For me, collaboration in the fine arts is more than just people working together, it is the heartbeat of creativity. In music, theatre, and all forms of artistic expression, collaboration transforms isolated ideas into something richer and more powerful than any one person could create alone. In my intended field of instrumental music education, collaboration means listening as much as leading, building trust, and shaping an environment where each person’s contribution matters. Without collaboration, the arts would be a solo act; with it, they become a chorus. My path to the arts was shaped by hardship. When my mom became addicted to meth, I was placed in foster care. At a young age, I experienced loneliness and instability that made me feel disconnected from others. But music gave me a safe haven. Band rehearsals and performances became the one place I felt I belonged, where my voice mattered even if it came through an instrument. Playing in an ensemble reminded me that I was not alone, that I was part of something bigger than myself. That experience has inspired me to create the same sense of safety and belonging for others. In band, I learned firsthand that collaboration is essential. No matter how well I knew my part, the music only came alive when everyone was working in harmony. Preparing for district contest showed me this in a powerful way. Our director reminded us that success would depend less on playing perfectly alone and more on playing together. We spent countless rehearsals listening, blending, and trusting one another. When we finally performed, the pride wasn’t in my own playing, it was in what we had achieved as a group. Musical theatre has also shown me the beauty of collaboration, especially when I’ve had the chance to take on lead roles. I do not see the lead role as just a performance opportunity but also as a leadership opportunity. A musical only succeeds when every actor, singer, dancer, and crew member feels valued and confident in their role. As a lead, I’ve learned that my job is not just to deliver my lines or hit my notes, it’s also to set the tone of teamwork, encourage others, and help the whole cast shine. Whether that meant running lines with someone who was struggling, staying after rehearsal to help with staging, or simply cheering on my peers, I discovered that leadership in the arts is really about lifting others up. What inspires me most about collaborative experiences is the way they create community. In both band and musicals, I’ve seen students from different backgrounds come together with a common goal. Those spaces taught me empathy, patience, and the joy of celebrating not just my own achievements but the achievements of everyone around me. For a kid who once felt isolated and unseen, collaboration gave me a sense of belonging that changed my life. Looking ahead, I plan to pursue instrumental music education with the goal of teaching in a rural school. I want to give students the same refuge I found in music, a place where they can feel safe, supported, and part of something larger than themselves. Collaboration in the arts is what makes music soar, theatre sparkle, and communities thrive. My experiences in band and musicals have shown me the power of working together, but it was my personal journey through foster care and loneliness that showed me why it matters. I know firsthand that the arts can provide healing, safety, and connection, and I want to spend my life ensuring that others can find that too.

My name is Gunner Lippold, and I am a proud member of the Iowa Tribe and a senior at Falls City High School in Nebraska. Growing up in a small rural town, I have faced many challenges tied to my identity and background. However, I have always believed that education is the key to overcoming obstacles and creating a better future. I am applying for the Elva Ray Carter Scholarship because it honors the value of education, something I hold deeply and have come to appreciate through personal experience. The person who has inspired me most to further my education is my speech coach, Kris Simon. Kris has been much more than a coach; she has been a mentor and a maternal figure during some of my toughest moments. When I doubted myself or felt overwhelmed, Kris was always there to provide guidance, encouragement, and support. Her steady belief in me, her patience, and the care she showed were crucial in helping me keep going. Kris made me feel seen and valued at a time when I often struggled to feel accepted elsewhere. She didn’t just teach me speech techniques, she taught me how to believe in my voice and my worth. As a member of the Iowa Tribe and someone who identifies as queer, I faced bullying and isolation in middle school. Being different in a small, rural community often meant feeling invisible or misunderstood. But Kris created a safe and nurturing space where I could be myself and grow both as a student and a person. Through speech competitions, band, theater, and other fine arts activities, I found a place where I belonged and a way to express myself. These opportunities helped me build confidence and leadership skills, which I never thought were possible during my early years. Despite the many challenges I’ve faced, I have maintained a 3.72 GPA while actively volunteering in my community and taking on leadership roles in my school’s arts programs. Kris’s encouragement and belief in me fueled my ambition and motivated me to set my sights on college and a career as a music educator. I want to create safe and inspiring spaces for students who, like me, may feel unseen or unheard. I hope to help them discover their voices and build their confidence, just as Kris helped me. Education means more to me than just earning a degree. It means broadening my mind, growing as a person, and gaining the tools I need to make a meaningful impact. It is a way to break cycles, open doors, and empower others in my community and beyond. The lessons Kris taught me and the faith she had in my potential have become part of my drive to succeed and give back. Receiving the Elva Ray Carter Scholarship would be more than just financial support—it would be a recognition of the values that motivate me: ambition, resilience, and the desire to make a difference. It would help me continue on my path toward a bachelor’s degree and a future where I can uplift others through education and the arts. In a world where education is sometimes questioned or undervalued, I am committed to proving that it is still one of the most powerful tools for personal growth and positive change. I want to honor the memory of Elva Ray Carter by living out the belief that education can transform lives, just as it has transformed mine. Thank you for considering my application. I look forward to the opportunity to continue learning, growing, and making an impact.

