Community, to me, has never been an abstract idea. I have spent the last several years learning that service is not one grand gesture but a series of consistent, sometimes unglamorous commitments to the people around you, and I have tried to build my community involvement around that principle. The work I am proudest of is the Illinois Lyme Association, a statewide nonprofit where I serve as Program and Operations Manager. Tickborne disease shaped my childhood, and I grew up watching how little support existed for families going through what mine did, especially in rural areas where awareness and access to resources are scarce. Through ILA, I helped build the "Be Tick Aware" program, which tracks tick-awareness signage distribution across all 102 Illinois counties so that families in every part of the state, not just well-resourced ones, have basic information that could prevent years of suffering. I also founded the Illinois Tick Policy Coalition to push that work further into legislation, and I helped to pass the Lauryn Russell Lyme Disease Prevention and Protection Law alongside three other bills, translating community need directly into policy change that will outlast any single program. Community service has also meant showing up for people whose struggles have nothing to do with tick-borne illness. I lead 1830 Ministry at my church, a group for young adults ages eighteen to thirty, where I organize events and try to build a space where people navigating early adulthood, some of them far from family, some of them quietly struggling, know they have somewhere to belong. Earlier this year, I organized a fundraiser at our local opera house to help young adults in our ministry attend a faith conference many could not otherwise afford, handling everything from ticket logistics to volunteer coordination to the event itself. It was a small event by most standards, but for the people it allowed to attend, it mattered enormously. I have also tried to make my expertise useful beyond my own organizations. I have written grant applications specifically to bring resources into underserved communities, and I host a podcast, the Lyme Ledger, to make information about tickborne illness accessible to people who would otherwise have to piece it together alone the way my family once did. None of this work has felt like charity to me. It has felt like paying forward what I needed and did not always have. To have someone to believe me, someone to build the resource I was missing, someone to make sure I was not navigating something hard by myself. I plan to carry that same instinct into my graduate studies and eventual career in public policy, because I believe the strongest communities are built by people who treat service not as an occasional act but as the ongoing work of their lives.

I was twelve when I first stood up for a cause that I didn’t know would become a career, or that it would teach me what selflessness actually costs. Since then, I’ve spent more than a decade working to prevent tick-borne disease in Illinois. I’ve helped to pass four pieces of Illinois legislation, including the law that now carries my name and protects families across the state. I now serve as Program & Operations Manager at the Illinois Lyme Association, and I founded the Illinois Tick Policy Coalition. None of this was glamorous, with much of it unpaid and a lot of late nights. For me, altruism is a daily practice more than a single grand gesture. It looks like writing federal grant proposals so that prevention education reaches people who would otherwise never see it. It looks like recording an episode of the Lyme Ledger podcast so someone newly overwhelmed by a diagnosis feels less alone. And it looks like showing up for the young adults I lead in 1830 Ministry, a group for ages 18 to 30, where my job is simply to make room for people and remind them they matter. Perseverance has been the harder lesson. Policy work moves slowly. Things can fall through, and progress is often measured in inches. However, I’ve learned that persistence is a form of love for the people who benefit from work they’ll never know I did. I keep going because I believe communities are protected by people willing to do the unseen work. What has sustained me, though, is not the legislation itself but the relationships behind it. Every bill I’ve worked on was shaped by conversations with families, clinicians, volunteers, and lawmakers willing to listen. I’ve learned that policy is a human process. Trust is built one meeting at a time, and the people who keep showing up are the ones who eventually get heard. Those relationships have taught me far more than any statute I’ve helped write. That belief is why I’m pursuing my Master of Public Affairs at the University of Missouri’s Truman School. I’ve seen how much good can be slowed down by the systems meant to deliver it, and I’ve seen what becomes possible when those systems are designed with the people they serve in mind. I want to build the analytical and administrative skills to close that gap, and to carry the lessons of grassroots work into the rooms where decisions are made. Michael Rudometkin understood that life isn’t only about grades. It’s about relationships and lifting others along the way. That is the kind of life I’m trying to build.

