The day I walked into that interview, I was carrying more than a résumé. I was carrying my father’s unfinished story and the weight of knowing time with him was running out.
My dad coached varsity basketball and taught for 39 years. He cared about his players, built men, and lived for the game. He was respected, loved, and known for giving everything he had to others. But after my senior year, following a championship season and a valley playoff run, he was fired. That wound cut deep for him, and in its own way, it landed on my brother and me too.
Years later, when I felt God nudging me to apply for a Varsity basketball coaching job, I thought maybe this was the moment to redeem that story.
I’d spent a large part of my life around the game, played college basketball and worked elite camps, but this wasn’t about stats or ego. It was about legacy, volunteering and giving back what the game had given my dad, and me.
But the interview didn’t go as planned.
Halfway through the interview I had an asthma attack. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I walked out of the room embarrassed and frustrated. They never saw the vision I prepared. I never got a second interview.
It hurt more than it should have, not because I didn’t get the job, but because I felt like I’d failed him. His pain and my drive had become tangled together. It wasn’t about basketball anymore; it was about closure I never got to give him.
About six months later, my dad passed away.
Those final months became sacred. My mom, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew carried the heavy load of daily care. They were true heroes.
I talked to him about Jesus, about the peace that only comes through Him. I prayed over him, and for the first time, coaching didn’t mean drills or plays, it meant guiding someone I loved toward eternity.
Those conversations became the most meaningful coaching I’ve ever done.
Later, when I asked God why the rejection of the basketball job hurt so bad, I sensed this truth:
“You weren’t rejected. You were released.”
Released from carrying my dad’s unfinished story. Released from trying to fix what only God could redeem. Released from proving myself in a world that often chooses the safe choice instead of the one that brings real transformation.
My dad never failed. He just didn’t know the full harvest of the seeds he planted.
Now, decades later, I hear from his former players, men who are now grandfathers, leaders, and coaches themselves. They tell me, “Your dad was a role model, inspiring, a righteous man, life teacher, class act, principled man, great coach and was loved.
My dad walked the walk, not just talked it.
That’s legacy. That’s impact. And that’s success, even if the world never hands you a trophy.
Here’s what I know now:
Rejection doesn’t define you. Purpose does. The panel didn’t know my heart, my passion, or my commitment when they said no. But God said, “Not here.”
He’s still leading me to the court He wants me on, and when it’s time, I’ll be ready.
To every man who’s felt the sting of rejection or loss where he thought he was called, you’re not weak, and you’re not done.
Sometimes God walks you into pain to free you from burdens you were never meant to carry. Once they’re lifted, you can finally build something eternal.
Dad, I prayed with you. I talked to you about Jesus. I know God has your soul. And I trust that what He began in you, He’s completed.
I’ll keep running my race until we meet again where the court is eternal, the season never ends, and the victory is already won.