There was a time I put football and ambition ahead of God, and it nearly cost me everything. I can still feel the weight of those years—20 years old, chasing a spot on the Razorbacks, thinking I could outrun my problems with speed and grit. I was wrong. My mom was slipping into addiction, my family was fracturing, and I was too busy proving myself on the field to see I was losing something bigger off it. That’s the raw truth I’m starting with here, because if I’m going to tell you how faith pulled me through, I’ve got to own where I fell short.
Those were my lowest moments. I’d watch Mom, my hero, unravel—her job at the University of Arkansas Medical School gone, her marriage to Thom dissolving, her spirit dulled by substances I didn’t know how to fight. I’d moved to Arkansas with her grand plans, but when she took my little brother Randii back to Maryland, I stayed behind. I chose the game over going with her, and that choice haunts me. I’d lie awake in my dorm, replaying it—should I have transferred to Maryland, been the man she needed? Then there was my dad, Oma, a ghost in my life, leaving a hole I couldn’t fill. No father to guide me, no steady hand when I needed it most. I felt like a failure—not just to Mom, but to myself. I wasn’t leaning on God enough back then; I was leaning on me, and I wasn’t enough.
The fall was real, but the rise came when I stopped running from Him. One night, alone in my room, I cracked open my Bible. I wasn’t some preacher’s kid—I didn’t grow up with scripture memorized—but I was desperate. My eyes landed on Romans 8:31: “What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?” It hit me like a linebacker. I’d been fighting the world—gangs in Pine Bluff, doubters on the team, my own guilt—and here was God saying He was on my side. I kept reading: “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress…?” No, I thought. Not if I hold on. That became my lifeline. I started praying, not just for wins, but for peace. I’d talk to God on the field, in the weight room, asking Him to carry what I couldn’t.
That’s when I learned failure’s temporary when you’ve got faith. I’d messed up—had a kid out of wedlock, let Mom down, stumbled through my teens dodging the same traps that snared my brother Aaron. If I’d put God first sooner, maybe I’d have dodged some of those pitfalls. Maybe I’d have earned that full-ride scholarship, or at least been there when Mom needed me most. But faith isn’t about rewriting the past—it’s about resetting your spirit. I started over, right there in Arkansas. I’d pray before practice, asking God to make me more than a walk-on, more than my mistakes. He didn’t erase the pain, but He turned it into purpose. Every time I got knocked down—on the field or in life—I’d get up, knowing He was keeping me standing.
Now, I live to serve Him first. Coaching’s my job, sure—I love the whistle, the strategy, the wins—but it’s not my legacy. My legacy is this: a man who fell, who failed, but who found God’s grace in the wreckage. I think of Brandon Burlsworth, my teammate, whose faith shone brighter than his stats. He showed me what trusting God looks like, even when the world counts you out. I think of Mom, who instilled victory in me despite her own battles, and how God’s mercy brought her to sobriety. I wasn’t extraordinary for Him back then—I wasn’t a troublemaker, but I wasn’t a saint either. If I could do it over, I’d chase Him harder, earlier. But it’s never too late to press that reset button, to fix what’s holding you down.
That’s what I want you to hear. Young or old, wherever you’re at, put God at the front. I didn’t have a mentor holding my hand through the Bible, but I wish I’d sought one. When I leaned on Him, the chaos—gang violence, Mom’s struggles, my own regrets—didn’t disappear, but it made sense. He took my failures and built something stronger. Now, I’m not just Kahlil the coach or KC the player—I’m a man standing because of faith. Not for the spotlight, not for the championships, but for Him. That’s the testimony I’m chasing, and it’s the one that’ll outlast any game I ever played.