My name is Gunner Lippold, and I am a senior at Falls City High School in Nebraska. I come from a small, rural town where opportunity often feels out of reach, especially for students like me-queer, low-income, and trying to make a better future not just for myself, but for the people who come after me. I am applying for the Mark Green Memorial Scholarship because I believe in what this scholarship stands for. Like Mark Green, I believe that education can transform lives, and I have seen how perseverance and purpose can get you through even the hardest chapters. Middle school was one of those chapters for me. That was when I started to notice I was different, and when others noticed too. I was bullied for being gay before I even fully understood what that meant. I felt out of place and isolated. I didn’t know how to speak up or where to go, so I focused on the only thing I felt I could control—my work. I pushed myself in school, looking for a sense of worth and direction. Over time, I discovered more than just survival. I found confidence through the arts. Band became my home base, a space where I felt accepted. Theater and speech helped me find my voice and tell stories that mattered to me. These experiences not only helped me heal, they also opened my eyes to how powerful it is when someone feels seen. That is why I want to become a music teacher, and why I plan to return to a rural community like mine. I want to be the teacher who creates a space where every student feels safe to be who they are. I want to help kids find strength in themselves, just like I found through music and performance. It is not just about notes and rhythms—it is about connection, growth, and belonging. Academically, I have kept a strong GPA of 3.72 while also working and staying involved in extracurricular activities. I have competed in speech, performed in concerts and plays, and taken on leadership roles in my school’s fine arts programs. Outside of school, I volunteer at local community events and help out with food drives. I know that leadership is not just about speaking in front of a group. It is about showing up, doing the work, and lifting others along the way. Being underrepresented does not mean I have less to offer. It means I have learned how to keep going when things are hard. It means I understand what it feels like to be overlooked, and I know how much of a difference it makes when someone believes in you. That is what I want to do for my future students, and it is why I am so committed to becoming a teacher. This scholarship is not just about funding my education. It is about continuing a legacy. If I am chosen, I will carry Mark Green’s story with me and honor it through my own. I will give back, speak up, and create the kind of future where every student, no matter where they come from or who they are, feels like they belong and have something valuable to offer.

Taking care of my mental and physical health is what helps me show up fully as a student, a performer, and a person. For a long time, I didn’t really understand just how important that was. I thought rest was something you had to earn, and I believed mental health was something you kept to yourself. But over time, I’ve learned that wellness is not a luxury. It is a necessity. And for LGBTQ+ students like me, it is often something we have to work twice as hard to protect. I started noticing how much my identity affected my mental health in middle school. I did not have the words to explain who I was yet, but other kids seemed to know I was different. I was bullied constantly, and instead of reaching out, I kept everything to myself. I felt anxious, alone, and ashamed. I remember pretending to be sick just to stay home, and eventually, the stress started to impact my sleep, my focus, and how I saw myself. When I got to high school, things started to shift. I found community in the band room, a place where I could be part of something and where people accepted me for who I was. Later on, theater and speech helped me express feelings I had held inside for years. Slowly, I started to rebuild my confidence and recognize that I deserved to be seen and heard. But even now, as a senior, taking care of my mental and physical health is still something I have to be intentional about. Balancing everything in my life is not easy. I have school, extracurriculars, a part-time job, and I am preparing for college. That alone can be overwhelming. Being queer in a small rural town adds another layer. I am constantly thinking about whether people will accept me. I have to read the room before I speak freely or show up fully. That constant sense of caution takes a toll. It wears you down in ways that are hard to explain. Over the years, I have learned to cope in healthier ways. I journal when I need clarity. I go on walks when my mind feels too full. I have learned to recognize when I need help and when I need rest. I also talk about mental health openly now, because I know there are other kids out there who feel the way I did back in middle school. Sometimes just hearing someone say "You're not alone" can make all the difference. As I move forward with my plan to major in instrumental music education, I want to carry these lessons with me. I want to be the kind of teacher who makes students feel safe, who listens, and who encourages them to take care of themselves. I want to be someone who not only teaches music but also models how to build a life that feels healthy and whole. To me, wellness is not just about surviving. It is about creating a life that feels good to live. That is why I prioritize my mental and physical health. That is why I speak up. And that is why I am applying for this scholarship, not just to support my education, but to keep spreading that message to others who need it.

Music is more than sound—it's survival, identity, and connection. It's the place I turned to when I felt like I had nowhere else to go, and it's the path I now walk toward the future I want to build—not just for myself but for others like me. In middle school, I struggled with isolation and bullying, especially as I came to terms with being gay. It often felt like I was constantly hiding parts of myself to get through the day. I didn't feel safe and didn't feel like I belonged. But when I joined the school band, something changed. Music didn't ask me to be anyone but myself. It gave me a space where my voice mattered—not because of who I was trying to be, but because of who I already was. The band became more than just an elective. It was a family. It was the first place I experienced leadership in an authentic way, where I could support others and be supported. I discovered the power of teamwork, patience, and discipline through rehearsals, performances, and competitions. I also learned how music can say what words often can't—how a song can express grief, joy, or strength when unsure how to speak. Music gave me the confidence to try new things, which led me to speech, one-act, and musical theater. These activities helped me refine my voice—literally and metaphorically. I became a stronger speaker, a more confident performer, and a better listener. These experiences taught me how powerful expression can be, especially when students are given the tools and the trust to grow. Now, I want to give that same gift to others. I plan to major in instrumental music education and return to a rural school district to teach. I know firsthand how much it means to have at least one teacher or classroom where you feel safe, seen, and supported. That's what I want to be for the next generation. I also plan to coach speech, one-act, and musical theater to continue helping students find their voices, just like I found mine. Music has shaped every part of my life—not only as a performer or future educator but also as a person. It's taught me resilience, empathy, and how to lead with heart and purpose. It's shown me that even when life is overwhelming or uncertain, there's always something beautiful waiting to be created. To me, music is not just an art. It's a lifeline, a calling, and a promise I plan to keep—for myself and every student still searching for where they belong.