Journey: Standing Firm
There’s a reason God created the world with more than 70 percent of it water. Never mind the seafood and all the resources we pull from it. I’m convinced the most valuable thing we gain from these wet masses is a sense of humility – the smallness of realizing that, despite how firmly we plant our two heels in the sand, the force of an ocean can knock us down in a split second, even when we cautiously wade just knee deep – and, especially when we least expect it.
I’m reminded of that each time I get lucky enough to walk along a shoreline. Last fall, my husband, Jeff, took his team of 18 college basketball players to Costa Rica, where I had the privilege of joining them and testing out this theory of humility. They played the Costa Rican National Team – full-grown men, each at least 20-30 pounds heavier than nearly every one of our guys. Like the foamy remnants of white-tipped waves of the Pacific, it could have been a very humbling experience. However, they won one of the games and came close to another. After the buzzers sounded and each of them had traded enough sweat to properly soak their jerseys, they embraced with slippery, multicultural bro hugs, This game they all loved had no communication barrier. It was a big part of why my husband planned this trip, and I knew right then that this team would pull from this shared experience later – both on the court and in their personal lives.
This Costa Rica trip marked the beginning of our 2017-18 seasonal journey with this group. It included six seniors, five of whom had been part of Jeff’s first recruiting class. I had watched them grow from boys to men over the last four years. We welcomed several freshmen and transfers as well, so this pre-season trip would be a good chance to solidify the team’s chemistry. At least one of our guys had never flown on a plane before, and a couple had never seen the ocean. Together, we navigated airport customs lines and humble attempts to translate Spanish. We devoured incredible lunches served on plantain leaves and frothy fruit juices in cold, aluminum cups. We zip-lined through the rainforest, some of us upside down like the monkeys we spotted in the trees and others battling fears of heights. We searched for sloths and admired a herd of alligators swamp-swimming (from afar) and had impromptu bus concerts. We were a combination of personalities, ages and backgrounds all sharing an experience none of us would ever forget.
My husband had coordinated the trip through Beyond Sports, and their representatives served as translators, navigators and tour guides of this new culture. With the help of our new friends, Jeff led two youth basketball camp sessions for area schools and clubs, and we handed out nearly 100 pouches of school supplies that our oldest daughter assembled as part of her honors senior project. Like basketball, there’s no language barrier for kindness. Those beautiful children eagerly accepted our gifts. And, we, in turn, experienced that the act of giving was better than receiving.
Our last couple of days were spent exploring rocky beaches a couple hours outside of the city. Watching those guys venture out into the Pacific, I felt like a mother with 18 children, counting heads in the water and reminding everyone to use sunscreen. They played in the ocean like 10-year-old boys, laughing at each when they got caught off guard as the waves broke. After a few poundings, they finally figured out that they couldn’t be as easily knocked down when they held on to one another. That was the most valuable souvenir from this trip -- a sense of togetherness.
They would later use that experience when everyone least expected it.
Being a coach’s wife for more than 20 years has conditioned me to be flexible, knowing that the temperature of our family life is often dictated by how well our team listens in practice or executes at game time. It’s like Georgia in the fall -- sometimes there’s a 40-degree swing in temperature between the morning and late afternoon. You learn to dress in layers. Over the years, I’ve grown used to the changing thermostat in our home, long ago giving up being able to predict when it would be hot or cold. I’ve just gone with the flow, realizing that my husband’s career was like a sailboat going up and down with a current determined by 18-22 year-olds who were still trying to navigate their own individual journeys. Sometimes it seemed like smooth sailing. Other times, not so much.
In 2013, Jeff left Thomas More College in Northern Kentucky as the winningest coach in the college’s basketball program history. He inherited a team of eight players at Berry College in Rome, Georgia, coming to a program that had struggled transitioning from NAIA to Division III. He was like a substitute teacher that first year, doing the best he could with what he had, leading one of the five wins that season with only four players on the court for the last 2.5 minutes of the game. Two of those players from that team would go on to sit by him on the sidelines after they graduated, eager to learn as volunteer assistants. Both are coaching teams of their own now.
It was a big change from his back-to-back 20-plus win seasons in Kentucky, but every job he had ever accepted was a makeover challenge, and he was up for the task. Our family fell in love with Rome, Georgia, and he dove into building a program at Berry that demonstrated the work ethic, accountability and integrity that is ingrained in his coaching. When it comes to leading others, my husband isn’t afraid of the undertow of challenges that might tempt others to run high-stepped out of the water. He faces them head on, full force – even when the waves knock him down and the jagged edges of broken shells poke through skin. He spits out the salt water and braces himself, diving back in with determination unlike any man I've ever met. He knows that if he digs around enough, he’ll come up with a sand dollar or a conch shell fully intact.
