“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” – Frederick Buechner This quote beautifully reflects how I have come to understand my purpose. The moments that bring me the deepest joy are those in which I am serving others and building connection. Through music, theater, and communication, I have discovered that what I love most are also the tools I can use to make a meaningful difference in my community. My experiences volunteering in my community have shown me how powerful even small acts of care can be. One way I serve others is by playing piano at local nursing homes. Music has a unique ability to reach people beyond words. While playing familiar songs, I have watched residents light up as they sing along or quietly remember melodies from their past. These moments remind me that simple acts of sharing music can restore joy, dignity, and connection for those who may feel forgotten. I have also served as an early childhood teacher at a homeschool co-op. Working with young children has taught me patience, empathy, and adaptability. Each child learns differently, and I have learned that teaching is not only about instruction, but about encouragement. Helping children feel confident, valued, and curious has shown me how important it is to invest in the next generation with care and intentionality. These experiences have shaped my desire to expand my impact in the future. One idea I hope to develop is a youth program that combines theater arts, music, and communications media, bringing these performances into nursing homes. This program would give students the opportunity to create and present performances that blend storytelling, music, and media expression, while also crossing generational lines through community visits. By performing in nursing homes and other care settings, students would not only grow in confidence and creativity, but also learn the value of connection across generations. My goal is to build a space where young people can develop their voices while also bringing joy, presence, and human connection to older adults who may feel isolated. In addition, I hope to continue combining my interests in theater, communication, and American Sign Language to serve communities that are often overlooked. Storytelling and performance can build empathy by helping people understand experiences different from their own. I have seen through my own involvement in theater that stories have the power to heal, connect, and give voice to emotions that are often difficult to express. Looking ahead, I hope to use creativity, communication, and service to uplift others in practical and meaningful ways. Whether through music for someone who feels lonely, guidance for a child discovering confidence, or storytelling that fosters understanding, I want my life’s work to reflect consistent care for others. If selected for this scholarship, I would use it not only to further my education, but to continue growing in my ability to serve others. My goal is to build a life where my passions directly meet the needs of my community, creating spaces where people feel seen, heard, and valued. In doing so, I hope to make the world a little more connected and a little more kind, one act of service at a time.

For years, I've been involved in competitive archery, where I’ve also had the opportunity to coach younger students through the pressures of tournaments while competing on the line. There have been countless times when I have walked alongside students overwhelmed with anxiety, whether it was their first competition or the intensity of state and national-level events, offering encouragement, steady reassurance, and practical guidance through each step of the shooting process. Those experiences have taught me that kindness can mean being a calm presence in moments that feel overwhelming. I think of my last state tournament; where I was trying to reset my focus between ends when I noticed an archer on the lane next to me. He was younger, and after nearly every shot, he would lower his bow and begin to cry. I asked him quietly what was going on. He told me that he could shoot perfectly in practice, often hitting consistent bullseyes, but for some reason, he was falling apart. His coach tried speaking with him, and his friends and teammates were offering encouragement, but nothing was helping. He was overwhelmed by pressure and expectation, and each arrow only seemed to make it worse. Something in that moment shifted my focus away from myself. I began to walk him through what I have learned over years of competition. I showed him how to reset his stance before each shot, how to take slow, intentional breaths between arrows, and how to release frustration after a poor shot instead of carrying it into the next one. Most importantly, I reminded him that a tournament didn’t define his worth as an archer, and that he was already capable, even if the results didn’t feel that way yet. Slowly, I watched him begin to change. His breathing steadied. He stopped dropping his bow after every arrow. He started to reset between shots instead of shutting down. By the end of the day, he was still emotional, but he was no longer spiraling in the same way. After the tournament, both his coach and his father came to thank me, explaining that he struggled deeply with perfectionism and that this experience had helped their family more than they could say. I ended up winning that tournament, but I have always felt that the greater impact was not my score. It was realizing that I had been given the chance to help someone else find stability in a moment of overwhelm. At the homeschool co-op where I volunteer as an early childhood teacher, I have also seen how music can bring an entire community together across generations. Our group regularly organizes visits to a local nursing home, where students share poetry, music, and time with residents. After the younger children finish their presentations, I often sit at the piano and begin a familiar hymn. What stands out most to me is not just the music itself, but the way it draws people together. Residents who had been distracted in the throes of dementia start to tap along or warblingly hum familiar melodies along with the children. In those moments, the room feels unified in a way that transcends age. The children learn that their voices matter in a shared space, while the residents are reminded that their memories and experiences are still valued. I have seen strangers become a community through something as simple as a song. For me, these moments reflect what I hope to carry into every space I enter. Whether through teaching, performing, or volunteering, I want to help create environments where people feel included and connected to one another.

