As a coach, you’ve probably tried to learn from the best in your profession through clinics, articles, visits, and the informal conversations that happen when coaches get together. The knowledge we gain is often priceless, but sometimes it’s costly. Costly not so much in the areas of strategy and fundamentals, but in regard to the way we relate to players, coaches, and parents. This is not to suggest that advice in these areas is always negative, but any counsel we receive regarding the “life-related” issues of coaching, family, finances, etc. is potentially harmful if not filtered through God’s Word. Regarding God’s Word, the psalmist writes, “Your decrees are my delight and my counselors” (Ps 119:24).

For four years I watched my little girl, Julianna, walk, run, and twirl her way through our church. For thirteen years I watched another girl in our church, Kindra, live her entire life confined to a wheelchair. One Sunday, Kindra’s mom brought her to church with a new spring outfit. I noticed that there were new shoes, but they sat in Kindra’s lap. After the service, Kindra’s mother gave the shoes to my wife with the request that our daughter wear them. For the next few services, I observed the mom watching Julianna move about the church property in the shoes that Kindra could not wear.

One of my players committed a costly turnover during a basketball game, and I screamed, “How could he be so stupid?” I had officially hit rock bottom as a coach. Winning games had become so important to me that I publicly demeaned a player. My will as a coach needed to be broken and conformed to God’s will. So I spent some time with God and asked Him, “Should I still be coaching?” God graciously provided the answer in Jeremiah 7:3, “Correct your ways and your deeds, and I will allow you to live in this place.” When I knew that God wanted me to coach, I needed to ask “Why do I coach?” Was it for the wins or my personal glory? Or was it to have an impact for Christ?

As a baseball coach for twenty years, I often had to maximize the skills of my players and play “small ball” since my teams were not always blessed with great power. Consequently, the sacrificial bunt was an important part of our offensive arsenal.

Amazingly, the sacrificial bunt, which should be one of baseball’s easiest skills to master, was for some players the most difficult. Most of the players could square around, get the bat out over the plate, and with a relatively loose grip, let the ball hit the bat. But some failed because the player was not willing to “sacrifice” himself and give himself up to move his teammate forward.