When I was in college, our FCA leaders were called the “God Squad.” We represented most sports and held each other accountable for our actions as ambassadors for Christ on the court and field. I remember after one game in which I got into a fight on the basketball court defending my point guard. My fellow squad members prayed for me that it would not negatively impact my testimony. I realized then for the first time that my life was either all godly, or all compromise. I apologized publicly at the next meeting for not representing Christ in public.

It was a beautiful day in the Windy City. A hot dog, a Pepsi and a ballgame at Wrigley Field. . . What could be better? The game was going just as I wanted it to go. My team was scoring run after run, but the crowd was turning ugly. People were getting upset and starting to leave. Finally, after he'd had just about enough, the little boy sitting next to me pulled on my sleeve and asked, "Mister, who are you cheering for anyway?" You see, I am Reds fan, and the Reds handled the Cubs that day pretty easily. I left the game a happy fan.

This was my first year ever as a football coach. I was unsure of what to expect, but I went into the season with one goal: being satisfied not with producing a winning record, but with producing winning athletes.

Billy Graham once stated that one coach would influence more people in one year than the average person would in a lifetime. This was an idea I took to heart. At the beginning of the season, I had no idea who my players were or what their backgrounds were like, but I did know one thing: while they were on my team they were going to learn not only about football, but about life and God.

If you have been on a team, chances are you’ve heard the phrases “Be a leader,” and “This team needs leadership!” Statements like those constantly remind us as players to work hard, demonstrate integrity, and display a model of intensity for other players.

Hockey Chat: Being a great hockey player takes a great amount of work.  To reach to a level worthy of playing in the big leagues, guys persistently work at their skills.  Things that were once difficult become easier with practice. 

I was the youngest varsity basketball coach in Indiana. I studied older coaches to gain knowledge, but one area to which I never paid enough attention was when to talk and when to keep quiet. I learned the hard way: by my second year of coaching, I’d received more than ten technical fouls, not for bad language, but for opening my mouth at the wrong time. These failures made me wonder if I’d ever master control over my tongue.

Solomon knew that there is a time for speaking and a time to guard our mouths, and many of us would do well to learn his lesson. All too often our lips keep moving when we should be listening. We fall too easily into traps made by our own speech; we forget that if our mouth doesn’t open, we will not be creating a trap to fall into.