Growing up in a low-income, single-parent household taught me perseverance, responsibility, and resilience at a young age. As a Cambodian refugee family, we experienced instability, cultural challenges, and financial hardship while trying to build a life in the United States. Without strong guidance and structure during my teenage years, I eventually became involved in gang life and destructive choices that led me down a dangerous path. Those experiences forced me to confront the reality that my life could either end in violence or be transformed through purpose and accountability. Over time, I committed myself to rebuilding my life through faith, education, and service to others. Today, I serve as the Executive Director of Hope Now, a nonprofit organization focused on violence prevention, workforce development, and mentoring justice-impacted individuals. I also lead a church plant called The Pardoned, where we help first-generation believers and families develop stability, leadership, and hope. My background allows me to connect with young people and adults who feel forgotten or trapped by their circumstances. I use my experiences to encourage others to pursue lawful living, employment, education, and healthy relationships. I am currently pursuing a Doctor of Ministry degree so I can strengthen my leadership skills and expand programs that help reduce violence and build stronger communities. My goal is to continue creating pathways for transformation so others can believe that their past does not have to define their future.

My story begins as a refugee from Cambodia, a background shaped by displacement, survival, and rebuilding. Like many who come from immigrant families, my life has been marked by both hardship and resilience. The journey of coming to a new country is not just about changing locations—it is about rebuilding identity, learning new systems, and finding purpose in the midst of struggle. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the challenges that immigrant families face, including language barriers, financial instability, and the pressure to adapt quickly while still holding onto cultural identity. These experiences shaped my understanding of perseverance and gave me a deep appreciation for opportunity. At the same time, they exposed me to cycles of brokenness in my community, including gang involvement, incarceration, and lack of access to education and employment. Rather than allowing those realities to define my future, they became the very reason I chose to pursue a different path. Today, I serve in leadership through Hope Now for Youth and The Pardoned Church, where I work directly with individuals who are facing many of the same challenges I once encountered. My goal is not only to lead but to walk alongside others as they rebuild their lives. I believe that leadership is not about position, but about responsibility, helping others see that transformation is possible. Whether through workforce development, mentorship, or spiritual guidance, I am committed to creating pathways for people to move from instability to purpose. As a first-generation student, education has become a key part of my journey. I am currently pursuing further academic development to sharpen my leadership, deepen my understanding of ministry, and increase my ability to serve effectively. My career aspirations center on expanding the impact of organizations like Hope Now by building sustainable programs that provide jobs, mentorship, and long-term support for individuals coming out of difficult life circumstances. I also desire to continue growing The Pardoned Church as a place where people from all backgrounds, especially immigrants and those with justice involvement, can find belonging, healing, and direction. Ultimately, my vision is to bridge the gap between faith, community development, and practical support. I want to help create environments where people are not only told that they matter, but are given real opportunities to rebuild their lives. My immigrant experience has given me both the empathy and determination to pursue this work with purpose. This scholarship would not only support my educational journey but also strengthen my ability to give back to the very communities that shaped me. My goal is simple: to turn my story into a platform that helps others rise.

At 50 years old, choosing to return to school is not just a personal milestone, it is a continuation of a life shaped by hardship, redemption, and purpose. My journey has not followed a traditional path. I am a former gang member, formerly justice-involved, and someone who spent years navigating poor decisions, addiction, and instability. Yet, through faith, community, and second chances, my life has been transformed. Today, I serve as an Executive Director of a nonprofit and a pastor, dedicating my life to helping others find the same hope and direction that I was given. These life experiences have deeply shaped my values. I understand what it means to feel lost, to lack opportunity, and to believe that your future is limited by your past. Because of that, I value compassion, accountability, and the power of consistent support. I have seen firsthand that real change happens when people are given not just resources, but relationships and purpose. This has driven my commitment to serve justice-involved individuals, at-risk youth, and families in my community. Returning to higher education at this stage in my life is not about personal achievement alone, it is about increasing my capacity to lead and serve effectively. I am currently pursuing a Doctor of Ministry degree, and I genuinely love learning. Education gives me the tools to think critically, lead strategically, and build programs that create lasting impact. It strengthens my ability to develop systems that help people transition from survival to stability, from incarceration to employment, and from hopelessness to purpose. As an Executive Director, I am responsible for shaping programs that provide job training, mentorship, and wraparound support. With further education, I plan to expand these efforts by integrating research-based strategies into violence prevention, workforce development, and community transformation. I want to help build sustainable models that not only change individual lives but also strengthen entire communities. Additionally, I aim to mentor other leaders, especially those with similar backgrounds, so they can rise into positions of influence and continue the cycle of restoration. This scholarship would directly support my ability to continue this educational journey without placing additional financial strain on my family or the organization I serve. As someone deeply committed to nonprofit work, resources are often limited, and every dollar matters. This support would allow me to focus more fully on my studies and apply what I am learning in real time to the work I am doing in the community. Debra S. Jackson’s story resonates with me because it reflects the courage it takes to start again later in life. Like her, I believe that education is transformative at any age. Going back to school at 50 is not a setback, it is an investment in greater impact. I am committed to using my education not just to improve my own life, but to open doors for others, just as doors were once opened for me.