Four seasons after his introduction at Berry, he led his once-recruits, now-seniors to the 2018 conference tournament as the major underdogs. Their regular season performance after Costa Rica had produced more losses than wins, and it seemed as if this group of young men had forgotten the lesson they learned against the Pacific waters. We entered the tournament as the last seed, playing the number one seed on their home court. Everyone expected it to end there – except those men wearing the visitor jerseys, and a coaching staff that never stopped believing in them.
Ironically, the battle was in Kentucky at Centre College, against whom Berry had never won a game in the college’s history. That afternoon, however, these guys came together, realizing their shared power of resilience and determination. It was their moment. They pulled off an impressive, history-making upset that turned heads from those who didn’t believe they could do it, and stirred a long-awaited excitement from those of us who knew they could. My parents were there to watch it in person, and they reported silence from the crowd of Centre followers and jubilation from a smaller band of fans wearing navy and white. Our guys went on to win the second round and compete for the championship, officially making a true Cinderella run and hoping to become the first Division III number eight seed to win a conference title.
Everyone loves an underdog, but there was no one who loved this team more than a few faithful coaches’ wives in Georgia who were cheering them on from afar. We piled into the car that Sunday, driving up and back in one day – 12 hours total. When we arrived, I saw the look in one of our senior’s eyes, and I knew there had been a shift – and that this trip would be worth every mile. Caleb would go on to score 45 points in the final game and be named the national Division III Player of the Week. He and his teammates pressed forward together to win the whole thing. Caleb’s post-game interview with my husband summed up what every coach’s wife hopes for. Jeff talked about leading a team of boys who love each other, relating how this experience was more about life than basketball. Caleb described Jeff as a friend and father figure, giving honor to God and his teammates. I couldn’t have been more proud of that young man in that moment had I been his actual mother.
Jeff’s team had banded together when it mattered the most. They were like 10-year-old boys again, only this time they were up on ladders cutting nets down instead of skipping rocks along the shoreline. They brought home a huge trophy – and a coach whose heart was full from seeing his game plan come together. They garnered the attention of national media, and their fan base proudly spread the word over social channels. Over the years, Jeff’s teams had won tournaments before, but this one was different, and I will never forget it. Ever.
Our jubilant team went on to compete in the first round of the NCAA Division III tournament, something none of Berry’s men’s basketball teams had accomplished since 1992. They were matched against Emory, the sixth-ranked team in the country. We put up a good fight, but ended the season in Atlanta that following Friday night, despite taking a lead in the middle of the second half. Although we lost, we represented well.
Sigh.
It was over.
But, we came home proud and still a little elated from the conference tournament run, and all of our guys walked a little taller to class that following Monday morning. Even my husband, who normally is his own worst critic, strode into the office knowing his team had made history, carrying with him the synergy of the happy ending of this Cinderella story. Our family had ridden a wave of exhilaration for the last week, much like that zip line experience in the rainforest. I, too, returned to work and normal routines with a sense of pride and optimism as I looked forward to enjoying a comfortable post-season temperature for our family thermostat.
By mid-morning, however, my heart was pulled under by a riptide that I was sure was just as powerful as anything the Pacific waters could deliver. Jeff was told the college wanted to go another direction with its coaching leadership. Their measure of success was different from his. And mine. And lots of others who followed our journey.
So, our celebration was cut short, smacked down like an angry wave crashing too soon before it reached shore. The news was heavy and powerful when he shared it with me. I felt like an undercurrent has swept us out into unknown waters, and I began grasping for something to keep my heart afloat – prayer, the comfort of friends, more prayer – and chocolate.
Watching someone you love walk through an unfamiliar challenge is probably one of the toughest things there is in this world. Walking through that with him gracefully is the second hardest.
He resigned.
Team Rogers has battled hard times before, and we’ve faced them with trust in God and love for others, with faith as our anchor. That’s how our family would wade through this salty, swirling mess in the months that followed.
I’ve witnessed my husband face some of the most challenging things a coach can face, but his walking into that locker room to share the news with the team was among the hardest. Telling our kids the news, however, was probably harder. There have been many other “character-building” experiences for Jeff since then, and I’ve steadily watched him muscle through them with both humility and strength. Character and courage aren’t really tested when the waters are calm. In this stormy season we’re in, I’ve been humbled by his faith and resilience. Currently, we’re still swimming against this unfamiliar tide, as a shift in his career isn’t clearly defined just yet. However, I know there’s something amazing on the horizon for him. Just like every program he’s ever led, he’ll work hard in this new journey and plant his feet firmly, standing ready to battle the waves to make a difference in this world. I’m not exactly sure when, where or how he’ll be making that difference, but I’m confident he will. It’s like watching for dolphins to surface while you’re standing on the beach. You know they’re out there, and the anticipation of seeing one is enough to keep you filled with hope as you scan the grey waters, eagerly searching for fins. I have a feeling he’ll find the right opportunity soon – probably when we least expect it.
Video courtesy Lance Meaux
“Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. Then, whether I come and see you or only hear about you in my absence, I will know that you stand firm in the one Spirit, striving together as one for the faith of the gospel...”