Division I – First Place
Avalin Shafer of St. Martin of Tours Academy in La Mesa, California

Growing up in San Diego, California, right next to the United States-Mexico border, I often heard frightening stories about Tijuana. Adults talked about kidnappings, danger and crime, and because of those stories, I imagined Tijuana as a place to fear. Even though it was so close that I could see its lights at night, it felt like a world away. I didn’t realize how deeply those stories were shaping my ideas about Mexico until basketball, my favorite sport, gave me a chance to see things differently. Basketball has always been a huge part of my life. My brother played all the way through varsity, and I grew up watching his games and learning to dribble, shoot and compete. I loved the rhythm of bouncing balls, the squeak of sneakers on the court, and the rush of working as a team. But I never expected basketball to become the bridge that changed the way I viewed another culture. On my team, many girls come from Tijuana, Mexico. At first, I felt nervous around them. They spoke Spanish fluently, and I worried that our different languages and backgrounds would make things awkward. I stayed quiet during warm-ups, unsure how to start conversations. Even though we wore the same uniform, I still felt divided from them by the border I had heard so many scary stories about. But slowly, basketball began to take down those walls. During practice, we ran drills together, encouraging each other when we missed shots and celebrating when we succeeded. We cheered loudly, saying things like “Let’s go” or “Nice shot” and shared high-fives and laughter. Even without perfect words, we understood one another through the game. With every practice, the fear I had carried began to fade. I started to see my teammates from Tijuana differently. They were funny, talented and determined girls just like me. I realize that, even when people come from different places or speak different languages, we are all God’s children, equal and loved by him.

The moment that changed everything came during one of our toughest tournaments. We fought our way to the championship game. The gym was loud and bright, and my stomach fluttered with nerves. I looked at my teammates from Tijuana, sweat already shining on their foreheads, and saw that they were determined. This time, it was not us and them. It was simply our team. We played our hearts out. I remember the slap of the ball, the sound of the crowd, and the pounding in my chest as we tried to keep up. Even though we lost, we left the court smiling. Together, we had given everything we had. In that moment, I realized how wrong my assumptions had been and how much richer my life had become because of these friendships. Since then, we’ve won many games and championships together, but win or lose, I feel blessed to be on the same team together.

One teammate, Eliza, especially taught me about love that crosses borders. She is from Tijuana and she is relentless, always diving for loose balls, grabbing rebounds and practicing harder than anyone. One day I was frustrated because I kept missing shots. Eliza stayed after practice with me, rebounding every ball and saying softly, “One more. You can do it.” Her kindness, encouragement and patience revealed God’s love to me in a way I will never forget. She did not care that we came from different countries. She cared that I did not give up.

Ephesians 4:3 says, make every effort “to preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace.” Basketball had become more than a sport. It was a bridge of unity, peace and friendship. Before this experience, I never realized how fear could create borders even when people live close together. Through this encounter, I learned that love can look like cheering for someone, staying after practice to help them, or sharing a simple smile or a high five across cultures. This moment reminds me of Pope Leo XIV’s words about building bridges with dialogue, with encounter, uniting us all to be one people, always at peace. My friendships with my teammates from Tijuana are exactly that, a bridge built through shared experience, respect and God’s love.

Now, when I look across the border at the lights of Tijuana, I do not see danger. I see the beautiful faces of my teammates, shining with sweat, joy and unity. And I feel peace.

Division I – Second Place
Travis Graham-Jones of St. Benedict’s Preparatory School, Newark, New Jersey

As a Black American who grew up in the suburbs of Georgia, transferring to a school in an urban area in New Jersey was a huge change for me. In Georgia, I was usually one of three Black students in my class, but when I arrived at my new school in New Jersey, everything felt different. The first few days were a little overwhelming because I didn’t know anyone. It was also a different kind of neighborhood and culture than what I was used to. The school was filled with kids from different backgrounds and nearly all of the students had roots in Latin America and the Caribbean. But little did I know that these differences would teach me some very important lessons.

