Being a full-time undergraduate student at Arizona State University pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science is a demanding endeavor on its own. When you add the responsibilities of working as a full time Area Director for a youth outreach organization, the challenge multiplies exponentially. As the Area Director for Young Life in Surprise, Arizona, I direct community-based youth mentorship programs serving underserved adolescents in Title 1 schools. I manage comprehensive program logistics, align events with local school districts, and establish safe, relational environments for at-risk youth. My role heavily involves financial development, spearheading local fundraising initiatives, and creating scholarship pipelines to sustain outreach. Utilizing a Socratic leadership framework, I recruit, train, and empower volunteer teams while providing frontline crisis intervention and direct mentorship to students. While this scholarship requires working at least ten hours a week, my reality on the ground often doubles or triples that metric. My current experience as a working student is defined by a daily, meticulous exercise in resource allocation. I spend my days mentoring at-risk youth in Title 1 schools, training volunteer leaders, and facilitating community events. I do this on a modest $375 monthly salary/stipend, having left a fourteen-year corporate management career at Costco to pursue this community calling. Navigating this immense workload as a father of four in a "triple tuition" household, where my wife, my daughter, and I are all enrolled in college simultaneously, redefines the traditional student hustle. I do not sacrifice time meant for college socialization; I sacrifice sleep and comfort to ensure my family is supported, my youth ministry thrives, and my high GPA is fiercely maintained. The most challenging period of balancing these dual worlds occurred recently, during the spring of 2026. At work, I was tasked with organizing a comprehensive spring youth club activities schedule, meticulously aligning our outreach events with the Dysart Unified School District's academic calendar. This required extensive logistical coordination, stakeholder meetings, and late-night planning sessions. Simultaneously, at ASU, I was entering a grueling midterm season in my advanced psychology courses. The convergence of these two high-stakes deadlines created immense pressure, and the stress threatened both my academic standing and my ministry execution. To overcome this bottleneck, I had to aggressively apply the operational discipline I previously honed while managing 135 employees in the corporate sector. First, I instituted a rigid time-blocking system. I carved out non-negotiable study hours late at night, ensuring my work and family obligations were met during the day while fiercely protecting my academic time when the house was quiet. Second, I radically shifted my leadership approach at work. Instead of shouldering the entire spring calendar project alone, I employed a Socratic leadership method with my volunteer team. By asking targeted questions, I guided my team to discover their own logistical solutions, empowering them to take ownership of specific events. This delegation relieved my immediate bottleneck, allowing me to focus on and excel in my midterms, while simultaneously cultivating a more resilient, capable team of mentors. Balancing full-time studies and a demanding job is exhausting, but it is driven by absolute clarity of purpose. I am hustling today so I can eventually become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and open a nonprofit, community-based counseling center in the West Valley. This scholarship would provide critical financial relief to our triple-tuition household, validating the late nights and sacrifices required to build a lifeline for the next generation.

The Gospel of Matthew, Jesus calls out to ordinary fishermen with a profound invitation, "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." This call was not to a life of comfort or prestige, but to a life of pulling people out of turbulent, dangerous waters and into the safety of a loving community. For the past several years, I have tried to echo that call in the West Valley of Arizona. At 6-foot-4, weighing 250 pounds, and wearing a full beard, I am often told I look more like a bouncer, a soldier, than a pastor or counselor. Yet, God has given me this specific physical presence to use as a shelter. In the Title 1 schools where I serve as an Area Director for Young Life, a youth outreach and mentorship ministry, my size and soft and humorous demeanor has allowed me to become a "gentle giant" a safe harbor for marginalized and at-risk teenagers navigating environments filled with chaos. Rather than in a clinical classroom, my most profound education in mental health occurred in the trenches of my own community. Serving on the front lines, I witness daily the adolescent mental health crisis ravaging this generation. For years, my ministry was purely relational