The first scrimmage of the season is supposed to feel exciting. It's the unofficial kickoff—fresh uniforms, the sound of cleats on pavement, the smell of the grass, and the first time the stadium lights click on after a long, hot summer. There's an energy in the air you can almost touch.
But Friday morning? I didn't feel any of that.
From the moment my feet hit the floor, I was already on edge. Work had been piling up all week, and Friday came at me swinging. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing, emails were coming in faster than I could answer them, and every little thing seemed to require an urgent response. By 8:15, I was wound so tight I thought I might snap.
And then—because God has a way of humbling me when I think I can hold it all together—I found myself in tears. Not the quiet, one-tear-down-the-cheek kind of crying. No, this was the "I'm exhausted, overwhelmed, and it's spilling out whether I like it or not" kind. The harder I tried to pull it together, the less control I had over the emotions flooding in.
In my head, I'd already written off the rest of the day. I wasn't going to be the encouraging, smiling coach's wife in the stands that night. I was going to be the woman with puffy eyes, counting the minutes until it was over.
Then my phone buzzed again.
It was Mary, our local FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) rep, a friend who has prayed over our coaches and our team more times than I can count. Her message was simple: "Can I meet you in the stands in your usual spot before the game to pray for you?"
Perfect timing. God's timing.
I quickly typed back, "Yes." And then, almost without thinking, I added: "Can you also pray for me right now?"
There was no hesitation. No, "I'll pray later" or "I'll add you to my list." Mary immediately called. And right there—over the phone, in the middle of my messy, chaotic morning—she prayed for me.
I can't even tell you every word she said, because I was too busy feeling them. As she spoke, my shoulders started to loosen. My racing thoughts slowed. It was like someone had cracked open a window in a stuffy room, letting in fresh air. My chest didn't feel so tight.
That phone call didn't erase the work stress or magically fix everything that had gone wrong. But it completely shifted my perspective. I went from barely holding it together to feeling steady again.
By the time I got to the stadium that night, the heaviness I'd been carrying had eased. The game no longer felt like something I had to just survive.
I always sit with my big, loud family—we have our own section in the stands, and that's where you'll find me on Friday nights. But our section is close to the coaches' wives' section, right above them, so I can easily move back and forth between the two. It's the perfect arrangement for checking in, sharing quick conversations, or offering encouragement before kickoff.
That night, Mary met me—along with our head coach's wife, Kim, who also happens to work with me—in the space right between our two sections. Kim isn't just another coach's wife; our husbands started coaching together back in 2006. We've weathered the seasons, the wins, the losses, and everything in between. She's been part of this football life for as long as I have.
The two of them, standing together in that moment, represented so much more than friendship. They were living, breathing reminders that God puts people in our lives who will step into our space—not just physically, but emotionally—and cover us in prayer when we need it most.
It struck me that this is what community looks like—friends who don't just stay in their own lane or section, but cross over to meet you exactly where you are. People who can sense when you're not okay and act on that nudge from God without hesitation.
Friday night reminded me that God's provision isn't always grand or dramatic. Sometimes it's a prayer over the phone at 8:30 in the morning. Sometimes it's meeting in the space between two sections of bleachers. Sometimes it's the steady presence of friends who know you well enough to see past the "I'm fine" you might be tempted to give.
God cares about the big things, yes—but He also cares about the mornings that start in tears, the days that feel too heavy, and the hearts that are quietly breaking.
That morning could have gone a hundred different ways. But because Mary and Kim obeyed the nudge to reach out, and because I said "yes" to letting someone pray for me, it became a day marked by peace instead of stress. And to top it all off, we walked away with a win to start the season right.
Because in the space between, football meets what matters most.