The Silent Lessons of My Refugee Father My father is not a man of long speeches, but the stories of his life have shaped the very foundation of who I am today. He fought alongside American forces during the Vietnam War, surviving a conflict that claimed so many of his peers before eventually bringing his family to the United States as refugees. Like many who flee genocide and war, he carried the weight of those experiences quietly. He rarely spoke of the world he left behind, but the lessons he passed on weren’t found in his words, they were found in the way he lived. One memory from my childhood in Fresno still brings a smile to my face. It was during a fierce thunderstorm, the kind where the lightning cracks so loudly the whole house shakes. My brother and I had gotten into some trouble that day, and my father called us over for an accounting of our actions. In his calm, terrifyingly serious voice, he asked a question I will never forget: “How many swats do you want?” My brother, perhaps hoping for mercy through honesty, spoke first: “Five.” When it was my turn, I did some quick math and said, “Four.” My dad paused, the tension breaking as he let out a laugh. He looked at me and said, “You’re smart, you picked a lower number than your brother.” Even though the punishment was still carried out, that moment stuck with me. It was an ordinary childhood memory that, in hindsight, revealed the humor and humanity tucked beneath his disciplined exterior. Growing up as the youngest, I don’t recall many long coaching sessions or heart-to-hearts. He was a man of action, a refugee who spent his hours ensuring his six children had the stability that war had stolen from his own youth. In many refugee and veteran households, love is a silent language expressed through sacrifice and responsibility. He worked to keep a roof over our heads, even as the trauma of our family's past and the poverty of our surroundings began to pull at his sons. Despite his best efforts, my brother and I eventually chose a path that led us both to prison. Those were the darkest years of my life, yet my father never abandoned us. He showed up. He came to visit us while we were behind bars, navigating the metal detectors and the glass partitions. Looking back, I realize those visits required immense humility and a quiet form of forgiveness. He never pretended we were innocent, but he never let the prison walls define our worth to him. That simple act of showing up taught me a powerful truth: family does not disappear when the storm hits. After the war and the years of raising us, my father built a long career as a commercial fisherman. He worked the waters for decades, retiring only recently after the pandemic. It was grueling, physical work that demanded the same discipline he had modeled all along. Today, he lives a quieter life with his wife, raising fourteen dogs and enjoying the slow pace of retirement. Whenever I visit him now as a father myself, raising my own sons and daughter, I think back to that thunderstorm and the question of the swats. My father may not have given me a roadmap in words, but he gave me a compass through his character. He taught me that being a man means staying, providing, and showing up, no matter how hard the path becomes.

Faith has carried me through some of the most difficult moments of my life. There have been several times when I faced circumstances that I could not overcome on my own, and it was my faith in Christ that gave me the strength, clarity, and perseverance to keep moving forward. One of the earliest moments when I had to rely deeply on my faith was after the death of my mother. My family came to the United States as refugees after fleeing the Khmer Rouge genocide in Cambodia. My mother survived unimaginable trauma to bring her six children to a place of safety and opportunity. Despite everything she endured, she worked tirelessly to raise our family. When I was younger, however, I became involved in gang life and eventually ended up incarcerated in youth prison. While I was incarcerated, my mother was battling cancer. I did not fully understand the seriousness of her illness at the time, and my brothers often shielded me from the worst of the news. My mother eventually passed away from cancer on my twentieth birthday in 1995. Losing her while I was in prison was devastating. For a long time, I struggled to understand why it had happened. My faith helped me come to terms with the reality that God had not taken my mother from me as punishment or abandonment. Rather, cancer was part of the brokenness of a fallen world. Understanding that truth helped me begin the long process of healing. During my eight years of incarceration, I committed my life to Christ and made the decision to leave gang life behind and dedicate my life to helping others. After my release, my faith continued to guide my path. It led me to start a ministry called Jobs of Hope in Greeley, Colorado, which helps individuals who have gang ties, criminal records, or have dropped out of high school find meaningful employment and a new direction in life. Many of the people we serve feel that society has already given up on them, but my faith reminds me that redemption and restoration are always possible. My faith also gave me the courage to return to school after many years away from academics. After being out of school for fifteen years, I decided to pursue my Doctor of Ministry degree in Ministry Leadership at Liberty University. As a husband, father, pastor, and nonprofit director, balancing school with family and ministry responsibilities is challenging, but my faith reminds me that God often calls us to step forward in obedience even when the path is difficult. One of the most painful challenges my wife and I have faced together was the loss of our twins through miscarriage. We had been excited about welcoming two new children into our family, but during that same season, my father-in-law suffered a stroke and required around-the-clock care. My wife and I suddenly found ourselves navigating grief, caregiving responsibilities, and emotional exhaustion all at once. During that time, prayer became our lifeline. There were days when the only thing we could do was get on our knees and ask God for strength to face another day. Our faith did not remove the pain, but it carried us through it. These experiences have strengthened my belief that faith is not only something we hold in good times but something we cling to in our darkest moments. My faith in Christ shapes everything I do, as a husband, father, pastor, nonprofit leader, and student. It reminds me that even in hardship, God can bring purpose, healing, and hope.