and spiritual. I connected with youth experiencing deep poverty, severe anxiety, and complex trauma. As a mentor, I simply showed up, shared a cup of coffee, and used a Socratic approach to hear their fears and doubts, believing that every person deserves to be valued as God created them. But in 2023, our local school board voted to eliminate licensed social workers and campus mental health counselors due to budget constraints, shattering our community’s safety net. With these campus triage units dismantled overnight, the crisis landed directly on my shoulders. I found myself in living rooms late at night, intervening in suicide attempts, and sitting with victims of severe abuse. Holding onto drowning teenagers in these deep waters brought a heartbreaking realization, empathy without clinical training is fundamentally incomplete. While I could offer a compassionate ear and the love of Christ, I lacked the professional psychological methodology necessary to triage their profound trauma. Sitting with an actively suicidal teenager brought a profound realization, faith demands not just action, but thorough preparation and rigorous equipping. This fundamentally transformed my spiritual perspective on service. While God calls us to stand in the gap, He also requires that we gather the necessary tools to construct a resilient bridge. I came to see that spiritual, emotional, and mental well-being are deeply interconnected, treating a youth's spiritual hopelessness is so difficult without also addressing the psychological and physiological trauma that alters their brain. My faith has transitioned from a solely pastoral model to a deeply integrated perspective. I firmly believe that clinical competence and spiritual truth act as complementary lifelines rather than opposing forces. To follow Christ's example of healing the entire person and truly become "fishers of men" today, we must be prepared to confront the intricate psychological bounds of mental illness, trauma, and addiction that pull our youth into darkness. This shift in my convictions demanded a profound transformation in my relationships, starting with my own family. Answering this calling meant completely redirecting my life. For fourteen years, I enjoyed a successful corporate management career, leading 135 employees and providing stable security for my wife and four children. However, witnessing the urgent mental health crisis in my community made it impossible to stay in that comfortable corporate world. I made the frightening decision to resign, trading a stable salary of only a $250 monthly stipend in full-time vocational ministry,a transition requiring immense, shared sacrifice from my wife and children. We face severe financial and logistical pressure as a "triple tuition" household, with my wife, my daughter, and myself all enrolled in university simultaneously. Yet, this struggle has only deepened our family ties and solidified our shared principles. My children are witnessing us carry on a legacy inherited from my father. As a Latino farm worker, my father's path was transformed in the 1960s when a Christian mentor invested in him, enabling him to become a high school teacher. He taught me that when you cross the bridge of opportunity, you do not pull it up behind you; you widen it. By sacrificing our family's comfort, we are modeling for my children that love for our neighbors is defined by our willingness to sacrifice. Driven by this crisis and anchored by my faith, I am currently pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science at Arizona State University. My ultimate career aspiration is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and to subsequently pursue a Master of Divinity at Dallas Theological Seminary. I intend to use this combined education to establish a nonprofit, community-based counseling center in the West Valley. This clinic will serve as a sanctuary where clinical excellence intersects with genuine, faith-driven accessibility, ensuring that no student or family is ever turned away due to an inability to pay. We will meet adolescents in their darkest moments, whether they are battling severe depression, trauma, or the co-occurring substance abuse that so often accompanies deep pain, and we will offer them a comprehensive path to healing. The legacy of Dima Kapelkin reminds us that a life lived for Jesus and for others is a life beautifully spent. We are surrounded by a generation adrift in a turbulent sea of mental illness and isolation. They need compassionate professionals willing to wade into the deep, messy waters to pull them out. I am dedicating the rest of my professional and personal life to being that advocate, combining the unconditional love of Christ with the rigorous clinical tools necessary to heal broken minds. Receiving the Fishers of Men-tal Health Scholarship would be a profound blessing for my family, easing the heavy burden of our triple-tuition reality, and empowering me to cast a wider net of hope, healing, and restoration for the youth who desperately need it.

