If you had asked me as a kid what success looked like, I wouldn’t have hesitated.
It had a scoreboard.
It had a spotlight.
And if I was being honest, it probably had me sitting behind the desk on SportsCenter.
I was the youngest of three boys. Sports weren’t just something we did, they were the language we spoke growing up. Backyard games turned into rivalries. Rivalries turned into dreams. And for me, that dream was to play professional baseball.
That was the goal. That was success.
And when that dream faded, as it does for most of us, I didn’t really let go of it. I just reshaped it. If I couldn’t play sports, I’d talk about it. Cover it. Live around it. Stay as close to it as I possibly could.
Because in my mind, success still had a scoreboard. Just a different seat and perspective.
The Climb
Right out of college, I got my first shot working for a small sports station covering high school sports in South Carolina and the occasional college coverage for Clemson and South Carolina.
It wasn’t mainstream, but it felt like a step.
I was around the games. Telling stories. Watching Friday night lights and small-town fields and gyms come alive. It mattered. And for a while, it felt like I was on my way.
Then an opportunity opened up to return to my alma mater and help build something that didn’t even exist yet: an intercollegiate athletics program at Bob Jones University.
From scratch. No blueprint. Just vision, hard work, and a lot of long days.
And I loved it.
There’s something incredible about building. About creating something where nothing existed before. Every small win feels big. Every step forward feels like momentum.
The hours were long, but they didn’t feel like a sacrifice. They felt like purpose. And we worked hard to build something special.
The Wins
Over time, what we were building started to work. Then it started to really work.
We saw national championships. We were recognized as the top program in the National Christian College Athletic Association Division II (for multiple years in a row). There were accolades, recognition, and momentum.
From the outside, it looked like success.
And if I’m being honest, I started to believe it too.
Not just believe in the work, but believe that the work was me. That what we were building, what we were winning, what people were saying, was somehow defining my worth.
I wouldn’t have said it out loud at the time. But looking back, it was happening slowly and quietly. And that’s usually how it happens.
The Crack
Somewhere along the way though, something didn’t sit right. It didn’t happen all at once. There wasn’t some dramatic moment where everything fell apart.
It was more subtle than that. More like a slow drift.
I was “successful,” but I wasn’t healthy emotionally, spiritually, or physically.
There was a night I ended up in the ER, convinced I was having a heart attack.
I wasn’t.
It was stress. But in that moment, laying there, it forced a question I hadn’t been asking:
What is all of this costing me?
Because it wasn’t just my health. It was my family, too.
There were moments I missed. Moments I can’t get back. Times when I was physically home, but mentally still on the job as I wrote stories, checked in with coaches, watched online webcasts of games, and kept working for a job that never seemed to sleep.
And then there was everything else I had convinced myself I could carry. Trying to lead in athletics. Trying to serve as a youth pastor (oh yeah, did I mention that I served in that capacity at my church?). Trying to take on freelance work on the side to further provide for my family.
At some point, I bought into the idea that if I just worked hard enough, I could do it all.
I couldn’t.
And the weight of trying became too much to ignore.
The Realization
Here’s the part that’s uncomfortable to admit:
I had achieved the version of success I always wanted, and it still wasn’t enough.
The wins didn’t fix it.
The recognition didn’t fix it.
The progress didn’t fix it.
Because the problem wasn’t out there. It was how I had defined success in the first place.
If your identity is built on what you do, it will eventually crumble because at some point, you won’t be able to do it the same way anymore.
The seasons change.
The roles shift.
The game moves on without you.
And if your foundation is tied to performance, what happens when the performance changes?
The Pivot
In 2023, I stepped away from my dream job. I really thought I’d spend my career there.
That wasn’t an easy decision. It wasn’t clean or simple. It came with a lot of questions, emotions, and unknowns. To this day, it’s probably the hardest decision I’ve made in my professional life. But it was necessary.
I stepped into a new season, serving as a bi-vocational pastor and working with Heard Media, a marketing agency in Greenville, South Carolina.
Different pace. Different focus. Different scoreboard.
And then, in a moment that honestly felt a little ironic, I was selected to the Hall of Fame for the Bob Jones University Bruins in 2025. I was incredibly humbled to receive the honor.
The recognition came after I had already walked away. And that moment clarified something for me in a way I won’t forget:
Success isn’t about holding onto something. It’s about being faithful in whatever season you’re called to.
Not just in what you achieve, but in who you become.
The Truth
If you’re a coach, an athletic director, or someone working in sports, let me say this as clearly as I can:
You are shaping more than athletes. You are shaping people.
The wins matter. I’m not pretending they don’t. Competing matters. Excellence matters.
But they are not the most important thing.
People are.
Relationships are.
Character is.
Because at the end of the day, you’re at the level where few are going to stand up and talk about your win-loss record.
Instead, they are going to talk about how you treated people. How you showed up. Who you invested in.
That’s the legacy that lasts.
5 Quick Reminders (Because You’re Likely Reading This Quickly to Get to the Next Thing)
- Check your identity.
If the game were taken away tomorrow, who are you? - Don’t trade what matters most for what matters now.
Wins feel urgent. Family, health, and faith are what matters most. - Be present where your feet are.
Not halfway there. Not distracted. Fully there. Then walk away (and be fully present at the next thing) - Build people, not just programs.
Banners fade. People don’t. - Anchor your identity in Jesus.
Wins and losses will always fluctuate. He doesn’t.
Closing
When I was a kid, success was easy to define. It was the big stage. The bright lights. The scoreboard telling me I was winning.
But success looks a lot different to me now.
It looks like being present with my family.
It looks like having peace, not just pressure.
It looks like faithfulness over fame.
And it looks like understanding that my identity was never meant to be built on what I do, but on who Jesus says I am.
Because here’s the truth: You can win everything the world tells you matters, and still lose what actually does.
About The Author
Jonny is a pastor, husband, and proud father of four amazing kids who keep his life loud, busy, and full of laughter. Fueled by grace, coffee (lots of it), and faith, Jonny has spent over 15 years in ministry helping people grow in their walk with Christ. He’s also a loyal Colorado sports fan through the good, the bad, and the “maybe next season.”
