Sports media, to me, is a continuation of the same purpose I found in agriculture. To honor the overlooked, to give a platform to those who deserve to be seen, and to show the beauty in hard work. The fields and arenas may look different, but the values are the same. Both are built on dedication, community, and the idea that effort is holy. Every time I walk into a stadium or arena, I feel the same sense of reverence I did walking into a barn or pasture at sunrise. It’s all sacred ground when you know Who gave you the assignment.
This industry has refined me, but it hasn’t changed me. If anything, it has drawn me closer to who I’ve always been. I’ve learned that I don’t have to shed the parts of myself that make me different – my faith, my western roots, my perspective as a woman – to belong here. I’ve learned that my difference is my advantage. In a field that celebrates sameness, authenticity becomes rebellion. And I’m okay with that.
Every opportunity I’ve had since that first baseball game – every stadium, every assignment, every late-night editing session – has been another small confirmation that I’m walking exactly where God needs me. The creative path isn’t linear. It twists, pauses, and surprises you in ways you can’t predict. But I’ve stopped fighting that. I’ve learned to let the process be an act of trust, I don’t have to know what comes next, I just have to stay faithful to the One who does.
That’s what keeps me grounded when things move fast. Remembering that this gift isn’t mine to control, it’s mine to use. My camera and laptop aren’t just equipment; they’re my instrument of worship, my way of showing gratitude for a life I once didn’t think was possible. Through it, I get to tell stories that matter, stories that bridge tradition and progress, faith and creativity, grit and grace.
I’m still learning. I’m still growing But I know who I am – and I know Who put me here. My story isn’t just about being in the room; it’s about making sure the next woman knows she can walk in too. That’s legacy I want to leave.
Because after all… who runs the world?;)
This is a man’s world – and because of that, sometimes, I hate being a woman.
Not because I resent who I am, but because I’ve spent my entire life working inside spaces that were never built with women in mind. From agriculture to athletics, the expectation has always been the same: women nurture, support, and keep things running, while leadership and visibility have often been reserved for men. That’s the system we grew up in, the one we were taught to accept – until I realized I didn’t have to.
In agriculture, I learned early that strength isn’t about who’s the loudest in the room; it’s about who keeps showing up even when no one expects them to. I learned that hard work doesn’t care about gender, that integrity travels farther than ego, and that purpose rarely feels comfortable. Those lessons stuck with me long after I picked up a camera. They’re the reason I can stand on a baseline surrounded by noise, adrenaline, and intensity – and still find clarity in a single frame.
The first time I stood on a baseline, I knew I wasn’t just documenting a game; I was witnessing a story unfolding at 1/1000 of a second. In that instant, something shifted. It wasn’t about photography or design anymore. It was about storytelling, connection, and calling. It was about using the gifts God placed in me to capture moments that remind people why sports matter – the grit, the emotion, the faith that carries athletes through both victory and heartbreak. God made it clear: this wasn’t just confidence. It was direction.
The Real Story
Unfiltered. Honest. Mine.
This is a man’s world – and because of that, sometime I hate being a woman.
Not because I resent who I am, but because I’ve spent my entire life working inside soaces that were never built with women in mind. From agriculture to athletics, the expectation has always been the same: women nurture, support, and keep thing running, while leadership and visibility have often been reserved for men. That’s the system
we grew up in, the one we were taught to accept – until I realized I didn’t have to.
In agriculture, I learned early that strength isn’t about who’s the loudest in the room; it’s about who keeps showing up even when no one expects them to. I learned that hard work doesn’t care about gender, that integrity travels farther than ego, and that purpose rarely feels comfortable. Those lessons stuck with me long after I picked up a camera. They’re the reason I can stand on a baseline surrounded by noise, adrenaline, and intensity – and still find clarity in a single frame.
The first time I stood on a baseline, I knew I wasn’t just documenting a game; I was witnessing a story unfolding at 1/1000 of a second. In that instant, something shifted. It wasn’t about photography or design anymore. It was about storytelling, connection, and calling. It was about using the gifts God place in me to capture moments that remind people why sports matter – the grit, the emotion, the faith that carries athletes through both victory and heartbreak. God made it clear: this wasn’t just confidence. It was direction.
Sports media, to me, is a continuation of the same purpose I found in agriculture. To honor the overlooked, to give a platform to those who deserve to be seen, and to show the beauty in hard work. The fields and arenas may look different, but the values are the same. Both are built on dedication, community, and the idea that effort is holy. Every time I walk into a stadium or arena, I feel the same sense of reverence I did walking into a barn or pasture at sunrise. It’s all sacred ground when you know Who gave you the assignment.
This industry has refined me, but it hasn’t changed me. If anything, it has drawn me closer tp who I’ve always been. I’ve learned that I don’t have to shed the parts of myself that make me different – my faith, my western roots, my perspective as a woman – to belong here. I’ve learned that my difference is my advantage. In a field that celebrates sameness, authenticity becomes rebellion. And I’m okay with that.
Every opportunity I’ve had since that first baseball game – every stadium, every assignment, every late-night editing session – has been another small confirmation that I’m walking exactly where God needs me. The creative path isn’t linear. It twists, pauses, and surprises you in ways you can’t predict. But I’ve stopped fighting that. I’ve learned to let the process be an act of trust, I don’t have to know what comes next, I just have to stay faithful to the One who does.
That’s what keeps me grounded when things move fast. Remembering that this gift isn’t mine to control, it’s mine to use. My camera and laptop aren’t just equipment; they’re my instrument of worship, my way of showing gratitude for a life I once didn’t think was possible. Through it, I get to tell stories that matter, stories that bridge tradition and progress, faith and creativity, grit and grace.
I’m still learning. I’m still growing But I know who I am – and I know Who put me here. My story isn’t just about being in the room; it’s about making sure the next woman knows she can walk in too. That’s legacy I want to leave.
Because after all… who runs the world?;)