A few weeks into school, I quickly made a friend who was from Ecuador, and even though we were from different cultures and lived in different neighborhoods, that didn’t stop us from becoming good friends. My newfound friend was quiet, just like me, but one thing I noticed was that he never really brought lunch or a backpack to school like other kids. At the time, I was only 8 years old, so I didn’t really understand why, but I thought it would be a good idea for me to share my lunch with him. Since my mom packed my lunch for me every day, I asked her if she could pack extra, and she did. Then, when I would go to school, I would share it with him.

A few months went by, and then it was my birthday. As soon as I arrived at school, he gave me $1.00 and a bunch of pens and pencils. When my parents arrived at school to set up for my birthday party, he also walked over to them and said, “You guys have a really good kid!” That made me really happy, and when I got older, I began to understand how much it meant to him that I had shared with him and why it meant so much to him. Everything that my mom had taught me started to make a lot of sense.

My mom always taught me that if you can help someone, be sure to help them. She also taught me to be kind to people and treat them with respect, no matter what they look like, where they come from, or how different they might be. So, even though he and I were different in many ways, it was our kindness that brought us together, and I realized that kindness truly goes a long way.

Spending time with him and my other friends at school not only helped me understand the importance of kindness, but it also helped me develop a lifelong goal. Since our school didn’t have a playground, for recess we usually had to choose between basketball or soccer, and most of the time, he and my other friends chose soccer. I didn’t grow up playing soccer, and at first, I really didn’t like it. But the more I played with them, the more I started to learn about their culture, why soccer was important to them, and I also began to actually enjoy the sport. The more I improved, the more they cheered for me. And the more we worked as a team, the more we began to feel like one big family.

Since leaving that school, I have joined over three different leagues, and now I am training to try out for the team at my new school. One of my new lifelong goals is to become a world-renowned soccer player. This is a dream I may never have discovered if I hadn’t had such a unique experience with my new friends at school. Playing and learning alongside them helped me better understand how important it is to connect with people from different places and backgrounds.

So, even though going to a new school was a little overwhelming at first, ultimately I learned that our differences have the power to inspire us and bring out the best in one another and this is exactly what God wants for all of his people. “Therefore, encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing (1Thessalonians 5:11). Because even small acts, like sharing a sandwich or being on a soccer field, can inspire kindness, friendship, and change that lasts a lifetime.

Division I – Third Place
Ramsie Damrell of Immaculate Conception Catholic School, Dardenne Prairie, Missouri

When I first arrived in Riviera Maya, Mexico, I didn’t know what to expect. My parents had been going to the same all-inclusive resort for 13 years, and they always talked about how beautiful and peaceful it was. Still, I didn’t know how I would feel until I stepped foot there myself. At first, everything seemed perfect: the palm trees swaying in the wind, the blue waves crashing in the distance, and the friendly smiles of the people who worked there.

One of the biggest problems, they explained, is that many people there think they don’t need to tip. Guests believe that because they already paid for their stay, they shouldn’t have to give anything extra. What they don’t realize is how much the workers depend on those tips. That sight always hurt my parents’ hearts, so for years, they had made it a goal to bless the workers. They didn’t just give money, they gave encouragement, hope, and a reminder that their hard work mattered. Little did I know, this trip was going to teach me just how powerful one act of kindness can be.

When we got to our resort room, I was amazed. The air smelled like the ocean, salty and fresh, and there was a gentle breeze coming through the balcony doors. I couldn’t stop smiling. “Wow, it’s beautiful here,” said my sister, Laxlie. “I know, isn’t it?” I replied. Later that night, we got ready for our fancy dinner. As I got ready, my mind was buzzing with questions: What will I order? Will it taste like anything I’ve had before? What if I don’t like it? I was both nervous and excited.

