Trouble and being troubled are two completely different things. Trouble is being down by a run, nobody on base, with two outs in the bottom of the ninth and our worst hitter coming to the plate. Being troubled is having no strategy for this scenario and not being prepared to accept the possible consequences that are about to come.

As coaches, there will be many times when we will have to declare to our team, “Don’t worry, everything will be okay.” We might even complete our short speech with the same words that Jesus did: “Believe in me.” But if we haven’t demonstrated believability to our players, these words will have absolutely no value. Without having the same credibility that Jesus had, our words will be like wisps of air.

Last night, at the age of 68, University of Connecticut men’s basketball coach Jim Calhoun became the oldest basketball coach to ever win an NCAA men’s basketball championship. In his team’s 53-41 win over the Butler Bulldogs, Calhoun earned his third title in his 39-year coaching career.

Calhoun’s milestone reminded me this morning about a man in Scripture whose age also made history. His name was Abraham, and, at the age of 100, he and his wife, Sarah, who was only 10 years younger, gave birth to their son, Isaac. While Abraham and Sarah had known for many years that God promised them a child, they couldn’t see how that would happen in their old ages.

Hannah made the varsity tennis team as a sophomore, eventually beating Mindy, a senior, for the number two singles spot. Hannah became very arrogant in her new position of power, bossing her teammates around and telling them to do things for her. When Mindy did not budge, Hannah became angry. She would do anything to make Mindy look bad in front of the coaches. Mindy did not retaliate; she went about her business playing doubles in her final year. Hannah would not let up. Her dislike for Mindy turned into hate, and she tried to get Mindy kicked off the team. Does this sound familiar?

Sports are a big thing for me. My whole year pretty much is revolved around sports. The time I do have between seasons, it's usually really busy with working and such, but you also have to have time for friends and family too. I got to thinking the other day, if I prayed, and asked for God as much as I played sports, where would I be? I am pretty sure that my relationship would be 10X stronger, even stronger then it is now. I am sure a lot of people think the same way though.

What does it take to win the game? The answer to this question often dictates the primary philosophy that coaches use as the basis of their decisions. Under ever-increasing pressure to win, every coach and player has been encouraged to bend or break the rules. In the world of sports, why is it so difficult to discern what constitutes cheating?

Growing up with two older brothers meant I never got anything new. I was always dished secondhand items:clothes, sporting equipment, and toys. My big day came when I was eight years old and my dad bought me a new lacrosse stick. It was a glorious moment. The lacrosse stick glowed from newness. That experience marked me as a young athlete. It passed through my hands first—not second, third, or fourth!

God does not want our secondhand glory. Secondhand glory is taking credit when God should be getting the credit first. It is subtle. As athletes, it is easy to take credit because we are always getting it from teammates, coaches, and fans.

To hear Ryan Hall nonchalantly describe his winding journey as a long-distance runner isn’t much different from watching him glide with apparent ease through treacherous hills and valleys en route to the finish line. But just because he makes it look effortless doesn’t mean his path to competitive greatness has been without a fair number of trials and tribulations.

“I’ve had a really rocky journey,” Hall says. “The hardest thing is picking yourself up after a shattered dream or an injury or when you know you didn’t give your best.”

Tuesday is always trash day. And on some Tuesdays, there seems to be very little good about the morning. Daily tasks often can become mundane, but not this one. Every Tuesday morning I am the member of the family who deposits the trash into the proper container. This morning, as I sat back at the table lamenting the fact that I had to take the trash out to the curb, I heard a song resonating from an upstairs bedroom. “I am C. I am C-H. I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N.” It was coming from my 7-year-old, who was joyfully ringing in the day.