There are things you prepare for as a coach. Opponents. Game plans. Long seasons and tough losses.
But there are seasons no preparation touches. A kid you once coached is lying in a casket because of an overdose. The phone rings and the diagnosis changes a fellow coach’s family in a matter of weeks. There is something present in every locker room and every staff room that no practice plan can touch: Suffering.
I've been in those rooms. I've watched coaches carry weight they never asked for: losing parents, navigating forced transitions, grieving kids who slipped into abuse or addiction before we could get to them. And I've had to learn, sometimes the hard way, what it actually means to step into that burden with them.
The first thing we have to settle is our theology of suffering. Peter writes, "Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you" (1 Peter 4:12). That word, surprised, matters. Because most of us are surprised. We treat suffering like an interruption when God treats it like a corridor.
If you are in Christ, suffering is not meaningless. It refines faith, loosens the grip on temporary things, and often becomes the very place where God works most clearly. That does not make it hurt less. But it does change how we stand in it with someone else.
Here is a hard truth about loving fellow coaches through suffering: you cannot meaningfully serve someone in their worst moment if you were invisible to them before it arrived. Suffering is not the time to introduce yourself relationally. It is the time when relational investment is revealed.
Peter calls the church a brotherhood. Not coworkers. Not acquaintances. Brotherhood. And that does not happen by accident. It is built in the ordinary, unimpressive moments. Conversations that go beyond X's and O's. Checking in when there is nothing on the line. Choosing presence over distance when there is nothing to gain from it.
If the only time you show up is when things fall apart, you haven't really shown up at all.
Those casual conversations, honest and real questions, and consistent interest are exactly what put you in the small circle of people who will get that phone call for help when the coach’s family has been in a horrific crash.
Not every coach you serve alongside shares your faith. That changes your approach, not in conviction, but in posture. Peter writes that we are to clothe ourselves with humility toward one another (1 Peter 5:5). Humility means you listen before you speak. You resist the urge to fix what you don't fully understand. I have learned that sometimes the most powerful thing I can bring into someone's suffering is not a word, but my willingness to stay. Your presence may be the first expression of the gospel that a non-believing coach is willing to receive. Not through argument or pressure, but through consistent, genuine care.
Suffering is not abstract, so love cannot be abstract either.
When a coach loses a loved one, the season keeps moving, but grief doesn't. Love looks like stepping in and carrying weight without being asked. It looks like showing up physically. And it looks like still checking on him three months later when everyone else has moved on.
When a coach faces retirement or a forced transition, understand that for many of them, identity and vocation are the same thing. What feels like an ending may be God establishing something deeper. Speak dignity into it. Stay connected after the workplace connection is gone.
When family crises hit like medical emergencies, broken homes, or a child in trouble, provide tangible help and protect their space. Meals matter. Coverage matters. But sustained presence matters more than short-term emotional intensity.
And when a coach is unjustly attacked by parents, administration, or circumstances, remind them that not all suffering is because you did wrong. Peter says, "Even if you should suffer for righteousness' sake, you will be blessed"(1 Peter 3:14). Sometimes the hardest suffering comes not from failure but from faithfulness.
At its core, this is not about being a better coworker. It is about reflecting Christ. Jesus did not observe suffering from a distance. He entered the space. He bore it. "He Himself bore our sins in His body on the tree" (1 Peter 2:24). That changes how we see the people around us because we are not stepping into suffering as experts. We are stepping in as people who have received grace and are now called to extend it.
Look around at your staff. Not just at performance, but as people. Someone is almost certainly carrying more than you realize. You may not be able to remove what they're walking through.
But you can make sure they don't walk through it alone.
In a profession defined by pressure, expectations, and constant evaluation, one of the clearest ways you can lead is by how you love when life is at its hardest.