Faith has always been present in my life, but learning how to truly rely on it has become one of my greatest challenges in this ever-changing world. I grew up surrounded by church—my dad, grandpa, and great-grandpa were all pastors—so Christianity was familiar to me long before it was personal. For many years, faith felt like something inherited rather than chosen. The obstacle I faced was learning how to separate tradition from truth and discovering what it truly meant to follow Jesus with intention, honesty, and love. In the spring of 2023, I made the decision to dedicate my life to Christ—not because of church pressure, but because of how God revealed who Jesus truly is to me. Through people’s kindness, patience, and authenticity, as well as their hatred and hurtfulness, I realized that faith is not about blind obedience or exclusion. Instead, it is about aligning my goals and morals with Christ’s call to love others, serve those in need, and walk in truth—while also finding my voice in times of need, which are more frequent than we realize. Trusting God during these seasons required me to ask difficult questions, wrestle with doubt, and lean into prayer rather than fear. One of the hardest realizations for me was recognizing how the church can sometimes lose sight of Jesus’s example. I observed how easily faith communities can emphasize conformity, discourage questioning, or distance themselves from people who believe or look differently. As someone who values truth in storytelling and love for others, this created inner conflict. I relied on my faith to guide me through that tension, trusting that God was not asking me to walk away from faith, but to live it more fully. Jesus welcomed people of every background, culture, and story, and I felt called to reflect that same love. This conviction deeply connects to my passion for theater. Theater is a powerful tool for truth-telling—it breaks stereotypes, builds empathy, and allows people to see one another more clearly. Growing up in St. Louis in recent years, I have had access to theater and the arts, but I have become increasingly aware that many communities—especially minority and international communities—do not have those same opportunities. Relying on my faith has helped me see my love for theater not just as a career goal, but as a calling. My dream is to be both a Broadway performer and a missionary. To me, those roles are not separate. Whether traveling abroad or serving within my own community, I want to use creativity as a way to spread hope, dignity, and love. Faith has taught me that being a missionary does not always mean going far—it means being a light wherever God places you. Through prayer and trust, I learned to overcome my doubts and step into a faith that is active, inclusive, and rooted in love. Relying on God helped me turn uncertainty into purpose, and I carry that faith with me as I continue my education and calling forward.

From a young age, I knew theater was more than entertainment—it was a place where stories came alive, voices were heard, and people could see themselves reflected on stage. Growing up as a black girl adopted into a white family, I always felt different, though I did not fully understand it until later. I was homeschooled and involved in musical theater through youth companies, and I even spent a year in a professional theater company at a young age. Although labeled “professional,” I often felt overlooked and not taken seriously. I did not receive the guidance or support I needed, and I noticed I was not given the same attention as other children, especially those already known within the company. Being one of very few black children in that Texas-based company was my first clear lesson in how race and access shape opportunity in the arts. These early experiences sparked my dream: to perform professionally on Broadway and later become an educator who makes theater accessible to all children, particularly those from underrepresented communities. Theater is not just an art form for me; it is a vehicle for storytelling, cultural understanding, and empowerment. However, pursuing this dream has not been without significant obstacles. I have struggled with vocal muscle dysfunction, a condition that affects my breathing, speaking, and singing. At times, it feels like I am being choked, and I lose my voice much faster than others. The pain and discouragement this causes have been emotionally challenging, blocking me from performing at my full potential and testing my confidence in pursuing my goals. I have refused to let this condition define or stop me. It has taught me patience, resilience, and the importance of care and persistence in reaching my goals. I have learned to work with specialists, adjust my training, and find new ways to strengthen my voice while protecting it. Each small improvement reinforces my commitment to my dream, reminding me that even setbacks can fuel growth. I have learned to navigate spaces where I am often one of very few students of color, noticing the subtle ways in which voices like mine can be silenced or overlooked. In theater, I have seen how casting, storytelling, and access are shaped by systemic barriers, and how cultural styles—especially in music, movement, and expression—are often excluded because they do not fit the dominant narrative. Moving frequently during my childhood and growing up surrounded by white culture taught me to observe, adapt, and connect with people across differences, but it also made me acutely aware of inequities in opportunity and representation. This awareness fuels my drive to not only succeed personally but also create inclusive spaces where the contributions of students of color are valued, celebrated, and heard. To achieve my “Pie in the Sky,” I plan to continue refining my skills through training, auditions, and performance opportunities, while learning to navigate the limitations of my voice responsibly. I aim to perform professionally and eventually teach, inspiring children to see how theater can empower them to express themselves and connect with the world. By making theater accessible to all, I hope to create spaces where every student feels seen, valued, and capable of dreaming big, no matter the obstacles they face. My dream is ambitious and challenging, but it is rooted in everything I have experienced—the struggles with my identity, my voice, and access in the arts—and everything I hope to give back. Theater is my medium for transformation, and I intend to use my voice, however I must care for it, to inspire, uplift, and empower the next generation.

