I am pursuing a graduate degree in Learning, Design, and Technology because I believe effective education is not simply delivered—it is intentionally designed. My experiences as an educator, curriculum writer, and mother have shown me that meaningful learning happens when instruction is purposeful, engaging, and responsive to the learner. In both classroom and curriculum settings, I have seen the difference between students who passively receive information and those who actively engage with it. That distinction has shaped the way I approach my graduate studies. I am not just learning how to use educational tools; I am learning how to design experiences that require students to think critically, interact meaningfully, and build understanding that lasts. Through platforms such as Canva, Pear Deck, and Edpuzzle, I have created interactive lessons that move beyond surface-level engagement. More importantly, I have learned to ground these tools in research-based strategies, ensuring that technology enhances learning rather than distracts from it. My graduate work has allowed me to connect theory with practice in a way that feels both relevant and necessary. Concepts such as learner-centered design, cognitive engagement, and differentiated instruction are no longer abstract ideas. They directly inform the way I build lessons, structure activities, and support diverse learners. I have seen how intentional design can increase confidence in struggling students while also challenging those who are ready to go deeper. That kind of impact is what continues to drive my work. My long-term goal is to design curriculum and digital learning environments that are both accessible and effective, particularly for elementary students. I want to bridge the gap between traditional instruction and modern learning design in a way that feels natural and sustainable for teachers while remaining engaging for students. I believe that when learning is thoughtfully designed, it not only improves academic outcomes but also shapes how students view themselves as learners. Pursuing this degree while balancing professional responsibilities and raising a young family has required discipline, resilience, and a strong sense of purpose. My days are often full, and my time is carefully managed, but I remain committed because I understand what this degree represents. It is not simply an academic achievement; it is preparation for meaningful, long-term impact in the field of education. The Eitel Scholarship would provide critical financial support as I continue my graduate studies. It would ease the burden of tuition costs and allow me to focus more fully on my coursework, research, and design projects. Beyond financial assistance, this scholarship would serve as an investment in my ability to create learning experiences that are thoughtful, effective, and student-centered. I am committed to using my education to design learning that matters. Not just content that is covered, but understanding that is built, supported, and sustained. That is the work I am preparing for, and the work I intend to continue.

I don’t just want to build something that looks good on the outside. I want to build something that actually holds weight—something that lasts when life isn’t picture perfect. Right now, I’m building a life that my boys can grow up watching and believing in. Not a flawless one, but a faithful one. As a mom of three, a writer, and someone continuing my education, my days are full in the most real and sometimes chaotic ways. But in the middle of all of it, I’ve realized I’m not just managing life—I’m shaping it. I’m building a future that shows my children what perseverance, faith, and purpose look like in real time. One of the biggest things I’m building is a platform that connects faith to everyday life. Through my writing, especially my book, I’ve stepped into telling the truth about what it looks like to worship outside of perfect moments. I want people to see that growth doesn’t happen when everything is polished—it happens in the middle of the mess, the questions, and the rebuilding. My goal is to continue creating content, curriculum, and spaces that help others—especially women and families—feel seen, equipped, and encouraged in their real lives. I’m also building my future through education. Pursuing my graduate degree isn’t just about a title—it’s about becoming more equipped to create meaningful learning experiences for students. I want to be someone who doesn’t just teach information, but who helps students think, question, and connect what they’re learning to who they are becoming. That kind of impact doesn’t stay in a classroom—it carries into homes, communities, and future generations. The impact of what I’m building matters because it’s not just for me. It’s for my kids, who are watching how I handle hard things. It’s for my students, who deserve to feel capable and inspired. And it’s for the people who need to know they’re not alone in the middle of their own in-between seasons.

