Levi’s Legacy is proud to offer a $1,000 scholarship to two heart warriors pursuing higher education.

This scholarship seeks to support a heart warrior as they continue on their education journey.

Any high school senior born with a congenital heart defect may apply to this scholarship opportunity.

To apply, please tell us about how you have charged the storm in life and what impact having a CHD has had on your life.

APPLICATIONS WILL OPEN IN JAN 2026

Please note, the form on this page does not save your progress. We recommend typing your essay in another program and then submitting once it is complete.

Eligibility Requirements

• High School Senior
• Born with a CHD

2025 Buffalo Scholarship Winners

Andrew Chandler

I was born into a storm. Diagnosed with a congenital heart defect (Coarctation of the Aorta), I underwent two open heart surgeries as an infant and spent a large amount of my childhood in and out of hospitals and doctors’ offices. While other kids were running on the playground, I was told what I could not do, what I had to be cautious of, and what was too risky to attempt. However, at an early age I decided never to let my congenital heart defect determine who I was and what I could do. I was determined to charge the storm.

        The decision to charge the storm came largely through my passion for sports.  As an athlete, good genetics and the average healthy heart that most people take for granted were not given to me. While others were sleeping in, I was at the gym by 6:30 in the morning to work on both my ball handling abilities and shot precision. The lonely mornings I spent on the court were a decision to defy and overcome the limitations that doctors and the world had put on me.

        Luckily, I was not always alone. During the blazing heat of Texas summers, my older brother Ben and I trained outside daily. Our parents had one rule for our basketball training in particular: we could not come inside until we had each made 300 shots (not layups). There were numerous days that the temperature was over 95 degrees, and the ball would often slip from our sweat soaked hands. Despite the scorching heat, Ben and I put up shot after shot, day in and day out, knowing that it was not the talents that we had that mattered, but the effort we put into our practices that would help us thrive on the court.

        This work ethic paid off greatly in both of our lives. In my life, I earned the starting third baseman position on my varsity baseball team as a freshman in high school. This was an achievement that symbolized the years of discipline and determination I had put into training and the faithfulness of the Lord to me. Two years later, I had a much greater achievement. I earned the Second Team All- District Varsity basketball medal. These accomplishments were far more than athletic milestones, they were evidence that with grit, faith, and discipline, even a heart condition cannot limit your ability to chase after your dreams.

       At age twelve, I was also diagnosed with Tourette Syndrome. This brought a unique obstacle that was visible to others. The tics were overwhelming, unpredictable, and for years they controlled my life. However, through persistent discipline, support, prayer, and relentless practice, I was able to regain control over my own body. Today, what was once a visible struggle is now the unnoticeable pop of a rubber band on my wrist. This rubber band is far more than a piece of elastic string on my wrist; it is a symbol of my struggle and a testament to the Lord’s faithfulness towards me.

       Looking back on the years in and out of hospitals, and the continual discipline necessary to regain control of my body, I realize that the Lord has placed me on this path to open my eyes to His calling for my life. As a child, I saw firsthand the comfort, empathy, and encouragement that medical professionals can provide for children. Nurses, in particular, made a large impact on my life simply by holding my hand in times of fear and giving continual encouragement as I grew. Their love and support have inspired me to pursue a career as a traveling, pediatric nurse in order to provide similar experiences for children across the country. Ultimately, I intend to become a nurse anesthetist in order to save patients in critical condition in the operating room. While I may have charged the storm in life multiple times, I cannot take credit for my accomplishments or the journey necessary to achieve them. My journey has been a continual testimony to the Lord’s faithfulness towards me, and evidence that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

       Charging the storm means more than pushing through adversity, it means running headfirst into what holds you back. My congenital heart defect, my Tourette’s Syndrome, and my journey through athletics have taught me that real strength is found in the unnoticed hours, when quitting would be easier, and a complete reliance on the Lord for all things. I’ve learned that perseverance is found not in front of crowds, but in the silence of early morning gyms and 95-degree driveways, and in the silence of my bedroom in prayer.