About thirty minutes later, we arrived at the restaurant. “Where is it?” my sister asked, looking around. “Through those big double doors,” my mom said. Inside, it was breathtaking. The ceilings were high, and decorated with chandeliers, a pianist played softly in the background, and the bar was sparkling in the dim light. It felt like we had stepped into a palace. Once we were seated, the waitress handed us menus. I stared at mine and felt confused. The words looked so fancy, like they were written in another language. Then I realized they were in English, but I just didn’t recognize most of the items.

Dinner was long and extravagant. The most memorable part wasn’t the food; it was what happened at the very end. As the waitress came to escort us out, my mom handed her a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Thank you so much,” she cried, falling to her knees with tears in her eyes. She hugged my mom tightly and couldn’t stop thanking us. The look on her face was something I will never forget.

Back in our room, my parents explained what had happened. That money was twice her monthly rent. Because it was the “dead season,” there were some nights when she went home with no tips at all. Our gift not only helped her financially, it gave her hope, encouragement, and proof that her hard work mattered.

That night, I learned that God works in mysterious ways. If the Holy Spirit hadn’t nudged my parents to be generous, that waitress might have left work feeling hopeless. Instead, she walked away in tears of joy. I realized that kindness is a currency that never loses its value. It doesn’t matter how big or small the act is.

Throughout the trip, we continued blessing workers. Each person we met had a different story. Some told us about their families, their faith, and their struggles. We learned that many of them work long hours, sometimes seven days a week, just to provide for their loved ones. Despite their challenges, they greeted us every day with smiles and kindness.

God was present in all of those moments. I realized that kindness is not just about giving money, it’s about seeing people for who they are and treating them with love and respect. This experience showed me that a single act of kindness created a ripple effect. My parents gave from their hearts, which gave the waitress hope. God calls us to love one another, and sometimes that love is shown in the simplest of ways, like a smile or a thank you. Kindness is the one currency that never runs out. The more you give it away, the richer your heart becomes.

Division II – First Place
Sewa Adedayo of Michael A. Riffel Catholic High School in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada

I used to believe that people stayed with those who understood them best because it was easier. You talk to people who understand your jokes, your feelings, and childhood memories. You stay close to what you feel familiar with. I never doubted that, until an unexpected encounter showed me how much life can change when you step outside of your comfort zone and let God work through something simple. It happened in the summer right after Grade 10. My church partnered with a local community centre to host weekly drop-ins for newcomer families who recently arrived in Canada. I did not volunteer because I was especially helpful or mature. I only joined because my friend Abby practically begged me to come with her. I promised myself I would stay for one session, smile politely, and never return.

When we arrived, the gym was full of families from different countries like the Philippines, Nigeria, South Africa, Ukraine and a few others I did not even recognize. Kids sprinted around the room, their laughter mixing with accents I had never heard before. I suddenly felt small, unsure of what to say, and worried I would accidentally offend someone. My plan was to hide behind the snack table and avoid awkward conversations. But that changed when a girl about my age walked in with her little brother. From what I learned, they were from Afghanistan and had been in Canada for only three months. Her name was Laila, and she held her brother’s hand tightly. She looked around the hall with the kind of expression people wear when they want to disappear. I recognized it instantly. I had worn that exact same look on my first day of high school.

Something nudged me, gently but clearly. I knew it was not just my own conscience. God sometimes pushes us toward people we are destined to meet, even if we do not understand why at the time. So, I walked up to her, introduced myself slowly, and asked if she wanted to join a particular group that was making bracelets. Her English was shaky, but she nodded. At first, we sat in silence, stringing beads. I felt awkward, unsure of how to start a conversation. But then her brother accidentally spilled his beads everywhere. He looked scared, like he expected to be yelled at. I knelt beside him and helped him gather the beads. When I looked up, my eyes met Laila’s, and I could see the relief for her brother’s safety in her eyes. That moment opened a door between us. Over the next hour, we talked — not perfectly, but honestly. She told me they had left Afghanistan after losing their father. She explained how hard it was to start over in a place where she could not understand the language, where she did not know the way of living, where her mother cried at night because everything felt overwhelming. She said the hardest part was feeling invisible at school, having no one to talk to, and no one spoke slowly enough for her to understand. She felt alone, even in a classroom full of people. Listening to her, my heart felt heavier than I expected. I realized how many things I took for granted — being able to understand my teachers, having friends at school, and feeling at home in the place where I lived. But I also realized something else. Compassion does not require perfect words; it only requires presence.