Lessons of Loss and Transformation Loss has marked some of the most defining moments of my life. The two losses that shaped me the most were my mother’s death from cancer and the tragic death of my nephew Chrisna. Both came in very different ways, but together they changed the direction of my life and strengthened my commitment to helping others avoid the same pain. My mother was a refugee who fled Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge genocide, where nearly two million people lost their lives. She survived war, violence, and unimaginable hardship to bring our family to the United States in search of safety and opportunity. We eventually settled in Fresno, California, where she worked tirelessly to raise six children despite the trauma she had endured. During the late 1980s and early 1990s, my mother began battling cancer. At the time, I was young and did not fully understand how serious her illness was. While she was going through chemotherapy, I had already become involved in gang life and eventually ended up incarcerated in youth prison. While I was behind bars, my brothers told me her health was declining, but they never told me how close she was to death. I believe they were trying to protect me from the pain while I was already facing my own consequences. My mother passed away from cancer on my twentieth birthday in 1995. Losing her while I was incarcerated was devastating. Sitting in a prison cell, I had a lot of time to reflect on the sacrifices she made and the path I had chosen. Her death became one of the major turning points in my life. During my eight years of incarceration, I decided to change my life, leave gang life behind, and try to do something meaningful with the time I had been given. Years later, another loss would shape me in a different but equally powerful way. After my release, I lived with and spent time helping raise my nephew, Chrisna. I loved him deeply and tried to guide him away from the gang life that had nearly destroyed my own future. I warned him about the dangers and consequences of the streets because I had lived them myself. For a while, he listened. But when his parents went through a difficult divorce, Chrisna began searching for belonging in other places. Like many young people facing instability at home, he eventually found another “family” in a gang, the very thing I had tried so hard to protect him from. In March 2008, my worst fear became reality. Chrisna was shot and killed by a rival gang member. He was only fifteen years old. This year, he would have been turning thirty-three. Losing Chrisna was heartbreaking. It reminded me that the consequences of gang violence are not just statistics, they are sons, nephews, and young lives full of potential that are cut short. His death reinforced my commitment to dedicate my life to helping young people find a different path. The loss of my mother taught me the value of sacrifice and perseverance. The loss of my nephew reminded me how fragile life can be and how urgently young people need guidance and hope. Today, those experiences drive the work I do in my community, helping individuals move away from gangs and incarceration toward education, employment, and faith. While I wish neither loss had happened, both have given me a deeper compassion for families facing hardship and a stronger determination to help prevent others from experiencing the same kind of pain.

