It’s not rejection, it’s redirection
It was a Cinderella story, the likes of which the sports world may never see again. After years of losing, the boys of Indiana University completed a perfect football season. For the first time since Yale’s 16-0 run in 1894, the Hoosiers matched them, 16-0, bringing the championship trophy home to Bloomington.
For one magical night, politics and protesters faded away as the nation held its breath, riveted at the struggle playing out on the gridiron. In our home, the resident teenager scarcely breathed and hardly blinked, so fierce was his attention. “Mom,” he told me in the days before the game, “I’m prayin’ about it a lot. I want them to win.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I think God understands.”
Clearly, Fernando Mendoza agreed. In a media session prior to the game, he said this, “In today’s day and age, it can be very discouraging to talk about your faith, especially on national television. However, I always want to stay true to myself and true to my authentic self. So, I know God has gotten me to this point, and I owe so much to Him. So, I really can’t thank Him enough, and I give Him all the glory because He’s meant so much to myself and to my teammates and my family throughout this journey.”
The win, for Mendoza, was truly a full-circle moment. Having grown up attending games at Hard Rock Stadium, his dream was to play for the University of Miami. For the local kid, living two miles from campus, it seemed the perfect fit. But Miami rejected him, and he spent the next three years at the University of California. Then another door opened to a most unlikely place, Indiana University, known for having the most losses in major college football prior to 2025.
His story is inspiring, for it reminds us that a closed door is not a verdict. Interpret it as such, and the heart will fail. See it as a redirection instead, and one will find the strength to keep on knocking. That’s what Mendoza did.
His attitude about the rejection is instructive. “It lit a fire under me. I was sad, and then I came to a realization. I’m not going to be a Miami football player. It wasn’t God’s path for me.”
For the next three years, he honed his skills. He kept playing the game. He grew in character. Then one day (so many good chapters start with “one day”), a new door opened, and a new era began. By the time the cream-and-crimson confetti blanketed the field, he had earned a Heisman and helped his team to a national championship.
His family was there to see it all. His mother, wheelchair bound. His father, always celebrating, seated by her side. His little brother, flinging himself onto the family pile with every successful play. It was everything heartwarming, and beautiful, and good. And all of it transcended a game.
“My family’s unconditional love and belief kept me going and pushed me forward,” he said. “These are the people who built me long before football did.” What he knows, but did not say is, “And they will be with me long after the game of football is over.”
As parents, it is painful to see our children suffer; to watch a door close, knowing how hard they’ve worked. Veteran mother that I am, this is familiar. Yet, as my own kids have experienced hard knocks, I’ve learned some valuable lessons.
First of all, I’ve been stunned at what has come out of them in times of disappointment. Resilience, patience, and perseverance that I didn’t know was there. In a word, character.
If it works like this for us, it works like this for them, too. We can’t know what all’s inside until the pressure is applied. Hit a brick wall, and you’ll see what you’re made of. If you don’t like what comes out, that’s your cue to change it.
It is precisely these rejections and redirections that invite us to grow. This has been true for me, and I know it’s true for my kids. When The Cub took a hard “no” from his favorite college last year, he picked himself back up without complaint and gave himself over to the work. He poured countless hours into improving his study skills at a different school, staying late to study with friends, pushing himself to learn more effectively. Driving himself to be better and do better, praying as he went.
He tried it again–applying, writing essays, sitting for an interview, and doing everything in his power to enhance his application. One recent day, it all paid off, and he received his precious acceptance letter.
As proud as I am of his admission, I am more gratified by his attitude through it all. “Mom,” he said, long before the final acceptance came, “I’m glad I didn’t get in (the first time). This will give me a chance to improve my (skills).” Unspoken were these words, “I know it will prepare me.” And it did.
Now, you. If you are staring at a door that’s just closed in your face, remember the two Hoosier boys who took their own “no’s,” kept going, and finally achieved success. If they can do it, so can you. Let your rejection become your redirection to your own “one day.”
As my son says, “Forward!” Always forward.