From that day on, I kept going to the weekly drop-ins, not out of obligation, but because there was someone I was always looking forward to meeting. Laila and I slowly became friends. We taught each other new things. She showed me how to write my name in Dari, and I helped her practice English phrases for school. We laughed at misunderstandings, shared snacks, and celebrated her first full conversation in English. But the moment that changed me happened during one of our walks home after the program. Her little brother ran ahead of us, and she said quietly with an honest tone, “Before I met you, I thought God forgot about us … but your kindness made me think maybe God sends help in small ways, through people.” I had no idea one simple invitation to make bracelets could affect someone that deeply. I went home that night and cried, not out of sadness, but gratitude. I realized God’s love is not always shown through big miracles. Sometimes it appears in a teenager who awkwardly tries to make conversation in a crowded hall. Sometimes it shows up in shared laughter, patient listening or helping a child. This experience did not just bridge cultures. It opened my eyes to the kind of person I want to be: someone who sees other people, especially when the world overlooks them. It taught me that compassion is a language everyone understands, no matter where they come from.

Most importantly, it showed me that when we choose kindness, we become living proof of God’s love, often without realizing it.

Division II – Second Place
Arpit Singh of Ascension of Our Lord Secondary School, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada

Growing up between cultures can feel like living between worlds. I was born in India but raised in Canada, a shift that pushed me to learn new languages, adjust to new expectations, adopt new customs, and see the world differently. For a long time, I believed I had to choose between the culture of my parents and the culture of the country shaping my future. One quiet encounter taught me that God often works through simple moments where two worlds meet and understand each other.

This happened during my first year of high school. I had always spoken English well, but I carried a subtle insecurity. An inner voice kept telling me I would always be the different one. Whenever cultural traditions came up in class, I felt myself shrink, worried that anything I shared would sound strange or invite judgment. I did not realize how isolating this fear had become until the day my friend Mateo asked me to his family’s Christmas gathering.

Mateo is Peruvian, and his home is a swirl of Spanish, English, and Quechua, mixed with warmth, music, and food. When he invited me, I hesitated. I was not Christian, and Christmas was not a holiday my family celebrated. I worried I would not fit in or that I might accidentally disrespect something important. But his confidence and kindness made it hard to refuse.

When I stepped into his house, I expected awkwardness. Instead, I felt embraced at once. His grandmother greeted me with a sincere hug that quieted every anxious thought. His parents asked about my family and our celebrations, and I quickly realized they were genuinely curious about how another culture honored God, joy, and community. The room felt like a meeting of worlds, with Peruvian songs playing in the background and me sharing stories of Diwali and Holi.

Later in the evening, his family gathered for prayer before dinner. I stood respectfully at the edge, unsure whether I should join. Without turning it into a big moment, Mateo’s father placed a hand on my shoulder. He said, “You are family today. Pray with us in whatever way feels right to you.” It did not matter that my words were different or that my tradition shaped prayer differently. They opened their circle without expecting me to change who I was. That small gesture built a bridge wider than any lesson, debate, or school activity ever could.

As they prayed, I did not recite the familiar Christian words. Instead, I offered my own silent prayer, thanking God for connection, hospitality, and the reminder that His love is larger than language or ritual. For the first time in Canada, I felt that I belonged without needing to hide or translate myself. It showed me something profoundly simple. God’s love appears most clearly when people make space for one another, and in that moment, I felt truly accepted.