Redemptive Leadership: From Brokenness to Purpose My journey into Christianity did not begin in a church building. It began in broken places, gang life, incarceration, and the realization that the path I was walking would eventually destroy my life. Today, I serve as a church planter, the Executive Director of a nonprofit ministry, and someone committed to helping others move from gangs to jobs and from jail to meaningful work. But that journey began with failure, loss, and the grace of God. My family came to the United States as refugees after fleeing the Khmer Rouge genocide in Cambodia, where millions perished. My mother survived war and displacement and came to America determined to give her six children a chance at a better life. We settled in Fresno, California, but the trauma of war and the challenges of poverty made life difficult. Like many immigrant families, we struggled to find stability and belonging. As I grew up, the streets began to shape my identity more than my family or faith. My older brother became involved in gang life and eventually went to prison. I followed the same path, joining the same gang and eventually being incarcerated. During those years, I was angry, confused, and searching for meaning in all the wrong places. While incarcerated, I began to confront the reality of my life. I realized that the choices I had made were not only harming me but also dishonoring the sacrifices my mother had made to bring our family to this country. In that environment, I encountered the message of Jesus Christ in a way I had never experienced before. The gospel spoke directly to my situation: that no life is beyond redemption, and that God can transform even the most broken story. During my eight years of incarceration, my faith in Christ began to grow. I committed myself to changing the direction of my life and left prison with twenty-two college credits and a determination to live differently. My faith was not just about personal transformation; it became a calling to help others find the same hope I had discovered. After my release, I pursued higher education and earned my associate’s, bachelor’s, and master’s degrees. From 2001 to 2017, I dedicated my life to working with at-risk youth and gang-involved individuals, helping them rebuild their lives through mentorship and employment. In recognition of that transformation and community impact, I was granted a gubernatorial pardon by Governor Jerry Brown. Today, I serve as the Executive Director of Hope Now for Youth, a nonprofit ministry that focuses on helping individuals transition from gangs and incarceration into stable employment. Through programs that provide job training, mentorship, and support, we help people move from jail to jobs and from street life to productive citizenship. Beyond my nonprofit leadership, I am also a church planter. I helped launch The Pardoned Church, a ministry that exists specifically to reach individuals who feel overlooked or excluded from traditional environments. Our mission is to create a community where people with difficult pasts can encounter the transforming power of Christ and build a new future for themselves and their families. My career aspirations center on expanding this work of restoration. Faith, employment, and community support are powerful tools for breaking cycles of gang involvement and violence. My goal is to continue growing programs that provide real pathways to dignity for individuals often written off by society. Pursuing my Doctor of Ministry degree is an important part of that vision. This advanced education will equip me with tools for leadership and community transformation. It will allow me to strengthen the integration of faith-based outreach with practical workforce development initiatives that help people rebuild their lives. Receiving this scholarship would significantly support my academic goals. As someone who leads a nonprofit and serves the community full-time, financial resources are often limited. This scholarship would allow me to focus on my research while continuing to lead programs that directly impact individuals transitioning out of gangs. My plans include expanding transitional employment opportunities, strengthening community partnerships, and continuing to plant churches for those who feel faith isn't for them. Ultimately, I want to help others experience the same transformation that changed my life. My journey taught me that redemption is real and that no past is beyond God’s ability to restore. The work I do today is simply an extension of that truth, helping others move from brokenness to purpose.

When most people celebrate their birthdays, they think of cake, laughter, and another year of life. For me, my birthday has always carried a deeper weight. On my twentieth birthday in 1995, my mother passed away from cancer. Every year since then, that day has been bittersweet, both a reminder that I am still alive and a reminder of what cancer took from my family. My mother’s life was already marked by unimaginable hardship long before cancer entered the picture. She was a refugee who fled Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge genocide. She escaped violence with nothing but the hope for her children's survival. Eventually, our family arrived in Fresno, California. But the transition from war-torn Cambodia was far from easy. Trauma, poverty, and dislocation followed us, and my mother carried the heavy responsibility of raising six children largely on her own. Despite everything she had endured, my mother fought to give us stability and opportunity. During the late 1980s and early 1990s, however, cancer began to take its toll on her body. She went through chemotherapy while still trying to hold our family together. I was young and immature, and I did not fully understand the seriousness of her illness. Looking back now, I realize how much pain and fear she must have quietly carried while still caring for us. Around that same time, my older brother became involved in gang life and went to prison. I followed and became involved in the same gang, which led to my own incarceration. While I was incarcerated, my brothers occasionally told me that our mother’s health was declining, but they never told me how severe it had become. I believe they were trying to protect me. Then the day came. My mother lost her battle with thyroid cancer on my twentieth birthday. Her death shook me deeply. Sitting in a prison cell, I began to reflect on the life I was living and the life my mother had fought so hard for us to have. I made a vow that if I ever regained my freedom, I would leave gang life behind and dedicate my life to something meaningful. During my eight years of incarceration, I began focusing on education and left youth prison with 22 college credits. After my release, I continued pursuing that promise. I earned my AA degree, my bachelor’s degree, and eventually my master’s degree. From 2001 to 2017, I devoted my life to working with young people, helping them avoid the gang-to-prison pipeline that had shaped my early life. In recognition of that work and the transformation of my life, I was granted a gubernatorial pardon by Governor Jerry Brown. Today, after being married for 21 years and raising three children, I have returned to school to pursue a Doctor of Ministry. Cancer took my mother far too soon. She never met my wife or held my children. She never lived to see her youngest son become the first college graduate in our family. Yet the lessons she left behind continue to shape the person I am today. Through my mother’s illness and death, I learned that life is fragile, but purpose can grow from loss. My mother endured war, displacement, and cancer so that her children might have a chance for a future. Honoring her sacrifice means living a life that serves others. Every year when my birthday arrives, I remember the day I lost my mother. But I also remember the promise I made to live differently. That promise continues to guide my life, my work, and my commitment to helping others find hope.