Policy and Government Aspirations: My interest in legislative work didn’t begin with a passion for government. It began with my diagnosis of Lyme disease, which pulled me in and out of hospitals throughout my childhood. I had been undiagnosed for three years and in treatment for four years. By the time I was twelve, I had learned an extremely hard lesson. That this suffering would not stop unless someone were willing to make a change. So I started showing up; I made connections with my state legislators and made change in my own community and in my home state of Illinois. I testified and contacted legislative offices, and I learned how a bill actually becomes law through watching full committee hearings and competing priorities. That work has since grown into multiple pieces of Illinois legislation, and I’m honored to have the privilege of one being named after me, the Lauryn Russell Lyme Disease Prevention and Protection Law. After we created change, my mom became the Founder and the Executive Director of the Illinois Lyme Association, established around 10 years ago. I am now working as the Program & Operations Manager for the Illinois Lyme Association to help continue and grow that change in Illinois. These experiences also pushed me to found the Illinois Tick Policy Coalition, while also participating on a Federal level as a Team Lead for the Center for Lyme Action. Right now, my work is rooted in all types of government, local, state, and federal, because that is where I have watched real change happen for families who have struggled in the same way I have. I have written grant applications to the CDC and USDA, and I am pursuing an MPA at the University of Missouri's Truman School with certificates in nonprofit management and public policy. I want to eventually help shape tick-borne disease and rural health policy, where federal funding decisions ripple down into every local county health department I currently work with. Tick-borne disease policy is the issue I care most deeply about, and it has taught me something specific: that health does not belong to one political party. Civil discourse, in practice, is about finding the shared ground that was there all along, and I have learned that civil discourse is not the skill people assume it to be. It is the actual mechanism by which policy survives contact with reality. A bill can be perfectly researched and still fail if the people writing it never learned to listen to the patients or citizens who will be affected by it.

I have been asking God questions since I was old enough to understand what suffering was. Lyme disease put me in hospital beds and sick days instead of classrooms for most of my childhood, and I remember praying the same question over and over. Why me? What do you need me to do with this? I did not get a clear answer then. What I got instead was years of learning to trust God in the waiting, long before I understood what I was waiting for. My faith carried me through the parts of chronic illness that were harder than the symptoms themselves, and that was being disbelieved. Doctors who thought I was exaggerating, and who doubted whether I was really sick at all. There were seasons when my faith was the only place I could set my burdens down, because I could not control whether people believed me. I could trust that God saw exactly what I was carrying even when no one else did. That trust did not remove the suffering, but it kept me from becoming bitter inside it. That formation is where my entrepreneurial spirit and my faith became inseparable. I didn’t set out to build organizations, but set out to make sure no other child would sit in a hospital bed being told their pain was imaginary. Building something from nothing requires the same kind of faith that got me through childhood illness. The willingness to keep working toward something you cannot yet see in full shape, trusting that the effort is not wasted even when the outcome is not guaranteed. My faith has also shaped the kind of entrepreneur and advocate I want to be, one who conducts herself with integrity. I have watched how easily advocacy work can become about ego or visibility, and my faith keeps pulling me back to the actual point of serving people who are struggling, not building a personal brand. That accountability and sense that my work is ultimately answerable to God, and not just to donors or headlines. As I move forward with my study in public administration and policy, I’m continuing to build my nonprofit work and public policy career. I know my career will not be free of setbacks. But I no longer need every step explained to me before I trust it. I have already lived the proof that faithfulness in hard seasons prepares you for purposes you cannot yet see, and that is the confidence I will carry into every venture ahead of me.

I have never had what most people would consider a traditional educational path. I am an online college student living with chronic Lyme disease, a condition I’ve battled since I was seven years old. My illness affects everything, from my energy levels to my ability to complete schoolwork consistently, but it has also shaped the person I’ve become. Instead of letting it hold me back, I’ve learned to persevere and create purpose out of the challenges I face. Balancing college with a chronic illness is not easy. Some days, even tasks that seem small can feel overwhelming. But I have always believed that adversity does not diminish someone’s potential; it simply asks for resilience and determination. Alongside my coursework, I serve as the Executive Director of a 501(c)(4) organization, and I volunteer with support groups for both adults and college-aged students who are struggling with Lyme disease. These groups allow me to be part of a community that understands what it means to fight an invisible battle, and I do everything I can to support them and remind them that they are not alone. My passion for advocacy began when I was twelve years old. Even as a child, I understood that many people facing chronic illness are not well enough to tell their story. I decided early on that I wanted to be a voice for those who could not be their own. I learned to turn my experiences into tools for change. I often say that I wanted to make my mess my message, and that mission continues to guide me today. Through legislative work, community organizing, volunteering, and public awareness efforts, I’ve committed myself to improving the lives of those living with Lyme disease and other chronic conditions. One moment that significantly shaped me was watching my mom create the Illinois Lyme Association when I was sick. Seeing her transform fear and uncertainty into action taught me what leadership looks like when it comes from compassion. It showed me that one person’s efforts can ripple outward and change an entire community. That experience is a large part of why I want to continue in this field. My ultimate goal is to pursue nonprofit management so I can continue building the advocacy work my mom started. I want to run organizations that support patients, educate the public, influence policy, and ensure that no one navigating chronic illness feels forgotten or overlooked. My experiences have given me not just insight, but purpose, and I want to use that purpose to uplift others, just as so many people did for me. I may not be the typical student, but I believe my journey reflects the same qualities Andrea valued: resilience, kindness, compassion, and a commitment to lifting others. My path has not been perfect or predictable, but it has been meaningful. And it has given me a deep drive to make a lasting impact, not despite my challenges, but because of them.