Like Arthur and Elana Panos, my family’s story is rooted in the belief that hard work and faith can completely change the trajectory of generations. My father was a Latino farm worker whose life was rewritten when a Christian mentor invested in him, empowering him to leave the fields and become a teacher. That legacy taught me early on that God equips us with specific gifts, not for our own comfort, but to be refined and used for a purpose-driven life in ministry. For fourteen years, I used my drive to build a successful corporate management career, eventually overseeing 135 employees. However, my faith continually pulled my heart toward the youth in my community of Surprise, Arizona. Standing 6-foot-4 and weighing 250 pounds, I am often told I look more like a bouncer than a youth worker. Yet, I recognize that God gave me this "gentle giant" persona to create a physical safe harbor for marginalized teenagers who live in chaos. My faith has been the absolute anchor in my life’s greatest leap. When I realized the immense need for youth mentorship in our Title 1 schools, I felt a clear calling to step away from corporate security. Trusting entirely in God’s provision, I resigned to serve full-time as the Area Director for Young Life, a Christian youth outreach ministry, on a $250 monthly salary. As the sole fundraiser, I want to make sure the youth receive as much of the funds I raise as possible. This leap required immense faith and shared sacrifice, as I am a father of four currently navigating a "triple tuition" household where my wife, my daughter, and I are all in university simultaneously. Yet, God has sustained us, affirming daily that a life guided by faith and integrity is infinitely richer than one guided by comfort. Looking ahead, my faith provides the precise blueprint for my career. I approach mentorship and leadership by listening to and acknowledging objections, understanding that people simply want to be truly heard and valued as God created them. However, in 2023, when our local school board removed mental health counselors from campuses due to budget cuts, I found myself sitting with teenagers grappling with severe trauma. I realized that while my faith called me to stand in the gap, I needed clinical tools to properly help heal them. I am currently pursuing my Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science at Arizona State University to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC). Following this, I plan to attend Dallas Theological Seminary to earn my Master of Divinity. My entrepreneurial spirit, entirely guided by my faith as an Area Director, is driving a specific career vision: I plan to establish a nonprofit and partner with a community-based counseling center in the West Valley. This center will integrate clinical excellence with spiritual care, ensuring no student is turned away due to an inability to pay. My faith will assist me in this career by keeping me grounded in morality, integrity, and the fundamental belief that true healing requires addressing both the mind and the soul. Through hard work and reliance on Christ, I intend to build a lifeline for the next generation.

For fourteen years, I built a successful career in corporate retail management, eventually overseeing 135 employees. However, my heart was always in the trenches of my community in the West Valley of Arizona. Today, I serve full-time as an Area Director for Young Life, a youth mentoring nonprofit, focusing specifically on Title 1 schools with predominantly minority populations. I did not choose the nonprofit sector for its glamour or financial reward; I chose it because it is where the most urgent, life-saving work must be done. At 6-foot-4 and 250 pounds, I am often told I look more like a bouncer than a youth worker. But in the marginalized communities I serve, that "gentle giant" persona has become a safe harbor for teenagers navigating profound chaos. My drive to pursue a lifelong career in the nonprofit sector is rooted in a generational emergency. In 2023, our local school board voted to remove licensed mental health counselors from our campuses due to budget cuts. Overnight, the psychological safety net for our most vulnerable youth vanished. I found myself sitting with teenagers grappling with severe trauma, realizing that my empathy as a mentor lacked the clinical expertise required to treat them. This crisis forced my life’s greatest pivot. I resigned from my corporate career, sacrificing a stable salary to step into the nonprofit sector full-time, taking a $250 monthly "salary." As the sole fundraiser, I want to make sure the youth receives as much funds as possible. To expand my advocacy, I also serve as a volunteer advisory board member for our local YMCA, where I help train staff and facilitate community youth events. Through both Young Life and the YMCA, my goal is to provide safe, constructive spaces and relational consistency for adolescents who are too often overlooked by the system. My dedication to nonprofit work is also deeply personal. My father was a Latino farm worker whose trajectory was entirely rewritten in the 1960s because a Young Life mentor invested in him, ultimately empowering him to leave the fields and become a high school teacher. I am living proof that nonprofit intervention does not just help an individual; it changes the trajectory of an entire family tree. To deepen my impact, I returned to school in my forties and am currently pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science at Arizona State University. My vision is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and establish a nonprofit, community-based counseling center in the West Valley. I want to integrate clinical excellence with genuine accessibility, ensuring that no student is ever turned away due to an inability to pay. By combining the relational trust built through community nonprofits with professional clinical care, I aim to rebuild the mental health lifeline our schools lost. Pursuing a career in the nonprofit sector requires immense shared sacrifice—my family is currently navigating the extreme financial strain of a "triple tuition" household. However, dedicating my professional life to advancing social causes and uplifting marginalized communities is a calling I cannot ignore. I am committing my life to the nonprofit sector because I believe that every teenager, regardless of their socioeconomic status or zip code, deserves a skilled advocate willing to stand in the gap.

