I didn’t grow up in a church pew, and my journey to faith wasn’t paved with Sunday school or routine family prayer. My introduction to Christianity didn’t come with a choir, a youth group, or a Bible camp. It came through pain. Through stillness. Through witnessing life at its rawest and most uncertain. I met God in a hospital room, not a sanctuary. I found Him in the quiet when I had nowhere else to turn. And from that moment on, He never let me go.
My name is James Dunham. I’m a father, a first-generation college graduate, a healthcare worker turned entrepreneur, and a Christian who found faith not in perfection—but in desperation. Like many who come from broken places, I didn’t have the guidance or structure to walk a clear path in life. My childhood was marked by hardship, mental illness, instability, and silence. My father, a disabled Desert Storm veteran, struggled with the weight of trauma and chronic health issues. My uncle, his brother, died by suicide—a loss that shattered my family and changed how I understood pain. I grew up watching people I loved fall apart inside and felt powerless to stop it.
School never felt like a refuge. I was diagnosed with ADHD early on, but I wasn’t given the tools to manage it. I struggled to focus, fell behind, and eventually dropped out of high school. At the time, I didn’t believe in much—not in myself, not in systems, and certainly not in a God I hadn’t met. I drifted from job to job, working just to survive, holding in my frustration and numbing the chaos however I could.
But everything shifted when my son was born. He arrived early, underweight, and was immediately placed in the neonatal intensive care unit. I had never felt so helpless. I remember staring at his tiny body through a plastic incubator, listening to the machines breathe for him, and wondering if he’d ever come home. That’s when I broke. That’s when I prayed.
I didn’t know the right words. I wasn’t sure if anyone was listening. But I begged God to save my son. To save me. And in that moment of surrender, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years—peace. Not the kind of peace that fixes everything, but the kind that lets you know you’re not alone. I made a promise that night: if my son survived, I would become the man he needed me to be. I would do whatever it took to change. I would find my purpose.
By God’s grace, my son made it. And I kept my promise.
I earned my GED, something I once thought I’d never do. Then I enrolled in college. I worked long hours while raising my son and studying for exams. I became a licensed respiratory therapist and began working in intensive care units, where I spent years caring for people on the brink of life and death. I saw suffering up close. I comforted families. I fought to save lives. And through it all, I kept praying.
My faith deepened in those ICU rooms. I saw miracles. I witnessed God working in silence, in healing, in death, and in grief. I learned that Christianity isn’t always loud or showy—it’s steady, compassionate, and deeply human. I began to realize that God wasn’t calling me to be perfect. He was calling me to serve. To walk in integrity. To use my story as a testimony.
Eventually, I felt led to take another step. I earned a bachelor’s degree in Healthcare Administration and then pursued and completed my MBA with a focus in Finance. These degrees weren’t just about advancing a career—they were about stewardship. I wanted to understand how systems worked so I could fix the broken ones. I wanted to use what I learned to lift others up.
Today, I’ve co-founded a new real estate startup built on the very values God placed in my heart: restoration, redemption, and reinvestment in overlooked people and places. This company isn’t just about flipping homes—it’s about flipping stories. We seek to turn abandoned or distressed properties into affordable housing for working families. We aim to create jobs, mentor young people, and give second chances to individuals who’ve been pushed aside by society. We are a startup in every sense—small, scrappy, and just getting off the ground—but our vision is rooted in something much bigger than profit. It’s rooted in faith.
This business, though fresh, is one of the clearest reflections of my calling. I believe that real estate can be a form of ministry. A home is more than four walls—it’s where healing happens. It’s where families are rebuilt. It’s where dignity is restored. And I believe God has called me to be part of that rebuilding process. I don’t wear a collar, and I haven’t been to seminary—but I see my work as a form of pastoral care. I show up, I serve, and I love people through action.
Receiving this scholarship would have a profound impact on my journey. While I’ve completed my degrees, I carry the financial burden that came with funding them alone. I’ve never had parental support or a financial safety net. Every step of my academic journey was earned through sacrifice—late nights, missed meals, and personal loans that now exceed $85,000. This scholarship wouldn’t just relieve some of that burden. It would free me to grow our business, invest back into my community, and fulfill the mission God has given me.
I don’t want to just build houses. I want to create opportunities. I want to mentor young men who feel stuck like I once did. I want to offer employment to individuals who were formerly incarcerated or pushed out of traditional workplaces. I want to fund financial literacy workshops, create homeownership programs for single mothers, and partner with local churches to offer transitional housing to families in crisis. These aren’t pipe dreams—they’re part of the roadmap I’m already working on.
More than anything, I want to show my son that faith isn’t something you just say—it’s something you live. I want him to see his father lead with compassion, build with purpose, and never forget where we came from. I want him to understand that when you put your trust in God, no obstacle is too big, no mistake is too final, and no dream is too far gone.
Christianity, for me, is the anchor that holds when everything else falls apart. It’s not performative—it’s personal. It’s how I love, how I work, and how I lead. I found Christ not in a moment of triumph, but in a moment of complete vulnerability. And through that connection, I found strength I didn’t know I had.
The memory of Pastor Thomas Rorie Jr., as described, reminds me of the men of faith I strive to emulate—those who lead with humility, love without condition, and serve without expecting applause. To be considered for a scholarship in his name is not just an honor—it’s a confirmation that I’m on the right path. I may not wear a robe or stand behind a pulpit, but I’m building something that, with God’s help, I believe will bless many.
In conclusion, this scholarship would not only support me—it would strengthen the mission I’ve been called to pursue. It would help me live out my faith through tangible impact. It would allow me to invest in the dreams of others while still paying down the debt I incurred chasing mine. My future plans are bold, but they are God-led. With His guidance, and with support from this opportunity, I believe I can help restore both homes and hope—one family, one property, one act of faith at a time.
Thank you for considering my story and this vision. I am grateful for the opportunity to share it.