Life Lessons from Coaching by Victoria Chun

For over eight years, I have been attending a weekly Bible study via Zoom. What began as a gathering of strangers has become a beautiful community of friends, where new faces are always welcomed with open arms. Over the years, we have shared life’s many seasons—births, deaths, celebrations, heartbreak, joy, stress, and everything in between.

I must admit, I was hesitant to join at first. Like so many of us, I was simply too “busy.” But a dear friend, who first introduced me to Bible study, was persistent. Almost daily, she would remind me, “Bible study is Tuesday at 1 p.m.!” And thank goodness she did. I am forever grateful for her persistence and, even more importantly, for bringing God back into my life.

This past week, we studied Deuteronomy 8, continuing our journey through the “wilderness.” The timing could not have been more meaningful.

Lately, I can’t help but feel that our world is going through its own wilderness. I can barely watch the news anymore. I’ve stepped away from social media because the negativity, division, and anger can sometimes feel insurmountable. There are days when it is difficult to make sense of it all.

But back to the wilderness.

Our small but mighty Bible study group is wonderfully diverse, representing different regions of the country, multiple generations, and a wide range of life experiences. Yet, every Tuesday, we come together with open hearts, a willingness to listen, and a desire to grow in our faith.

This group has truly been a saving grace.

What I treasure most is how our discussions bring forth meaningful memories, personal experiences, and lessons that might otherwise remain tucked away. I have learned so much from the wisdom, perspectives, and stories shared by others. And often, a passage from Scripture will take me back to a moment in my own life that suddenly carries a deeper meaning.

This past week was one of those moments.

As we reflected on Deuteronomy 8 and the lessons of the wilderness—humility, perseverance, gratitude, faith, and learning to trust God even when the path ahead is uncertain—I found myself thinking back to my coaching days in the 1990s.

I was just 24 years old when I began my head coaching career at my alma mater, an NCAA Division I institution.

I had inherited a wonderful volleyball program from my former head coach, who had transitioned into full-time athletic administration. Those were big shoes to fill, and I put enormous pressure on myself to continue the program’s tradition of success and winning.

Looking back, I realize how much I had taken my former coach for granted. Suddenly, I was responsible for everything—recruiting, admissions, financial aid, running practices, managing assistant coaches, and, of course, coaching the team.

My life was consumed by the program, my coaches, and my players. I was young, determined, and probably carrying far more pressure than I needed to.

Every summer, I ran a volleyball camp, and many of my players served as camp coaches. One summer, Autumn, one of our most talented players, was working camp.

Autumn was our conference Rookie of the Year and would eventually become Offensive Player of the Year. She was also probably the shortest middle hitter in NCAA Division I volleyball history! But what she lacked in height, she more than made up for with her incredible vertical jump, speed, athleticism, and talent.

During camp, Autumn shared with me that she wanted to move from middle hitter to outside hitter.

Now, for those unfamiliar with volleyball, let me explain why this was such a big deal.

Autumn was an extraordinary blocker. Despite her height, she had the speed and athleticism to block on the left, in the middle, or on the right. Offensively, middle hitters are often used to run quick attacks, drawing the opposing middle blocker toward them and creating opportunities for the outside and right-side hitters to attack against a single blocker.

I needed Autumn in the middle. At least, that’s what I believed.

I vividly remember running out of the gym and responding rather sternly, “You will play middle, and that’s it!”

It was so unlike me to speak to Autumn that way. I regretted it almost immediately.

But the words were out, and I couldn’t take them back.

Preseason was about a month away, and I spent much of that time worrying about what Autumn might do. Would she be upset? Would she refuse to play middle? Had I damaged our relationship? Had I let my own pressure and expectations get the better of me?

I lost sleep over it.

Looking back, I was in my own little wilderness.

I was so focused on winning, on proving myself, and on making the right decisions that I had lost sight of something far more important.

Then came the first day of preseason.

Autumn asked if she could speak with me in my office.

My immediate thought was, “Here we go.”

I braced myself. I was certain she was about to tell me exactly how she felt about our conversation at camp.

Instead, Autumn looked at me and said:

“I love this team, and I respect you. I will play any position you think is best for the team.”

I was stunned.

I had spent weeks preparing myself for confrontation, disappointment, and perhaps even resentment.

What I hadn’t prepared for was grace.

Autumn offered me understanding, trust, and forgiveness when I hadn’t even asked for it.

And that unexpected grace changed everything.

Instead of simply returning to business as usual, we began thinking differently about how to use Autumn’s extraordinary abilities.

Traditionally, a middle hitter runs a quick attack, often drawing blockers away from the outside hitters. But we decided to try something I had never seen in all my years of playing and coaching college volleyball.

Rather than using Autumn as a decoy, we would set her a high ball in the middle and let her swing away!

That often meant she was attacking against two or even three blockers.

But this was Autumn.

She didn’t care how many blockers were in front of her. She would jump, swing, and find a way.

And it worked.

That season, we won the conference championship and became the first women’s team in school history to compete in the NCAA Division I Championship tournament.

It was an extraordinary accomplishment, and one I will always treasure.

But when I think back on that season, the championship isn’t the first thing that comes to mind.

It’s that conversation in my office.

It’s the grace a young student-athlete extended to her young coach.

It’s the realization that sometimes, when we think we’re the ones leading, we’re actually the ones being taught.

And sometimes, the person who helps lead us out of the wilderness is someone we least expect.

Now, here’s the beautiful part of this story.

Autumn is a member of our Tuesday Bible study group!

More than three decades later, we are still learning, growing, and sharing life’s experiences together.

And I’m pretty sure this is the first time she’s hearing how much that moment meant to me.

Autumn, you may not have known it then, but you helped lead me out of my wilderness all those years ago.

You taught me that leadership isn’t always about having the answers, being in control, or making every decision correctly. Sometimes it’s about humility, listening, trusting others, and recognizing the grace that is being offered to us.

You gave me a gift that has stayed with me throughout my coaching career and my years as an athletic director.

And for that, I am forever grateful.

We have remained dear friends, and I couldn’t be prouder of the person she is.

As I reflect on Deuteronomy 8, I am reminded that the wilderness isn’t simply a place of hardship or uncertainty. It can also be a place of learning, growth, humility, and unexpected blessings.

Sometimes we are so consumed by the challenges in front of us that we fail to recognize the people God has placed along our path.

And sometimes, God’s grace arrives through a 5-foot-something middle hitter who can jump out of the gym!

Thank you, Autumn, for reminding me that even in the wilderness, we are never walking alone.