Debra S. Jackson’s story of returning to college at 40 after a demanding retail career resonates deeply with my own. For fourteen years, I built a successful career in retail management, eventually overseeing 135 employees at Costco. It provided a stable life for my wife and our four children. Yet, my return to higher education in my forties is not about career advancement; it is a profound response to a purpose, a calling, and a multi-generational legacy of intervention. My personal values were shaped entirely by my father, who spent his childhood working in the agricultural fields. His life's trajectory was forever changed by a lifelong mentor, a leader from Young Life, a mentoring youth outreach nonprofit, who stepped into his life in the 1960s. Because someone invested in him and believed in his potential, my father left the farm fields to become a high school teacher, a coach, and a mentor himself. He eventually started the Young Life chapter at my high school, which has now been running for over 35 years. From him, I learned that true community service is generational: when you cross the bridge of opportunity, you do not pull it up behind you. You build it wider for those still waiting on the other side. Following his footsteps, I volunteered for Young Life in Surprise, Arizona. However, my calling shifted drastically in 2023 when our local school board removed licensed mental health counselors from campuses due to budget cuts. Suddenly, the psychological safety net for our most vulnerable youth vanished. I found myself sitting with teenagers grappling with severe trauma, realizing that while my "gentle giant" persona—at 6-foot-4 and 250 pounds—provided a safe harbor, my empathy lacked the clinical expertise to properly treat them. Mentorship was no longer enough; these students needed professional, clinical care. This crisis forced my life's greatest pivot. I resigned from my retail career to serve full-time as the Young Life Area Director on a $250 monthly stipend, and I returned to school. I am currently pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science at Arizona State University. My goal is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor and establish a community-based counseling center in the West Valley that integrates clinical excellence with genuine accessibility, ensuring no student is turned away. Making this leap later in life requires immense shared sacrifice. My family is currently a "triple tuition" household, with my wife, my daughter, and I enrolled in university simultaneously. The Debra S. Jackson New Horizons Scholarship would be a vital lifeline for us. It would profoundly alleviate the financial burden of my tuition, allowing me to focus on my rigorous coursework and my crisis intervention work in the community. Debra proved that education at any age can transform a life and, by extension, a community. By receiving this scholarship, I will be empowered to honor her legacy and my father’s, using my education to provide the professional mental health care our youth desperately need, giving them the second chances they deserve.

At first glance, I do not look like the typical face of mental health care. Standing 6-foot-4, weighing 250 pounds, and wearing a full beard, I am often told I look like a bouncer or someone who served in the Special Forces. In my community of Surprise, Arizona, however, this physical size has become a shelter. As a Latino man serving primarily Title 1 schools, I use my "gentle giant" persona to create a safe harbor for marginalized teenagers navigating a world that often feels hostile and inaccessible. My drive to pursue a Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science at Arizona State University was not born from a casual career interest; it was forced by a generational emergency. As the Area Director for a local youth mentorship organization, my daily work places me on the front lines of the adolescent mental health crisis. For years, I built relationships with students facing poverty, severe anxiety, and trauma. I was the mentor who showed up. But in 2023, the floor fell out from under our community. Our local school board voted to remove licensed social workers and mental health counselors from campuses due to budget cuts. Overnight, the psychological triage units for our most vulnerable youth were dismantled. As a result, I found myself sitting in living rooms and emergency rooms, intervening in suicide attempts and supporting victims of severe abuse, including a complex state-level trauma case. The realization hit me with devastating clarity: empathy without clinical expertise is incomplete. I could offer a listening ear, but I lacked the professional tools to properly treat and save them. This crisis demanded a response that went beyond volunteer hours. It required a complete life pivot. I made the terrifying decision to leave a fourteen-year, successful corporate management career—where I oversaw 135 employees—to serve my community full-time on a $250 monthly stipend. Today, I am a non-traditional college student in my 40s, navigating a "triple tuition" household where my wife, my daughter, and I are all enrolled in university simultaneously. We endure this immense financial sacrifice because we believe the youth in our community are worth fighting for. My ultimate ambition is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and establish a community-based counseling center in the West Valley. I want to build a clinic that integrates clinical excellence with genuine accessibility, ensuring no student is turned away due to an inability to pay. As the son of a Latino farm worker who eventually became a teacher, I was raised with the understanding that education is a tool meant to be shared. My father taught me that when you cross the bridge of opportunity, you do not pull it up behind you; you build it wider for those still waiting on the other side. By pursuing this degree, I am building a lifeline. I am fighting to ensure that when a teenager in my community reaches out from the dark, there is a clinician waiting who understands their culture, has the clinical expertise to treat their trauma, and is strong enough to guide them safely back to shore.