I was ten years old when I first experienced the death of someone I loved, a loss that has shaped who I am and what I believe I have been created to do: to serve others. As Emily Dickinson writes, “If I can stop one heart from breaking… I shall not have lived in vain.” That conviction has quietly guided my life. Some of my earliest memories are of my older cousin Cameron, who was seven years older, and seemed as far ahead in confidence and adventure. Our families were close, spending Thanksgivings and summers together at the lake. Cameron was there when I got a fishhook stuck in my eye at five, when we scaled a barn wall so I could see the swallows’ nests hidden in the rafters, and he was behind the wheel when we accidentally drove a four-wheeler into my grandfather’s cornfield. To me, he was fearless. In the fall of 2018, we gathered for Thanksgiving, this time at Cameron’s home in Alabama. The week followed our familiar rhythm: playing disc golf, watching comedy videos, laughing until we couldn’t breathe. Cameron, the oldest cousin, teased us by stuffing us into closets and wrestling with my younger siblings. At the end of the trip, we hugged goodbye. I remember him telling me he loved me; rare for a seventeen-year-old boy surrounded by younger cousins. A few weeks later, Cameron was gone. He had taken his own life. At his funeral, I stood behind his casket and sang “Be Thou My Vision.” I didn’t yet understand grief, only the disorienting reality that someone who had always been there was suddenly not. I didn’t know how to speak about it, so I turned to books. In literature, I found language for emotions I couldn’t name, and that love of language eventually led me to the stage. Through theater, I discovered not only expression, but confrontation. At sixteen, I was cast as Aravis in an adaptation of The Horse and His Boy. My character wrestled with despair and the same choice Cameron faced. Performing that scene night after night, more than 150 times, I could no longer avoid Cameron’s absence. I faced it. Standing on stage, just a year younger than Cameron had been, I began to understand both the weight of unseen pain and the permanence of loss. The role reshaped me. It deepened my empathy and gave me a lasting awareness of how much can remain hidden beneath ordinary moments. After shows, audience members would approach me with tears in their eyes, sharing how deeply the story affected them. In those moments, I realized that storytelling does more than reflect human experience; it reaches into it. It creates space for connection, for honesty, for healing. That’s when I realized: Cameron’s story didn’t end with his death. Through classical literature and performance, I had been given the words to share it. As a current high school senior, I plan to double major in Theater and English, focusing on classical literature. My commitment to the arts is rooted in service. I have volunteered through music and performance in community settings, where I have seen how storytelling brings comfort to those who feel isolated. In the future, I hope to create a storytelling initiative that mentors young people in stage and communication. I want to help them embrace their stories and find their voices, just as I did. Just as I wish Cameron could have. Theater has given me language, direction, and a way to honor what I have lost. I intend to spend my life using it to reach others.

