It’s hard to start the story with something other than basketball.

I met my best friend Mason in pre-school, and sports, especially basketball, have always been a big part of our relationship. We’ve played countless games of one-on-one on Nerf hoops and trampolines, had dunk contests on eight-and-a-half foot rims, and filmed hours and hours of attempted trick-shot videos. During the tenth grade, after I stopped playing ball for my high school, Mason invited me to play on his church’s basketball team. That’s how I met Tim, our enthusiastic, 5'9-on-a-good-day coach, and a group of guys from Woodmont Hills that I’d get to know and love. For the next three summers, I went to camp with them, crafted friendships with them, and played church basketball with them.

During my senior year, a hilarious and loving sneakerhead named Hayes became our second church-ball coach. Hayes clicked with us right away, probably because of the fact that even in his 30s with three sons, he was the biggest kid on the team. We added a couple of players and bolstered our squad after disappointing early exits the previous two years. After two indescribable come-from behind victories in the final two games, we completed an undefeated season and won the championship. That was just the beginning, though.

Just a week later, Ty died.

I’m not good enough with words to do justice to Ty Osman. I’m not sure anyone is. Ty was a part of the inaugural Woodmont Hills basketball team, and was one of the most loving, selfless individuals I’ve ever known. He had an infectious energy about him that lifted you up. He was a Christian that led by example. He was simply an exceptional human being.

Ty was an organ donor, and his story lives on. His organs, including his heart, went on to help five people, and his body tissue has reportedly reached 47 different people. An annual 3-on-3 tournament was started in Ty’s name by Tim, Hayes, and Woodmont Youth Minister David Sessions, which helps raise money and awareness for organ donation and Donate Life Tennessee. For us, the tournament also serves as a way to remember Ty and to get the old crew back together.

I remember going to Hayes’ house the day after I heard the news that Ty had been in a serious accident. Ty was a big UNC Tar Heels fan, as is Hayes. That night, Hayes and I watched as No. 6 UNC destroyed No. 4 Duke in Cameron Indoor to win the ACC regular-season title. In the face of death, a basketball game is pretty insignificant. It didn’t take away our sorrow. It didn’t bring Ty back. But in that victory, I think there was some small level of solace for us because there was something we could point to and say: Ty would be smiling.

Meanwhile, a man from the same church named Steve Johnson had been coaching a team of young teenagers from the inner city, first in football and then in basketball as well. Steve was all-in with these kids. He would pick them up in a van to take them to practice, have them over to his house, but he’d also be hard on them. Discipline. Respect. Morals. He treated them like they were his sons. Steve invited us to scrimmage with them on Saturday mornings, and we started to get to know the guys. After we graduated high school, a team of these young men took our place as the second church ball team at Woodmont. Last year, Steve asked Woodmont Youth minister David Sessions if two of these players, Mike Mitchell — who was in the midst of an unimaginable battle with cancer — and Devante “Biggie” Ridley could come to church camp last year. He said yes. This year, they returned, Mike cancer-free, along with their teammate Devante “Too Short” Shirley.

I returned to camp as a counselor for the 11th and 12th grade guys this year after missing the previous year, which meant I was in Mike, Biggie, and Too Short’s cabin. It was a special, emotional week, and I loved getting to know these three guys. Mike walked around all week with a metal baseball bat to ward off “guard snakes.” Biggie made rainbow loom bracelets and told stories that shouldn’t be repeated. Too Short jumped in to every activity he could find with an infectious enthusiasm.

At some point during this week of camp filled with sports, camaraderie, worship, and love, Biggie and Too Short each decided they wanted to be baptized. Biggie decided first and was baptized in the pool on Wednesday night, with Too Short undergoing the ritual the following night. Both times, I was moved to tears. The whole process was emotional, but there was a moment each night that really jerked the tears out of me. Wednesday night, the tears flowed when Steve Johnson jumped in the pool, fully clothed, to give Biggie a big ol’ bear hug after his baptism. Thursday night, I cried when Biggie and Mike jumped in for a lengthy embrace with Too Short: just the three of them, hugging each other as tightly as they could. In these moments, there was a level of love and genuine happiness for each other that I’m not sure can be surpassed. I think there was another emotion in there too, though, one that Hayes pointed out when he said we weren’t supposed to be here. That’s the feeling of beating the odds, the feeling of incredulity at what has transpired. That feeling where you can’t explain how what’s happened has happened, where all you can do is sit back and thank God.