Coach T “Polaris”
Out of all the titles I will ever hold, Coach T will always be one I hold in high esteem. Four years ago, an opportunity to coach a team of 9-year-olds fell into my lap. I thought I was only signing up to teach a game I love, but little did I know that in the process I would not only learn a great deal about the kids I coached, but also about myself, my community, and fatherhood.
It is natural to want to share the things you love, and for me, one of those things is the game of soccer. It’s not just a game, it has been central to my fitness, new relationships, and the social currency I’ve relied on everywhere I’ve lived. After moving from Nashville back to Atlanta, one of the first things I set out to do was find a solid pickup soccer group. By God’s grace, I didn’t have to look long. A friend connected me with someone in Atlanta who played regularly and welcomed me into his group.
Within a couple of months of playing with them, the leader pulled me aside after a game and asked if I had any interest in coaching. It was almost as though he had read my mind. I knew nothing about the club he referenced or where it was located, but I soon found out it was right down the street from my house — it couldn’t have worked out better. Shortly after our conversation, I interviewed with the director of the soccer academy. A few months later, I was head coach of a U-9 team. I would end up coaching that same group for four years, watching them grow from boys into preteens and teenagers. By no means was I the most qualified, but I was uniquely positioned to fill the need at the right time. They needed a coach, and I had the time and desire, so the role was mine.
From the beginning, I knew there was more to my job than the game itself. The reality is that most kids won’t play competitively past high school. So if that was true, I had to teach them more than soccer skills—I had to teach them life skills. In many ways, that responsibility went beyond the expectations of a coach and more closely resembled those of a father. For a long time I wanted to coach, and since becoming an adult, I longed to be a father. But if it weren’t for a sermon I attended at 25, I likely wouldn’t have recognized this chapter as the intersection of those two roles—and I might have approached it differently.
The sermon was about the spirit of fatherhood. At the time, I had no children of my own, but the message encouraged every man there, regardless of parental status, to live out the spirit of fatherhood. At the end of the sermon, each man was welcomed as a father and empowered to make an impact.
So when I began coaching, I led with a father’s mentality. I often say, “Before I had my own kid, they were my kids.” I rarely, if ever, called them my players. They were always my kids. My mission was to train boys not just to be soccer players, but to grow into future men. Every drill, every game, every speech was meant to reinforce these principles:
You are tougher than you think you are.
Be honest about your effort. Don’t claim you gave it your best if you know you didn’t.
Maintain good character no matter how your opponent acts.
How you practice is how you play.
Hold yourself accountable—nobody else.
Hard work pays off.
Your teammates are your brothers—be a voice of encouragement.
If I could teach them these things, I believed they would be alright, both on and off the field.
Saying yes to this assignment meant less soccer for myself, less time with friends, less time with my wife, and often missing church or social events. On top of that, our first few seasons were losing ones. It was the first time in my life I had ever been part of a losing team. My pride was challenged. Coaching was not all fun and games. However, in the early season the kids made many intangible improvements that became evident to myself and the parents and that was the fuel we all needed to keep the team together
At the start of each season, I battled anxiety—worrying about the time commitment, the loss of personal freedom, and a bruised ego from underperformance. Yet, without fail, after each practice or game, no matter the outcome, I felt joy and confidence that I was doing the right thing and making an impact. My time felt worth it.
Fast forward to our last few seasons, we became a winning team, finishing our final three seasons with winning records. Validation came from all angles. The boys grew in character, confidence, and talent—that was the icing on the cake.
As much as I loved our years together, all good things must come to an end. Right before our spring season, my wife and I learned we would be moving to Dallas, Texas. I held onto the news for a few games before finally announcing to the team that I could no longer coach. It was bittersweet, but I had already laid the groundwork for the kids to continue at higher levels. I reached back out to the director who had originally hired me—he was now leading another club with the infrastructure to take my kids to the next level. As a result, every player currently competes at a higher level, and five are playing at some of the highest levels in their age group. Mission accomplished.
