sacrifice, driven by purpose, and dedicated to collective survival and hope.