       These experiences have not only shaped me into a man that refuses to be defined by diagnosis, circumstance, or expectation, but also into a man that recognizes my reliance upon the Lord for all things, and a man that is grateful for the numerous blessings the Lord has placed on me. I am not the boy with the heart defect. I am not a kid with Tourette Syndrome. I am a Christian, an athlete, a leader, and a fighter. And every shot I’ve taken, whether on the court, on the field, or in life has brought me one step closer to the man the Lord has destined me to be

Sage Pridemore

When you’re born with a congenital heart defect (CHD), you learn early that life doesn’t always go according to plan- but you also learn how to fight for every moment.  Growing up with CHD has meant dozens of surgeries, hospital stays, and moments where the uncertainty felt overwhelming.  But through all of it, I learned resilience, empathy, and purpose.  I was born with Hypo- Plastic Left Heart Syndrome, which basically means I only had half of a heart.

Instead of asking “Why us?”, my parents asked “How can we use this to help others?” That question led my parents to Children’s Miracle Network (CMN).  At just two years old, I became an ambassador for Children’s Miracle Network.  In those early years, it was my parents who shared our story- speaking for me when I was too young to speak for myself.  As I got older, I found my own voice.  For the last sixteen years I’ve used that voice to advocate, educate, and inspire others through public speaking – hoping that by being open about my journey, I can shine a light for others walking their own difficult paths and turning my journey into a message of hope.

I’ve also found a home in Dance Marathon, a movement that raises money for Children’s Miracle Network hospitals.  Every dollar we raise, every dance hour we log, is a reminder that our stories matter and that we can be part of something bigger than ourselves.

On July 29th, it will mark four years since receiving a lifesaving heart transplant- a day that completely changed my life.  But the most meaningful part of that gift is knowing whose heart I carry.  His name was Travis.  I’ve had the incredible honor of meeting my donor family.  Their strength and generosity in the midst of their grief is something I carry with me every single day.  Travis gave me more than just a heart-he gave me a second chance at life.  And now, I live each day not just for myself, but for him.  I push harder in school.  I speak louder for others.  I strive to live a life that honors the gift I’ve been given.

Living with CHD has shaped every part of who I am.  It has taught me resilience, compassion and the power of purpose.  I’ve learned that life’s most meaningful moments often come from the hardest chapters.  It’s given me the courage to speak up, the strength to persevere, and the compassion to serve others.  My scars are not just reminders of pain- they are symbols of survival, strength and the story I carry.

As I continue my education, I carry these experiences with me-not as a burden, but as a badge of strength.  I’m moving forward with gratitude, determination and a heart that beats for two- for me, and for Travis.  I don’t just survive the storm-I charge through it, determined to create change, inspire hope, and advocate for those still learning to find their voice. And I do so with the strength of every person, every moment and every heartbeat that brought me here.

Lauren Bews

“May the flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary” – Xan Oku

My name is Lauren Bews and I am a senior high school student who was born with Ebstein’s Anomaly of the Tricuspid Valve. After reading Levi’s powerful story, I would be incredibly proud and honored to receive the Buffalo Scholarship. Thank you for creating this opportunity for me and numerous kids with the same shared dream for post secondary education. Thank you for taking the time to read about my story.

Since I was very young, I had always been aware that I would have open heart surgery. However, I did not know how much this congenital heart defect would affect my life. About a year before the estimated time for my surgery, I noticed early signs of heart failure even though I was only 12 years old. Every day without fail, I would experience the most horrifying nose bleeds my friends and family had ever witnessed. The ambulance was called twice on separate occasions over how much blood I was losing. Thankfully, nothing serious had to take place, rather they eventually stopped in their own time. But my lips, chin, neck, and the front of my shirt always ended up doused in blood. A few months before my scheduled surgery, I had also noticed a rapid decline in my stamina and strive for physical activity. Walking to the mail box and even up a flight of stairs was strenuous and extremely fatiguing for me. At this point, I knew that it was time to have my surgery. I wanted to feel restored as I had once felt before.

The wait for my first heart surgery was tremendously slow. Yet after three cancellations and two years of extra unnecessary waiting, I finally got my first open heart surgery at the end of July in 2021. The surgery was a success and I was ready to start the slow and steady process of healing. But a few days after my surgery, the doctors noticed my heart was not healing the way that it was intended to. As a consequence, they told me I would need a pacemaker to regulate my heart into a proper functioning rhythm. The operation was the next morning, only 5 days apart from my main surgery. Because of the dangerously close timing, I woke up from my pacemaker surgery with a collapsed lung, fluid build up throughout my chest, and added unfathomable pain that morphine could only delay but never take away completely.