Pursuing my Master’s in Learning, Design, and Technology has changed the way I approach learning. It is no longer just about understanding content. It is about how that content can be designed, applied, and experienced by others. Because of that, the online tools and resources I use are not just supports for completing assignments. They are part of how I actively practice and refine the skills I am building through my degree. One of the most impactful tools I use is Canva. Throughout my coursework, I have used Canva to create full lesson slides, visual organizers, and student-facing materials. For example, in one of my projects, I designed a multi-day ELA lesson focused on teaching students how to make inferences using text evidence. Instead of simply outlining the lesson, I built an interactive slide deck that guided students through modeling, practice, and application. This process helped me think intentionally about layout, clarity, and engagement. It pushed me to consider how design choices affect understanding, which is a central focus of my degree. I have also used Edpuzzle to deepen my understanding of interactive instruction. In one assignment, I created a lesson where students watched a short video and responded to embedded questions throughout. This allowed me to apply concepts related to formative assessment and student engagement in a real way. Instead of waiting until the end of a lesson to check for understanding, I was able to design checkpoints within the learning process. This experience reinforced the importance of immediate feedback and active participation. Another tool I frequently use is Pear Deck. In my coursework, I have designed lessons that include real-time student responses, drawing activities, and reflection prompts. One project required me to transform a traditional lesson into an interactive experience, and Pear Deck allowed me to do that effectively. It helped me see how technology can shift students from passive listeners to active participants. This aligns directly with what I am learning about student-centered instruction and engagement. To support research and deepen my understanding of course concepts, I regularly use Google Scholar. This has been essential when working on papers and projects that require evidence-based support. For instance, when studying learning theories such as constructivism and social learning, I used scholarly articles to connect theory to practice. This not only strengthened my academic writing but also helped me make more informed decisions when designing instruction. In addition, I rely on YouTube as a way to see real-world examples of the strategies I am learning. Watching demonstrations of instructional techniques or technology integration helps me visualize how these concepts can be applied in different settings. It provides a practical layer to the theoretical knowledge I gain in my courses. These tools have allowed me to move beyond simply completing assignments. They have helped me build and test ideas, refine my approach, and create meaningful learning experiences. More importantly, they have helped me understand the deeper purpose of my degree. Learning, Design, and Technology is not just about using digital tools. It is about designing instruction that meets learners where they are, engages them in meaningful ways, and supports their growth.

I did not decide to go back to school during a quiet season of life. I decided in the middle of it. In a house that is rarely still, with three little boys who need me all day, and responsibilities that do not pause just because I have goals of my own. It was not the “perfect time,” but I have learned that waiting for perfect usually means never starting. So I started anyway. Being a mom has changed the way I see everything, especially education. It has taught me patience in a way nothing else could. Some days feel slow, messy, and a little overwhelming, but they are also full of growth in ways you do not always see right away. That same patience carries into my schoolwork. There are nights when I am studying after everyone else is asleep, and mornings that start earlier than I would like, but I keep showing up. Motherhood has taught me how to keep going, even when I am tired, and that has made all the difference in returning to school. Going back for my Master’s degree in Learning, Design, and Technology is not just about advancing my career. It is about becoming better at what I already love to do. As an educator and curriculum writer, I care deeply about how students learn and how we can create experiences that actually reach them. I have seen how the right lesson, the right approach, or even the right encouragement can completely change a student’s confidence. I want to be part of that. I want to create learning that feels engaging, meaningful, and accessible for every student, not just the ones who naturally succeed. At the same time, this decision is personal. My boys are always watching, even when I do not realize it. They see me working at the table, reading, writing, and choosing to keep going when it would be easier to stop. I want them to grow up seeing that learning does not stop after a certain age or stage of life. I want them to understand that it is okay to work hard for something, even when it takes time. I am not just telling them that education matters. I am showing them what it looks like to commit to it. Balancing school, work, and motherhood is not easy. There are days when everything feels like it is happening at once, and I have to remind myself to take it one step at a time. I have learned to be flexible, to adjust when needed, and to give myself grace when things do not go perfectly. This journey has stretched me, but it has also strengthened me. It has taught me how to manage my time better, stay focused on what matters, and keep moving forward even when I feel overwhelmed. Going back to school as a mom has not been about proving anything. It has been about growing. It has given me a clearer sense of purpose, not just for my career, but for the kind of life I want to build. I am working toward something that matters to me, while still being present for the people who matter most.

The “Truth or Temptation Trials” is not your typical challenge. It is the kind of experience that pulls people out of their comfort zone and drops them right into the middle of real, unfiltered decision-making. From the outside, it looks fun, a little dramatic, and honestly entertaining. But underneath all of that, it is designed to answer one question. Who are you when you have to choose between what feels good and what is actually right? The first round, “Truth Under Pressure,” sets the tone immediately. One by one, participants take the hot seat while everyone else watches. The questions are not surface level. They are the kind that make you pause for a second and think about what your answer says about you. Each person has a choice. They can answer honestly and build trust, or they can avoid the question and face a consequence. It sounds simple, but in the moment, it is not. You can feel the tension shift depending on what someone chooses. It quickly becomes clear that honesty is not always the easiest option, but it is the one that carries the most weight. Then comes “Temptation Auction,” which takes everything up a notch. Participants are given tokens and the chance to “buy” different advantages like a private moment, a reward, or even a little extra security. The catch is that every reward has a hidden cost. No one knows what they are really agreeing to until it is too late. This round is where personalities start to show. Some people play it safe, while others take big risks for what they want. It is not just about winning something. It is about what someone is willing to risk to get it, and whether they are thinking short term or long term in the process. By the time “The Reveal” begins, everything that has been building finally comes to the surface. Conversations that felt private are no longer hidden, and decisions that seemed small suddenly have real impact. People hear what was said, see what was done, and have to respond in real time. This part is emotional, honest, and sometimes uncomfortable, but it is also where growth happens. It creates space for people to take responsibility, explain their choices, and understand how their actions affected others. What makes this challenge stand out is that it is not just about entertainment. It is about awareness. It shows how quickly situations can shift and how important it is to stay grounded in your values, even when the pressure is high. At the same time, it is fun, unpredictable, and full of moments that keep everyone engaged from start to finish. The “Truth or Temptation Trials” works because it balances everything. It has energy, tension, strategy, and emotion all in one experience. It keeps people on their toes while also pushing them to think a little deeper about their choices. In the end, it is not just about what someone does in the challenge. It is about what those choices reveal, and that is what makes it memorable.