A Gentle Giant's Pivot: From Corporate Stability to Crisis Counseling My journey into mental health care is an unconventional one. Physically, I am a striking figure—6'4", 250 pounds, with a full beard—often mistaken for a bouncer or military personnel. Yet, in my community of Surprise, Arizona, this imposing size has become a signal of safety and shelter. I am a dedicated husband, a father of four, and a non-traditional student at Arizona State University, pursuing a mission born out of necessity and crisis. The Defining Crisis: Empathy is Incomplete Without Expertise My core beliefs about mental health were fundamentally altered by a devastating systemic failure in 2023. The local school board, citing budget cuts, eliminated licensed social workers and counselors from our campuses. As the Young Life Area Director, I watched as the critical support systems for our youth were stripped away precisely when student anxiety and suicidality were at an all-time high. This experience shattered my prior conviction that mentorship alone was enough. I found myself in profound conversations with teenagers facing severe trauma, abuse, and suicidal ideation. I realized that while my empathy and listening ear were valuable, they were insufficient. I desperately lacked the clinical expertise necessary to truly save them. This profound realization spurred a major life pivot: I left a successful corporate career managing 135 employees at Costco to pursue vocational ministry and full-time clinical study. Shared Sacrifice: A Family Commitment to Service This new path has redefined my personal relationships, transforming my marriage into a profound partnership of shared sacrifice. To serve this mission, I traded a stable corporate salary for a position with a mere $250 monthly stipend. We are currently a "triple tuition" household, with my wife, my daughter, and myself all enrolled in university. We are teaching our four children that true connection means carrying the load together. For the students I serve, this commitment has deepened our bond; they know I am not merely a volunteer, but someone literally investing my family's livelihood to be the advocate they lost. My physical stature, initially intimidating, now embodies a safe space—the "gentle giant" strong enough to bear the weight of their deepest struggles. Career Vision: Rebuilding the Lifeline My ultimate career goal is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and concurrently earn a Master of Divinity. I plan to establish a community-based counseling center in the West Valley that seamlessly integrates clinical expertise with essential spiritual care. My current work on a state-level case involving severe trauma victimization has solidified this resolve. I am determined to become the resource that was unjustly removed—a clinician equipped to handle the darkest traumas while remaining accessible to those who cannot afford private care. By rebuilding the critical lifeline that was severed, I am committed to ensuring that the next generation of students in Surprise never has to face their battles in isolation.

At first glance, I do not look like the typical face of compassion. Standing 6-foot-4, weighing 250 pounds, and wearing a full and long beard, I am often told I look like a linebacker and someone who served in the Special Forces. Strangers see my size and instinctively step back. But for the students I serve in Surprise, Arizona, that size has become a shelter. I am a husband, a father of four, and a non-traditional student returning to Arizona State University to complete a mission that life, and necessity, has placed before me. I currently serve as the Young Life Area Director for the West Valley. While my role involves overseeing outreach for all adolescents, the heartbeat of my ministry is found in Capernaum Young Life, our specialized ministry for young people with disabilities. In a world that is often unwelcoming to those with unique needs, Capernaum is designed to be the exact opposite: a place where the "unseen" students become the celebrated guests of honor. Making a Social Impact My work with Capernaum has exposed me to the harsh reality that society remains largely inaccessible, not just physically, but relationally. I witness the profound social isolation that many of our friends with disabilities face. They are frequently "programed" to death, shuffled from therapy to special education classrooms, but rarely offered genuine, non-transactional friendship. My immediate impact is creating spaces where high schoolers with Down syndrome, autism, and cerebral palsy are not just "accommodated," but are given the platform to lead, laugh, and belong. However, I realized that mentorship alone is not enough to dismantle the systemic barriers they face. In 2023, our local school board voted to remove licensed mental health counselors from campuses due to budget cuts. This decision disproportionately affected students with special needs, who often rely on school-based support for behavioral health and advocacy. Watching the "triage units" disappear from our schools drove me to make a drastic life change. I left a successful corporate management career, where I managed 135 employees at Costco to work for this non-profit on a $250 monthly stipend. I am now pursuing my Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science at ASU. My goal is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and open a community-based counseling center in the West Valley. Future Career Goals My career will focus on two pillars of advocacy: Accessibility and Integration. First, I intend to bridge the gap in mental health care for the special needs community. Many counselors are not trained to work with non-verbal clients or those with complex cognitive delays. My education is equipping me with the clinical tools to serve this population effectively. I want to ensure that a family raising a child with autism has a clinician who understands their unique exhaustion and fears. Second, I will use my position to advocate for structural change. As I currently do on the YMCA Board of Advisors, I will fight for programs that are inclusive by design, not as an afterthought. I want to be the "gentle giant" who stands in the gap, using my voice to amplify the voices of those who are too often silenced by an inaccessible world. By combining the relational ministry of Capernaum with the clinical expertise of a licensed counselor, I plan to build a future where our friends with disabilities are not just surviving in a hostile world, but thriving in a community that finally sees their immense value.