The timing of my first surgery could not have been more perfect. Due to this happening in the summer, I thankfully did not miss any school. I was able to go back to school the following September but I soon realized the odd feeling of isolation when nobody realized what my summer had been like. Many of my peers were chatting about their exhilarating summer breaks, while I had spent the majority of mine in the hospital and bedridden at home. I felt distant from my friends in that aspect, as I could not relate and share my summer break plans with them without killing the mood. So I decided not to say anything and chose to fight my battles internally rather than “trauma dumping” with the search of pity and attention. To this day, it is still extremely hard for me to open up about my struggles. This is usually due to the fear of unwanted pitying and people forming opinions about me before they truly get to know me. The last thing I want is to be known as “the heart condition girl”. Only my very close friends and family know the extent of what I went through.

Two years had gone by and it was now the summer of 2023. My heart surgeries back in 2021 were a thing of the past and life was continuing on just fine. I was playing golf in the yard with my brother when my heart suddenly felt funny. Almost as if it had skipped a couple beats. I brushed it off but the feeling kept increasing with intensity. Soon, my breathing grew heavy, stars sparkled around my head, and my vision would blur every time my heart felt off. I was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness. The ambulance was called and I was sent to the BC Children’s Hospital. Throughout the anticipating drive there, the paramedics were sitting right beside me with a defibrillator machine at the ready.

I had never put much thought into the afterlife nor where life beyond the grave would take me. But when my dad discreetly turned on a podcast about heaven, death, and the afterlife, while driving to school one morning before this, I knew that I had no choice but to come to terms with what I may face. After many nights laying in bed pondering about death and where it may take me, I am now at peace with it. Death does not seem so haunting when I have shown up on its doorstep more than once.

While at the hospital, I was told that my pacemaker had malfunctioned. One of the wires connecting to my heart fractured, causing my heart to go from 90 bpm down to 30 bpm in two seconds. Early next morning, I had emergency open heart surgery to repair my pacemaker. The slow healing process had begun all over again and I was shot back to square one. From this whole experience and the unexpectedness of the surgery, I had gained severe PTSD. Certain smells such as hand sanitizer and latex gloves sparked flashbacks. Also tastes such as bubblegum, lemon, and grape made my mouth rot and my hands sweat. My third heart surgery was a success in the end, despite the mental baggage that stuck with me. My doctors told me the odds of my pacemaker malfunctioning in the first place were incredibly low. Meaning I did not have to stress about this unexpected experience again.

Two more years had passed and it was now May, 2025. I was in class, looking out the window as I listened to a guest speaker discuss university opportunities. I could not help but let my mind get excited for the next two months leading towards graduation. I was going to make the most of every day because I knew the time spent with my friends was limited. As I looked out the window, my heart made the same odd feeling it did back in 2023. The rush of adrenaline and stress washed over me and almost sent me into a panic. I knew something was terribly wrong.

Before I knew it, I was back at BC Children’s Hospital in the same pale blue, scratchy gown. As the nurse put the hospital bracelet on my wrist, I felt as if I was being placed in chains.

My pacemaker had malfunctioned for a second time. Unfortunately defying the odds of it happening yet again. I would need to get another open heart surgery, making this my fourth one. I could not believe my situation. What if this is what it is going to be like for the rest of my life? In and out of hospitals, fight after fight, barely having any room to recover. What if for the rest of my life, I will have to act stronger than I actually am? Compared to my first surgery back in 2021, I was not as young. Meaning the healing process took a lot longer. I had missed a significant part of my grade 12 year, including graduation events and friend group gatherings. Thankfully, I had healed enough to walk across the stage to receive my diploma with a wide smile.

I am immensely passionate about the brain specifically within the neuropsychology field. I would love to become a professor in neuropsychology so I may teach other people about the fascinations of the brain. I am currently writing this application in Oxford, England as I am studying neuropsychology for a month here. This Oxford program is hopefully just the very beginning of my future aspirations.

Everyday I am reminded that my time on earth is limited because tomorrow is not promised for anyone. However, instead of this outlook eating me up with anxiety, it has motivated me to make the most of each day. I am learning to cherish every day as if it may be my last, and to not take little things for granted. There once had to be rain in order for flowers to grow.