There are moments in this life when words feel too small.
When your husband walks through the door after another interview, another long drive home, another hopeful wait, followed by another “no,” you search your heart for the right thing to say. You want to fix it. You want to protect him. You want to make the disappointment lighter somehow. And yet, nothing feels like enough.
My husband has been a coordinator for years. The goal has always been clear: to be a head coach at a Texas high school. Time after time, he makes it to the final round. Time after time, he hears the same words: “You’re an amazing coach.” “This was a very difficult decision.” “Your time is coming.” And every time, we’re left wondering—how many no’s come before the yes? How many times can a man pour his heart into a calling before the weight of waiting starts to press too hard?
As wives, we often feel the pressure to be the strong ones. To say the right thing. To lift him up with words of wisdom or encouragement. But the truth is, sometimes the most loving thing we can offer is not a speech—but our presence. Sometimes silence is okay. Sometimes sitting next to him on the couch, not asking questions, not trying to reframe the rejection, not rushing him toward hope—that’s support. Letting him grieve the loss of what could have been without immediately reminding him of what will be is a gift.
Silence doesn’t mean you don’t care. It often means you care deeply enough to let him feel. There’s a unique kind of pain in watching someone you love chase a calling you know they were made for—and still be told no. You see the early mornings, the late nights, the film sessions, the relationships built with players, and the sacrifices your family makes. And when it doesn’t pay off in the way you hoped, it can feel deeply personal, even when it’s not.
One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that I cannot carry the disappointment for him. I can walk beside him, but I can’t take the weight off his shoulders. What I can do is remind him—gently, patiently, and sometimes wordlessly—that he is not defined by a title. That his worth isn’t measured by a job offer. That who he is as a husband, a father, a leader, and a man of faith matters more than any position.
And then there’s God’s plan. We talk about trusting God’s timing, but living it is something else entirely. Trusting God when doors keep closing feels unfair. It feels confusing. It can even feel cruel at times.
But faith isn’t built when things go smoothly—it’s built in the waiting, in the uncertainty, in the long stretches where you’re asked to believe without seeing.
I don’t always understand why God allows so many no’s. I don’t know why the path feels harder than it seems to be for others. But I do believe this: God is not wasting the waiting. Every rejection is shaping something in my husband that no promotion could teach. Every delay is refining his character, his humility, his leadership, and his dependence on God rather than on outcomes.
As a wife, my role is not to have all the answers. My role is to be steady. To be safe. To be someone he can come home to without having to be “strong” all the time. It’s to pray when words fail, to hope when he’s tired of hoping, and to believe in God’s plan even when the timeline doesn’t make sense.
If you’re walking this road too, know this: you are not failing him by not knowing what to say. You are not weak for feeling discouraged. And you are not alone.
Sometimes love looks like encouragement.
Sometimes it looks like prayer.
And sometimes it looks like sitting quietly, trusting that the same God who placed the calling on his heart will be faithful to complete the story—yes included.
Until then, we wait. We trust. And we keep showing up.
**This space is about supporting the women behind the sidelines. We’ve created a few favorite wear-on-repeat pieces inspired by this life, just in case you want to check them out!**