For many teenagers in Surprise, Arizona, "home" is not a sanctuary; it is a source of stress, trauma, or indifference. As the Volunteer Area Director for Young Life, the most critical event I organize annually is our summer camp trip. This is not merely a vacation; for many of these students, it is the first time they have ever left the city limits or felt truly safe. Organizing this event is a year-round marathon of logistics and advocacy. I manage the fundraising efforts to ensure that finances never prevent a student from attending, often raising thousands of dollars to cover camp fees for families in our Title 1 schools. I coordinate transportation, manage medical forms, and recruit adult leaders. But the logistics are just the skeleton; the heart of the event is the mentorship. During that week, I am a father figure, a counselor, and a friend, often getting very little sleep as I sit with students who are finally processing the heavy burdens they carry. Giving Back: Beyond the Event My commitment to the community extends far beyond a single week. I serve on the Board of Advisors for the YMCA, where I help shape programs that provide safe spaces for our youth. In this capacity, I advocate for resources and accessibility, ensuring that our facilities serve the families who need them most, not just those who can afford them. Additionally, I view training as a vital form of service. I volunteer my time to train staff and future leaders, teaching them how to build trust with at-risk adolescents. I am currently working to establish a scholarship fund for volunteer leaders at Ottawa University Arizona (OUAZ). By investing in these college students, I am "paying it forward," creating a sustainable pipeline of mentors who will continue this work long after I am gone. The Importance of Leadership Through Service True leadership is not about standing above others; it is about standing in the gap for them. I believe that you cannot lead a community you are unwilling to serve. In 2023, when our local school board removed mental health counselors from campuses, I saw a gap widen in our community’s safety net. Leadership required me to step into that void. I left a corporate management career to serve full-time in this ministry on a $250 monthly stipend because I believe that service requires sacrifice. My "Gentle Giant" persona—6’4” and 250 lbs—allows me to be a pillar of strength for students who feel weak. But my strength is useless unless it is used to lift others up. Leadership through service means doing the unglamorous work—the fundraising, the late-night crisis calls, and the administrative planning—so that a teenager can have a life-changing experience. It means measuring success not by personal accolades, but by the number of other leaders you empower. I am returning to school to become a Licensed Professional Counselor so that I can serve with even greater effectiveness, turning my passion for "paying it forward" into a professional vocation that heals. The QR code on the PDF is a video I made looking at what I have been doing as a volunteer.