That night changed me. I went home with a deeper appreciation for my own culture and a clearer understanding of others. I realized that bridging cultures does not mean blending them or choosing between them. It means standing confidently in your identity while remaining open to letting someone else illuminate your perspective. It means recognizing that God’s love is not limited to religious texts or historical events. It lives in families who welcome strangers, in conversations rooted in curiosity rather than suspicion, and in the courage to enter unfamiliar spaces.

Since then, I have tried to build those kinds of bridges. I share more openly about my heritage. I invite friends of different backgrounds to my family’s celebrations. I make an effort to learn how faith shapes the lives of people whose traditions differ from mine. Each time I do, I feel the same quiet truth I felt in Mateo’s home. When cultures meet with humility and respect, God’s love becomes visible.

Pope Leo XIV speaks of bridges built through dialogue and encounter. My experience at that Christmas gathering taught me that such bridges do not need to be grand or dramatic. They need sincerity, hospitality, and a willingness to see God in one another. That is where unity begins. That is where peace grows. And that is where I learned to see God’s presence, not in the separation between cultures, but in the space where they meet.

Division II – Third Place
Faith Guy of St. Mary’s School, Lynn, Massachusetts

Last spring, I was a member of a church that initiated a small community garden behind the parish for the purpose of bringing people together, families, students, and neighbors to grow food for our local food pantry. Initially, I only joined because of my mom volunteering me, not because of my sincere desire to participate. Yet, it turned out to be one of the most meaningful experiences of my life that came from a woman named Mrs. Greene. Mrs. Greene was older, long time resident of Salem, but had come to Lynn for church. She spoke very softly and had an accent I could not quite figure out, and she always wore a wide sun hat and was cut out to be a perfect garden work lady. From the first day, we mostly pointed, smiled and conversed.

She was the first person to show me how to plant the tomato seedlings the “correct” way, meaning pressing the soil down lightly while discussing, “If we care, they will be fine.” Initially, I was puzzled by her depiction of the plants as people. To me, gardening was just dirt and water, but she behaved like every seed she touched had a life to live. When I accidentally broke a little stem off, I apologized, but she just smiled and said, “It’ll heal. Everything heals when you give it time and care.” The way she said it had a sense of peace to it, and I couldn’t shake that from my mind. It was an interesting “way to think.” Eventually, we found ways to converse more easily. She talked about the garden she had back home and how she planted vegetables for her church to give to families who need food. She said that working with the earth reminded her that faith is not only in prayer but in existence in the way we care for one another. It is not something I thought about, but the more time I spent with her, the more I understood what she meant.

One Saturday, I noticed Mrs. Greene was quiet. As I found out, her husband was in the hospital and understandably, she was very upset. I did not know what to say, so I prayed with her right there between the rows of plants. It was neither an elaborate prayer nor a long one. I simply offered a few honest words requesting God to grant her strength. After I prayed, she squeezed my hand and said, “That was just what I needed.” In that moment, I understood that neither one’s faith nor prayer requires perfect words. It just requires someone to be with them.

Over time, the garden began to produce bright tomatoes, large sunflowers, and neat rows of peppers and herbs, but there was one thing that grew the most, our friendship. Each week, we worked side by side, watering, laughing, and sharing little tidbits of our lives. She helped me to understand that all components of faith are patience, kindness, and consistency. The day to harvest the crops came and the whole congregation came to the church to sort and pick veggies for the food pantry. Mrs. Greene stood beside and said, “Look at what love can grow.” And she was right, the garden was not just full of food, but it was full of hope and love. That afternoon, I recognized the truth in what Pope Leo XIV called building bridges through encounters. Our bridge was not made through mutual language or meaningful conversation; it was made through compassion, shared labor, and a faith that needed no explanation.

What started as a garden project, which I thought was just one more volunteer hour to get through, became a place where I experienced God’s love in action in every seed we planted, every prayer we voiced, and in each moment we cared for something together. Now, I think of Mrs. Greene as I see something growing, a flower, a new friendship, or even forgiveness. I hear in my mind her gentle reminder to do everything with care. With care, bridges are created. With care, we are one people, together in love.