What I have seen and experienced over the past few years as a black woman has been a little different from how I grew up as a black girl adopted into a white family. I was adopted as a baby, so I have always felt different, though I did not fully understand that difference until I got older. Growing up, I was homeschooled and involved in musical theater through youth companies, and I spent a year in a professional theater company at a young age. Although labeled “professional,” I often felt overlooked and not taken seriously. I did not receive the guidance or support I needed, and I noticed I was not given the same attention as other children—especially those already known within the company. Being one of very few black children in that Texas-based company was one of the first moments I became deeply aware of how race and access shape opportunity in the arts. As I grew older, especially in high school and now in college, these differences became even more noticeable. At Messiah University, I am one of only four black students in the Theater and Performing Arts Department. Despite being a Junior who invests significant time and effort into classes and auditions, I often feel pushed aside, particularly in casting decisions. Roles have repeatedly gone to underclassmen or others while I have been left out. While I try to believe these decisions are skill-based, it becomes difficult when nearly everyone else is cast. This past semester has been especially emotionally exhausting. At the same time, I became a PR representative for our campus’s Black Student Union, which allowed me to share culture and make a meaningful impact on campus. That role reminded me that even small steps toward representation matter. Being a black woman in the arts has meant navigating spaces where my voice often feels silenced or ignored. History shows how women and people of color have repeatedly been dismissed in artistic spaces, and I have seen those patterns reflected in my own education. Many cultural styles of music, movement, and storytelling are quietly excluded because they do not fit the dominant culture. My perspective is shaped by growing up surrounded by white culture while also connecting with my black identity, as well as moving frequently during my childhood. I have witnessed systemic barriers firsthand, especially in auditions and in the limited range of roles available—many of which are written for or assumed to belong to white performers. Observing which voices are welcomed and which styles of expression are considered “acceptable” has deepened my awareness of inequity. These experiences reveal how the lack of diversity affects not only performers but also the stories that are told. While these obstacles have pushed me to work harder, they have also been frustrating. I bring passion, creativity, and ideas into the room, yet those contributions are not always valued. I have learned that this is not just my experience, but one shared by other students of color. This past semester was emotionally exhausting and discouraging, but I also became a PR for our campus’s Black Student Union, which allowed me to help share cultures and make a small impact on campus. These experiences have shaped my journey as an artist and as a person. Though the process has been difficult, it has strengthened my understanding of who I am, where I come from, and why my voice matters. They have also fueled my commitment to make theater accessible and inclusive, so others can experience the transformative power of the arts, tell their stories, and feel seen.

