It’s been an incredible sports season.
While my teams didn’t finish the way I had hoped, it was one heck of a run and a whole lot of fun cheering them on along the way.
Last night, the NBA Finals came to an end, and with it, another Spurs season. The Women’s College World Series has wrapped up, and most of the sports that have occupied our attention for months are now behind us. At this point, my husband is the only one in our household with a dog still in the fight, following the World Cup and Men’s College World Series.
I’m going to miss the Spurs mania.
I’m going to miss hearing random strangers shout “Go Spurs Go!” from across a parking lot. I’m going to miss seeing black and silver everywhere we went. Most of all, I’m going to miss the way the city came together around a shared hope.
For a few weeks, San Antonio felt a little smaller.
A little friendlier.
A little more connected.
Sports have a way of doing that.
And truthfully, this season felt a little like found money.
If you had told Spurs fans before the season started that we’d be playing in the NBA Finals, most of us would have laughed. The expectation wasn’t a Finals run. For many, simply making the playoffs would have been considered a successful season.
Instead, this young team exceeded expectations.
By most accounts, they’re still ahead of schedule—maybe by a couple of years.
What we witnessed wasn’t a championship season. It was the beginning of something.
A glimpse of what might be coming.
A young team learning how to win, learning how to handle pressure, and learning what it takes to compete on the biggest stage.
Sure, we wanted four more wins.
Every fan did.
But when I step back and look at the season as a whole, making the Finals was icing on the cake. It gave us months of excitement, hope, nervous energy, and plenty of reasons to believe the future is bright.
And for a city that loves its Spurs, that’s something worth celebrating.
Like many fans, we may have expanded our collection of Spurs memorabilia and fan gear just a bit more than necessary. Some of it will get packed away for now, tucked into closets and storage bins until next season arrives and we pull it all back out again.
The candles will be put away.
The signs will come down.
The jerseys will be folded and stored.
What comes next is often the part nobody sees.
The practices.
The preparation.
The long days and early mornings.
The work that happens when no one is watching and no one is cheering.
We celebrate championships, promotions, milestones, and achievements. We celebrate the moments under the bright lights.
But those moments are built during the quiet seasons.
The seasons where growth is happening beneath the surface.
The seasons where faith is being strengthened.
The seasons where character is being formed.
The seasons where we keep showing up even when there isn’t an audience to applaud our progress.
That’s where the real work happens.
And maybe that’s why the end of a season matters so much.
Not because it’s over.
But because it creates space for the work that prepares us for what’s next.
At least for a little while.
That’s the thing about seasons.
They come to a close.
And new ones begin.
There’s something bittersweet about that reality, and honestly, bittersweet feels like the theme of the season we currently find ourselves living in.
Some chapters are ending.
Others are just beginning.
One of those new beginnings is that we have finally found a church home.
It’s been a long journey.
A longer journey than we ever expected.
This morning, we took another step in that direction. For something we have prayed over, wrestled with, and waited on, it feels both exciting and peaceful.
There is a lot on the horizon.
Some of it we’ve already shared.
Some of it we’re still holding close to the chest.
But through it all, I can honestly say we are good.
Not because everything is perfect.
Not because every prayer has been answered exactly the way we wanted.
Not because every dream has arrived on our timeline.
We are good because God has been faithful through every season.
Growth has a way of bringing discomfort with it. Every new season asks something of us. It stretches us, challenges us, and occasionally leaves us longing for the familiarity of what came before.
But growth is also evidence that we’re still moving forward.
I don’t think any of us ever arrive at a place where we can confidently say, “That’s it. I’ve grown enough.”
There is always another lesson to learn.
Another perspective to gain.
Another opportunity to become a little more like the person God is calling us to be.
Maybe that journey doesn’t end until we leave this world for the next.
Until then, we keep growing.
We keep learning.
We keep stepping into whatever season lies ahead.
And eventually, before we know it, we’ll hear those familiar words again.
Go Spurs Go.
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