Before leaving, I had one last gift for my kids. After four years, I’d say I knew the kids pretty well. With that knowledge, I created anime-style player cards, each with a personalized and encouraging tributes on the back. What I didn’t know was that while I creating my kids’ playing cards, my wife had been creating a personalized rendition just for me. Inspired by what I wrote for the kids, she surprised me with her own tribute:
“You tell the story of this team as if you stumbled into this position. As I have witnessed the monumental impact you’ve had on these kids, I don’t believe that to be true. You were divinely placed in this position to serve as a guiding light. You have been the only hope this team had in staying together and bonding as a family. And through your intentional efforts to develop these boys into young men, you have succeeded in just that.
You were the primary source of encouragement when their losses felt hopeless. You were a steady source of constructive criticism, carefully fine tuning their talents on and off the pitch. You showed up 110% to every game. Gave your wee hours of the night to plan their practice and summer challenges. And made sure each player played to their potential and understood their value to the team and as future leaders in the world.
And even as this season was coming to a close, while other coaches would naturally take a back seat, you never let up the gas. You showed your unwavering dedication by setting up a scrimmage that ultimately guided players to their now respective teams moving them a step forward towards achieving their soccer goals.
You are a consistent and reliable light. Even while Star players came and went, you were the star that stayed in a fixed position as the head coach of this team, leading them to victories and paving the way to future development in the sport. You may not know it yet, but you have impacted the trajectory of these kids lives in ways only God could explain. You are Polaris, the North Star.”
When I reflect on the sacrifices I made to pour into the lives of these kids, they pale in comparison to what I gained. At our end-of-year party, parents shared their gratitude, and many of my kids wrote me heartfelt letters. Over the years, I gained confidence in myself and my ability to lead. I saw tangible evidence that I could make a difference. I felt valuable to my community. I felt capable, influential, appreciated, and loved.
The spirit of fatherhood, in its simplest form, uses one’s lived experiences and resources to:
Provide for those in need for sustenance and growth,
Nurture those in need by reinforcing values and character and guide them down a path of righteousness.
Protect those in need against themselves and the surrounding world
All so that those cared for may grow into capable individuals who, in turn, can do the same for others.
Looking back, I knew very little about the man who first asked me to coach. I knew he had coached for years, and when I asked why he stopped, he simply said, “The parents.” That could have been my out. The pressure and potential friction wasn't exactly something I was welcoming — I just wanted to coach a good team. However, he came to me with a need—the kids needed training and guidance, and I had both the experience and desire. I felt a spiritual nudge telling me it was my Duty to accept. At the time, I wasn’t aware of the sacrifices to come, nor of the blessings that would follow. As it turned out, I had an incredible relationship with all of the parents, so I’m glad I didn’t let fear get in the way.
We’ve all heard the phrase, “The greater the sacrifice, the greater the reward.” That’s how the world works. But during this season of my life, I’ve been reflecting on a theme that occurs in 1 Samuel 15:22: “Obedience is better than sacrifice.” My takeaway is this: obedience still requires sacrifice, but Godly obedience unlocks immeasurably greater rewards than sacrifice alone. That was, and continues to be, my experience.
We can’t go a day without hearing of tragedies, and this constant awareness often fuels anxiety. We feel inadequate to solve problems beyond our control. But perhaps that anxiety is also the spirit of fatherhood stirring within us—ready to respond, ready to do something. Too often, we let the weight of global problems blind us to the immediate needs right in front of us. From 2021-2025, that was coaching a soccer team for me.
The spirit of fatherhood isn’t reserved only for those with children, nor is it absent in those without. It’s activated when we recognize a need—physical, emotional, or spiritual—that we are equipped to meet, and we choose to act in obedience to that call. Don’t undervalue your experiences and abilities—for the One who qualifies us measures by faith and obedience, not credentials.
I became a parent in 2024, but I became a father in 2021—the moment I said yes to coaching and obeyed the call. Now my son reaps the benefits of my growth: the lessons I learned from the kids and their parents, the confidence I built, and the community I gained. I wish the same for all of you. The need is great and the opportunities are various and diverse. If you feel the spirit of fatherhood churning inside of you, take action and trust that your rewards will far exceed your sacrifices.
- Coach T “ Polaris”
