When I started college I had no idea what I wanted to do, I just knew I liked to create. I studied art but was also drawn to science and natural studies. I ultimately got my bachelors in ecology and environmental science. While working on my undergrad I applied for a research opportunity that taught students practical research skills and took them to Honduras to put those skills to use. And I got accepted! That experience changed my life.

I returned with that same program 2 more consecutive years. And my experiences not only showed me the unimaginable beauty and peace found under the water, but also the devastation. I saw firsthand how a thriving ecosystem full of fish, diverse coral species, and other marine life could be completely decimated in such a short time frame. Dive sites I had visited the year before had become coral graveyards. When I graduated, I knew I wanted to help but didn’t know how.

What I Studied

My first year, I studied fire corals and their relationship to reef fish. For those unfamiliar, fire coral is a type of hard coral covered in specialized stinging cells—nematocysts—that release a burning sensation on contact, much like a jellyfish sting. While observing which species seemed unaffected by this sting, I noticed something unusual: fire coral was growing over and taking hold of other coral species.

This isn’t normal.

The next two years I focused on investigating this odd behavior. I saw fire coral creeping across octocorals—soft corals like the iconic sea fans, sea plumes, and sea pens. These gentle, lace-like corals that once swayed with every passing current became rigid, overtaken forms of their former selves, delivering the same stinging defense to anything that brushed against them.

I never uncovered the exact reason for this aggressive overgrowth, but I came away with something far more lasting: a renewed sense of awe for the world beneath the waves, and a rising urgency to protect these vulnerable creatures before they disappear.

A Different World

Earning my diving certification felt like receiving a passport into another dimension. Beneath the waves, the rules of the natural world no longer apply. You move forward, backward, sideways, upward—suspended in a space that feels almost weightless. Breathing becomes a conscious act, dependent on the quiet rhythm of your gear. The only sounds are the hiss of air as you inhale and the soft cascade of bubbles drifting upward—unless a dolphin decides to whistle nearby or a grunting fish makes itself known.

Marine life glides past with effortless grace, completely unhurried. And every now and then, you lock eyes with a curious fish—or even a shark—and it feels as though they’re studying you with the same gentle wonder: What is this big, awkward creature doing in our world?

Down there, everything slows. Everything quiets. And everything is beautiful.

Called to Help

Life eventually pulled me into the pace and pressures of the corporate world, but the ocean never left me. Even in the busiest seasons, my mind wandered back to those reefs—the colors, the silence, the life, and the loss. I knew I wasn’t meant to let those memories fade. I just didn’t know what form my calling would take.

That clarity came during a quiet walk along the shoreline. Through prayer and fasting, God began showing me that my creativity could do more than express beauty—it could serve it. (insert link to your other article)

That moment sparked the beginning of a mission: to help restore the reefs I had once studied, and to use the work of my hands to support others who are fighting for the ocean’s future.

And that mission became the heartbeat of everything I create today.