Leadership is not something I step into only when I am in charge. It is something I carry with me in the middle of everyday life, especially when no one is watching. For me, leadership begins in the small, ordinary moments that require patience, consistency, and intention. Whether I am managing a full day with my three young boys or navigating the responsibilities of my career, I have learned that leadership is less about control and more about how I show up for others. As a mother, I lead in ways that are deeply personal and constant. My children are always watching how I respond to challenges, how I treat others, and how I handle stress. This has shaped my understanding of leadership more than anything else. It is not about perfection, but about modeling perseverance, kindness, and responsibility. I lead by creating a stable and loving environment, even on the days that feel overwhelming. That consistency builds trust, and I believe trust is the foundation of any strong leader. In my role as an educator, leadership means creating a space where students feel seen, valued, and capable. I do not believe that leadership is about having all the answers. Instead, it is about guiding students to think critically and believe in their own ability to learn. I design lessons that are engaging and accessible because I understand that every student learns differently. By meeting students where they are and encouraging them to grow, I help build both their confidence and their skills. This kind of leadership is not always visible, but it is impactful. My experience as a curriculum writer has also strengthened my leadership skills. In this role, I create resources that other educators depend on, which requires me to think beyond my own perspective. I consider diverse learning needs, different environments, and varying levels of support. Leadership in this context means being thoughtful, adaptable, and committed to excellence. It is about making decisions that will positively affect not just one group of students, but many. One of the most defining aspects of my leadership comes from my personal experiences with mental health. Instead of allowing those challenges to limit me, I chose to use them as a way to help others. Writing my book gave me the opportunity to share my story and offer encouragement to people who may be struggling in similar ways. Leadership, to me, means being willing to be honest and vulnerable so that others feel less alone. It is about using my experiences to create connection and hope. I am also continuing to grow as a leader through my education and career. As I pursue my Master’s degree in Learning, Design, and Technology and step into a new role in virtual education, I am constantly learning how to adapt and improve. Leadership is not about reaching a final destination. It is about a willingness to keep growing, even when it is uncomfortable, and to bring others along in that process. Ultimately, what makes me a leader is not a title or position. It is the way I consistently show up in my home, my work, and my community. I lead by serving others, building trust, and creating spaces where people can grow. Leadership is not something I do occasionally. It is something I live out every day through my actions, my mindset, and my commitment to making a difference.

Mental health and suicide are not topics that have stayed distant from my life. They’ve been part of my story in ways that have shaped how I see people, how I show up, and how I understand what it means to keep going when things feel heavy. There have been seasons where the weight of everything felt overwhelming. Not always in loud, obvious ways, but in the quiet ones—the exhaustion, the pressure, the feeling of trying to hold everything together while still showing up for everyone else. As a mom, a wife, and someone who pours into others, I’ve learned how easy it is to carry more than you realize until it starts to affect every part of you. Walking through those moments changed me. It made me more aware of how many people are silently struggling. It made me pay attention to what isn’t said out loud. And it deepened my desire to create spaces where people feel seen, understood, and not alone in what they’re carrying. That’s a big part of why I wrote my book, If Walls Could Worship. It came from a place of wanting to be honest about what it looks like to walk through hard seasons and still find God there. Not in a perfect, put-together way, but in the middle of real life. In the questions, the doubts, the quiet moments where you’re just trying to make it through the day. Writing it wasn’t about having all the answers. It was about offering something real. Something that reminds people that worship isn’t just for the easy moments or the ones that look good from the outside. It can exist right in the middle of struggle. It can show up in the middle of doubt, in the middle of pain, and even in the middle of healing that feels slow. Mental health struggles have taught me that people don’t need perfection from each other. They need honesty. They need compassion. They need someone willing to sit in the hard moments without trying to rush past them. That understanding has shaped not only my writing, but the way I approach my life and the people around me. It’s also shaped how I view my purpose moving forward. Whether it’s through writing, teaching, or simply being present in someone’s life, I want to be someone who creates space for others to feel safe enough to be real. To know they don’t have to hide what they’re going through. This part of my story isn’t something I would have chosen, but it’s something that has given me a deeper sense of empathy and a clearer understanding of how much people need to feel seen and valued. If sharing my experiences or my words can help even one person feel less alone, then it has purpose.