In a world that often conflates connection with digital proximity over in person connection, I have learned that true connection is architectural. It requires a foundation of trust, a framework of consistency, and often, someone willing to stand in the gap when the structure begins to shake. My purpose—both personally and professionally—is defined by this kind of structural relationship. I am not just building a career in counseling; I am building a shelter for those who have nowhere else to go. At 6-foot-4 and 250 pounds, with a full beard and a frame that fills a doorway, I am often told I look like a bouncer or a special forces operator. Strangers instinctively step back when I enter a room. Yet, this physical imposition has become my most vital tool for connection. In my work as the Young Life Area Director for Surprise, Arizona, I have learned to use my size not to intimidate, but to create a sense of safety. For a teenager whose world is chaotic, my presence offers a rare constant—a "gentle giant" who is immovable in his support. This understanding of relationships as a refuge shapes my long-term goals. In 2023, our local school board voted to remove licensed mental health counselors from campuses. I watched as the "triage units" for our youth were dismantled just as rates of anxiety, depression, and suicidality were spiking. I realized then that my ability to connect as a mentor, while powerful, was no longer enough. The relationships I had built with students revealed deep, untreated traumas that required clinical expertise. This realization drove a massive pivot in my life. I left a successful corporate career managing 135 employees to work for a non-profit on a modest stipend, and I returned to university in my 40s. My goal is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and open a community-based center that integrates clinical excellence with spiritual care. My professional goal is not simply to "treat" patients, but to re-establish the connection that was severed by budget cuts—to be the person who stays when the system walks away. However, the most profound lesson in connection comes from my own home. I am currently navigating a "triple tuition" household: my wife, my daughter, and I are all enrolled in university simultaneously. My wife, the primary earner while I pursue this mission, is my partner in the truest sense. Our relationship is the bedrock that allows me to serve others. We are modeling for our four children that purpose often requires shared sacrifice. We are showing them that meaningful connection means carrying the load together, whether that load is a mortgage, a tuition bill, or the emotional weight of a community in crisis. My father was a farm worker who became a teacher because a mentor saw potential in him. That relationship changed the trajectory of my entire family. Now, I am trying to pay that debt forward. I am building a scholarship fund for volunteer leaders at Ottawa University Arizona because I know that relationships are the only thing that truly scale. One mentor can change a life, but a network of mentors can change a city. In the end, my relationships are not just a "role" in my goals—they are the goal. Whether it is the student who finally admits they are suicidal because they feel safe with the "big guy," or my wife studying late into the night alongside me, every connection is a plank in the bridge I am building. I am returning to school to ensure that when a child in my community reaches out for help, there is a hand there to meet them—strong, skilled, and ready to hold on.

At first glance, I do not look like the typical face of mental health care. Standing 6-foot-4, weighing 250 pounds, and wearing a full beard, I am often told I look like a bouncer or someone who served in the Special Forces. Strangers see my size and instinctively step back. But in my community of Surprise, Arizona, that size has become a shelter. I am a husband, a father of four, and a non-traditional student returning to Arizona State University to complete a mission that life, and necessity, has placed before me. Why the Mental Health Field? I currently serve as the Young Life Area Director for the West Valley. In this role, I am often the first call when a teenager is in crisis. However, the decision to pursue the mental health field was not born out of a desire for a job change, it was born out of a frantic need to fill a void. My work places me at ground zero of a generational emergency. With Generation Z and the emerging Generation Alpha, I am witnessing a tidal wave of mental health crises that previous generations simply did not face. It is no longer just teenage angst; I am seeing a terrifying baseline of crippling anxiety, dissociation, and the normalization of self-harm. I sit with middle schoolers, Gen Alpha kids, who are already trauma-weary, and high schoolers paralyzed by a digital world that never sleeps. The crisis is not theoretical to me. I have personally intervened in multiple suicide attempts and countless instances of severe ideation. I have sat in living rooms and emergency rooms with families who are watching their children unravel, knowing that the waitlist for a counselor is months long. Cruelly, this generational crisis coincided with a systemic failure. In 2023, the local school board voted to remove licensed social workers and mental health counselors from our campuses due to budget cuts. The "triage units" were stripped away just as student suicidality reached historic highs. I found myself sitting with teenagers grappling with severe victimization, realizing that while I could offer mentorship and a listening ear, I lacked the clinical tools to provide the professional intervention they desperately needed to survive. I am pursuing my Bachelor of Science in Counseling and Applied Psychological Science because I am tired of putting band-aids on bullet wounds. I am currently working on a state-level case involving severe trauma, and every day I am reminded that empathy alone is not enough; these students need expertise. I left a successful corporate management career, where I managed 135 employees at Costco, to work for a non-profit on a $250 monthly stipend because I believe this work is a matter of life and death. My goal is to become a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) and establish a community-based counseling center in the West Valley. I want to be the resource that was taken away, a clinician who can handle the darkest traumas while remaining the "gentle giant" that makes a scared teenager feel safe enough to speak.