“Those of us who write, who sing, who paint, must remember that to a child a song may glow like a nightlight in a scary bedroom.” Theater has never been just a stage to me; it has been a place of formation, challenge, and belonging. My journey isn’t defined by accolades, but by a growing love for others and a desire to help them find their voice. Through theater, I have discovered that storytelling isn’t only a means of expression, but a way of healing, both for myself and for others. My beginnings in theater trace back to my childhood, marked by repeated injuries and setbacks. By age eight, I had endured three eye surgeries, a fractured jaw, and a broken arm. For a time, I defined myself by these limitations. Theater changed that. Hours on stage demanded discipline, patience, and resilience, teaching me that potential requires effort, and that growth is often quiet and unseen. I began to understand that strength isn’t the absence of hardship, but the decision to continue. Through classical text and stage performance, I found language for what I couldn’t yet speak. My foundation in classical education, stage performance, media, and literature, has shaped my desire to connect people through both spoken and written word. I’m fascinated by how stories, whether on stage, in print, or through media, can illuminate human experience, foster empathy, and bridge cultural divides. My involvement in theater has taken many forms. I have performed in large-scale productions that traveled across the nation, worked behind the scenes as a volunteer costume assistant and assistant director with Ambleview Village Homeschool Co-op, and served as a choreographer for the VELOS STORM Homeschool Co-op musical theater class. Each role has taught me something different. On stage, I have learned empathy and the discipline of embodying another’s story. Behind the scenes, I have learned patience, collaboration, and the quiet work that allows production to come to life. As a choreographer, I have had the privilege of guiding younger students, helping them grow in confidence as they discover the joy of effort transformed into the beauty of storytelling. Beyond the stage, my commitment to the arts is closely tied to service. I have volunteered through music and performance in community settings, where I have seen how storytelling can bring comfort and connection to those who feel isolated. Theater isn’t only about performance, but about presence. It is about using creativity to reach people where they are and empowering them to embrace their stories and share their voices. As a current high school senior, I plan to double major in Theater and English, focusing on classical literature, at a local university in South Carolina. This summer, I will travel with the Greenville Shakespeare Company, deepening my understanding of classical performance and its enduring relevance. I’m especially drawn to Shakespeare because his work reveals something timeless about the human condition, inviting performer and audience into reflection and connection. In the future, I hope to establish a storytelling initiative that mentors youth in stage, dance, and communication. I want to grow a program that encourages young people to embrace their stories and share their voices, helping them use the stage to shape purpose and discover where their deep gladness meets the world’s deep hunger. For now, I hope to continue working in community-based theater, using storytelling to foster empathy across different backgrounds and experiences. True accomplishment isn’t measured by recognition, but by the lives changed and the courage awakened in others. Theater has given me a voice, and I hope to spend my life helping others discover their own.

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” - Frederick Buechner This quote beautifully captures how I have begun to understand my purpose. The moments that bring me the deepest joy are the moments when I am connecting with and serving others. Through music, theater, and communication, I have discovered that the things I love most are also the tools I hope to use to make a meaningful difference in the lives of others. Reading about the woman whose life inspired the Our Destiny Our Future Scholarship deeply resonated with me. Her compassion and dedication to helping others reflect the kind of life I hope to live. I admire the way she poured herself into serving people around her, and I hope that through my own work and education I can carry forward that same spirit of generosity and care. I feel especially drawn to serving children and the elderly; two groups that need compassion and genuine human connection. My experiences volunteering in my community have shown me how powerful even small acts of care can be. One way I serve others is by volunteering as a pianist at local nursing homes. Music has a unique ability to reach people in ways that words sometimes cannot. While playing familiar songs for residents, I have watched faces light up as people begin to sing along or quietly hum melodies they remember from decades ago. These moments remind me that something as simple as sharing music can restore a sense of joy and connection. I have also served as a kindergarten teacher at my family's homeschool co-op. Working with young children has taught me patience and empathy. Every child learns differently, and part of my role is helping them feel confident and curious as they explore the world around them. I have learned that teaching is not simply about sharing information, it is about encouraging children to believe in their abilities and feel valued for who they are. These experiences have inspired ideas for ways I hope to serve my community in the future. One project I am passionate about developing is a music-based outreach group for children with disabilities. Music provides a powerful and accessible form of expression, especially for children who may struggle with traditional communication. I hope to create a space where children can connect through rhythm, singing, and instruments, allowing them to express themselves freely while building friendships with others who share a love for music. My goal is not only to create a joyful environment, but also to help children feel seen, heard, and included. Looking ahead, I hope to combine my interests in theater, communication, and American Sign Language to reach communities that are often overlooked. Storytelling and performance have the ability to build empathy by helping audiences understand experiences different from their own. The woman whose memory this scholarship honors lived a life defined by compassion and generosity. Her example inspires me to pursue a future centered on service and connection. If I were selected for this scholarship, it would not only support my education but also motivate me to continue living out those same values. My goal is to use creativity, communication, and kindness to uplift others; whether that means playing music for someone who feels lonely, helping a child discover confidence, or creating spaces where people feel heard and valued. In doing so, I hope to honor Destiny's legacy by continuing the work of caring for others and making the world a little more compassionate, one connection at a time.