As I reflect on this season, I am reminded of a time when God renewed my hope in a way I did not expect. As a high school student athlete with aspirations to play college basketball, I have always been driven, disciplined, and determined. The game has shaped my routine, my friendships, my identity, and most times, been a major source of my peace. Yet it has also been the place where some of my deepest struggles have taken root; at times, I’ve begged God for an answer and prayed relentlessly for clarity.

The last two years, injuries have marked the rhythm of my journey. Each one felt like a sudden halt; a tearing away of momentum and a painful interruption of dreams I had worked for tirelessly. The physical pain was difficult, but the mental and spiritual weight became even heavier. There were seasons when I questioned God’s purpose in allowing setback after setback. I wondered why the path seemed so uncertain, why doors I longed for felt slammed shut, and why my prayers seemed to circle the same discouragement without clear answers. My footing in faith felt unsteady, and there were moments when hope seemed to slip out of reach, and I’d ask God, “Why me?? Why can’t I have a perfect, injury-free career like many others?”

Did I want to be healed? Absolutely. Did these injuries make me question why I even tried to be an athlete? Undoubtedly. But it was in one of those low valleys, sitting on the sidelines with another injury, with no strength at hand, that God began to restore my hope. I remember the quiet moments—late nights after sitting out of yet another game, mornings before school—when the noise of frustration finally softened enough for me to listen. In that stillness, God reminded me that His plan was not broken simply because mine was interrupted. He showed me that my worth was not tied to my performance and that His presence had never left me, even in my confusion. Slowly, hope returned; not in the guarantee that everything would go my way, but in the assurance that God was actively working for my good, even in the unseen.

This experience deepened my faith by realigning my focus from what I could achieve to what God could shape within me. Through every setback, God restored my hope by teaching me to wait on Him. In that waiting, He renewed my strength—not only as an athlete, but as a believer learning to trust that His timing and His plan will lift me higher than my own ever could. Looking back, I see how God used my injuries and disappointments as opportunities to draw me closer to Him, strengthening my spirit in ways that physical training never could. Just as the verse promises, hope in the Lord became my source of a deeper endurance—one that steadied me when I felt faint and carried me when I was weary. It reminded me that true strength doesn’t come from working out in the weight room or making three-pointers on the basketball court, but by placing my trust fully in Him.