What I have seen and experienced over the past few years as a black woman has been a little different from how I grew up as a black girl adopted into a white family. I was adopted as a baby and always felt different, though I did not fully understand it until I got older. Growing up, I was homeschooled and involved in musical theater through youth companies, including a year in a professional theater company. Although labeled “professional,” I often felt overlooked and unsupported. I noticed I was not given the same attention as other children—especially those already known in the company. As one of very few black children in that Texas-based company, I first became aware of how race and access shape opportunities in the arts. As I got older, especially in high school and college, these differences became impossible to ignore. At Messiah University, I am one of only four black students in the Theater and Performing Arts Department. Despite being a junior who consistently invests time and effort into classes and auditions, I have often felt pushed aside, particularly in casting decisions. Roles frequently went to underclassmen, while I was left out. While I try to believe decisions are skill-based, it is difficult when nearly everyone else has been cast. This past semester was especially emotionally exhausting. At the same time, I became a PR for our campus’s Black Student Union, which allowed me to share cultures and make an important impact on campus. Being a black woman in the arts has meant navigating spaces where my voice often feels silenced. History shows how women and people of color have repeatedly been dismissed in artistic spaces, and I have seen those patterns reflected in my education. Many cultural styles of music, movement, and storytelling are quietly excluded because they do not fit the dominant culture. My perspective is shaped by growing up surrounded by white culture while learning to connect with my black identity, as well as moving frequently during childhood. I have witnessed systemic barriers firsthand, particularly in auditions and the limited roles available. These experiences have strengthened my resolve to use my education to give back. Theater is an art form that should be accessible to everyone. Being a resident of St. Louis, I am fortunate to have ample opportunities to experience theater, but many children, especially from minority communities, have not had that privilege. Theater can break stereotypes, tell unique stories, and connect people across cultures. My goal is to perform professionally and eventually become a teacher so I can inspire children and show them how essential live theater can be. I want to help students learn about history and culture while using creativity to express themselves and connect with the world. By making theater accessible to all, I hope to create spaces where every student feels seen, valued, and empowered.

Arts education has played a significant role in my life by shaping how I see the world, understand culture, and express myself creatively. From a very young age, theatre introduced me to storytelling that goes beyond entertainment and instead builds empathy, connection, and understanding. When I was four years old, I saw The Lion King on Broadway with my grandma, and that experience changed my life. Although I had seen the animated film many times before, the live performance was magical and unexpected. I was mesmerized by the music, dancing, acting, and the people on stage who looked like me and shared their story through art. That performance sparked my love for musical theatre and African culture, and it introduced me to a new understanding of my own identity. I learned about the hardworking artists behind the scenes and realized that theatre could teach culture, history, and emotion in powerful ways. That night inspired me to believe that I, too, could be part of that world. As I continued to grow, arts education became a source of belonging and personal growth. Theatre taught me acceptance, empathy, and the importance of community. Being part of the theatre community showed me how love and respect can be extended to everyone, regardless of their background or appearance. Through storytelling, I learned that everyone has a distinct story worth telling, and theatre allows us to connect to those stories on a deeply personal level. Because I was homeschooled throughout high school, my access to traditional school theatre programs was limited. However, organizations like Gateway Center for Performing Arts played a crucial role in my artistic development. GCPA made theatre education accessible by offering affordable classes and educational productions at little to no cost. Through GCPA, I was able to participate in meaningful productions and learn from professional Broadway performers through workshops and intensive classes. These opportunities showed me that theatre could be a real career and gave me the confidence to continue pursuing my craft. The people who inspired me most were the artists and educators who dedicated their lives to making theatre accessible—starting with my grandma, who introduced me to theatre at a young age, and continuing with the teachers and professionals at GCPA who believed in my potential. Their encouragement showed me that creativity is valuable and that my voice matters. Seeing professionals who looked like me and shared their experiences pushed me to keep going, even when access to theatre felt limited. Arts education has not only shaped my artistic goals but also my future aspirations. It inspired my dream of performing professionally on Broadway and later becoming an educator so I can give back by inspiring children the same way I was inspired. Theatre taught me that art has the power to heal, connect, and uplift people, and I am committed to continuing my craft so I can help share that power with others.