I don’t think my passion for early childhood education started in one big moment. It’s been built over time in a lot of small, ordinary ones that ended up meaning more than I expected. It’s in the look on a child’s face when something finally makes sense. It’s in the way they light up when they realize they can do something they thought was too hard. It’s in the questions they ask that seem simple but actually show how they’re starting to understand the world around them. That’s what draws me to early childhood education. These years matter more than people sometimes realize. It’s not just about learning letters and numbers. It’s about building confidence. It’s about curiosity. It’s about helping children see themselves as capable from the very beginning. Being a mom has only deepened that for me. I see every day how learning doesn’t happen in perfect conditions. It happens in the middle of noise, questions, interruptions, and real life. It happens through conversation, through play, and through moments that don’t always look like “teaching” at all. That perspective has changed how I approach education. I don’t just see students as a group I’m teaching. I see them as individuals who are learning in their own way, at their own pace, with their own experiences shaping how they understand things. My experience in both the classroom and curriculum writing has shown me how much the how matters. When learning is meaningful and engaging, students don’t just go through the motions. They connect with it. They start asking questions. They begin to think for themselves. And when that happens, learning sticks in a completely different way. I’ve also learned how important it is to meet children where they are, not where we expect them to be. Every child walks in with a different background, different strengths, and different needs. Some need more time, some need more encouragement, and some just need someone to believe they can do it. Creating a space where they feel safe enough to try, fail, and try again is just as important as anything we teach them. What matters most to me isn’t just that a child meets a standard. It’s that they feel seen. That they feel capable. That they begin to trust themselves as learners. Early childhood is also where so much more than academics is formed. It’s where children start to decide if school is a place where they belong. It’s where relationships are built and trust begins. The way we show up for them during these years can shape how they approach learning for the rest of their lives. It may look like small moments from the outside, but I know they aren’t small at all.

A past student of mine was quiet from the start- watchful, never speaking. As his pre-k teacher, I knew he wasn’t just shy. I worked diligently to advocate for this child. Special education assistance is difficult for pre-K students, so I knew my work was cut out for me. I started using picture cards and gestures to help him communicate. I began to take notes and observations, and eventually, I could sit down with his family and a speech therapist to have a challenging conversation about the child. Soon, this special student worked with the speech therapist in a behavioral learning center. He smiled more, used signs, and even started trying out sounds. Watching him find his voice, little by little, reminded me why I teach—because every child deserves to be heard. One thing I would change about education is standardized testing. Standardized testing was meant to measure learning, but over time, it’s narrowed how we define success. Instead of fostering creativity, curiosity, and critical thinking, it pressures students to memorize and teachers to teach to a test. A 2019 survey revealed that 62% of teachers felt pressured to "teach to the test," sacrificing holistic education in favor of test-specific material. These exams often fail to reflect the diverse ways students learn and grow. A test can’t capture a child's potential or a teacher's impact. It also reinforces inequities—students from under-resourced schools face unfair disadvantages yet are held to the same rigid benchmarks. Ending standardized testing doesn’t mean ending accountability. It means redefining it. Portfolios, project-based learning, and teacher assessments can offer a fuller, fairer picture of student progress. Education should inspire, not rank. The United States spends approximately $1.7 billion annually on standardized testing. This significant expenditure could be redirected toward more effective educational strategies that support diverse learning needs. Standardized testing, while intended to provide objective measures of student achievement, often fails to account for the myriad ways students learn and demonstrate their abilities. Mrs. Cantrell was my third-grade teacher, profoundly impacting my career choice. I still remember the warmth of her classroom—her sweet voice and kind encouragement that made every child feel seen. She wasn’t just my elementary school teacher; she was the first person who made me believe I could do more. I was a quiet, anxious kid—nervous to speak up, afraid to be wrong. But Mrs. Cantrell had a way of making the noise and worry fade. She didn’t rush me or move on when I froze during a class presentation. Instead, she knelt beside me and whispered, “Take your time. You’ve got this.” It wasn’t just what she said—it was how she said it. Like she already believed in me, even when I didn’t. Mrs. Cantrell had a way of turning small moments into lessons that stayed with us. She noticed when I hesitated to raise my hand and gently encouraged me until I did. She celebrated effort over perfection and treated every question as if it mattered. In her eyes, we all had potential waiting to be discovered. Years later, when I stood in front of my classroom for the first time, I realized I had become the kind of teacher she was to me. Patient. Present. Passionate. Mrs. Cantrell didn’t just teach me reading and math—she showed me the power of belief, and that’s why I became an educator