Why We Stay on the Bus — Even When the Odds Are Against Us

There’s a saying in our coaching circle: “Stay on the bus.”

It means don’t jump off when things get hard. Don’t panic when the scoreboard doesn’t look like you hoped. Don’t give up when the journey takes longer or looks different than you imagined.

This past Friday night, I saw that truth play out right in front of me.

We were facing one of the top five teams in the state — a huge matchup under the lights. The stands were packed, the energy was high, and the crowd was alive. The first few drives had everyone on their feet, cheering and believing.

And then… the tides turned.

With under five minutes left in the game, we were down by 20. The cheers quieted. The crowd thinned. That same buzz of excitement turned to murmurs of doubt.

But here’s the thing — the wives didn’t leave.

Instead of walking away, we got on our feet.
Instead of doubting, we prayed harder and yelled louder.

From the stands, we called out with everything we had — not just for the scoreboard, but for our boys’ hearts, their grit, and their fight. I prayed for our husbands, too — the ones who carry the weight of every decision, who have to think on their feet and lead with composure when everything feels like it’s slipping away.

Because that’s what they do — they press on, they believe, and they keep their team moving forward even when the fans think it’s over.

Because when you live this life — the life of a coach’s family — you know that no scoreboard defines the heart of a team. You know that sometimes, the biggest wins are born in the moments everyone else stops believing.

I looked around that night, watching the stands grow still, imagining my own husband up in the box — eyes locked in, analyzing plays, calculating every possible scenario. Us wives were in the stands doing the same thing, whispering prayers and holding our breath, because we know: anything can happen when faith meets fight.

And it did.

Those boys — those relentless, resilient kids — didn’t quit.
They fought back.
They recovered two onside kicks.
They scored three times in under four minutes.
And they walked away with one of the biggest wins I’ve ever witnessed.

It wasn’t luck. It was grit.
It was belief.
It was perseverance in its purest form.

For the fans who left early, you missed it — the miracle, the magic, the moment that proves why you stay on the bus.

Because being “on the bus” isn’t just about football. It’s about life.

It’s about the kind of loyalty that shows up even when things look bleak.
It’s about raising kids who understand that adversity doesn’t define you — how you respond to it does.
It’s about the wives who hold down the fort, the kids who carry the emotions of the season, and the coaches who keep believing even when the crowd stops cheering.

I tell my competitive daughter this all the time:
Just because someone looks like they’re ahead doesn’t mean they’ll finish stronger.
The true test of character isn’t how you handle winning — it’s how you handle the fight to get there.

If you want to be the best, train like it.
If you want to win, show up when it’s hard.
And if you believe in something — in your team, your people, your purpose — stay on the bus.

Because the journey is where the real growth happens.

As for me and my house, we’re on the bus for the long haul — grateful for the staff we love, the kids we believe in, and the lessons this game keeps teaching us.

Win or lose, this is so much bigger than football.
It’s faith.
It’s family.
It’s heart.
And it’s worth every mile of the ride.

Holding It All Together: A Coach’s Wife, a Mom, and a Girl with a Dream

Being a coach’s wife isn’t for the faint of heart—especially this time of year.
If you know, you know.

The house runs on late nights, drive-thru (and sometimes cold) dinners, and schedules that barely overlap. Sometimes it feels like Adam and I are ships passing in the night—quick hugs in the kitchen, short texts between practices and bedtimes, a brief conversation, maybe a back rub, and then lights out before we do it all again the next day.

But that’s football season.
And even though it’s hard… it’s ours.

When Passions Collide

Football season means Dad (Coach) is all in—film sessions and game-day prep, practices, late nights, and long bus rides.
It also means that Mom (me) is juggling barn nights, school mornings, horse show registrations, and sleep arrangements for weekends away during show season.

Faith has been working so hard getting ready for her first USEA recognized Horse Trial next weekend. Watching her pour her heart into this sport—the hours she’s spent grooming, jumping, conditioning—has been such a gift. I’m thankful I get to pour into her passion, even when it means I’m running on caffeine and sheer determination.

At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m being held together by prayer, dry shampoo, and Diet Coke

But let’s be real—hauling to horse shows during football season is no small feat. Dad can’t come.
So it’s me.
Packing, driving, loading, unloading, making sure both girls are fed, rested, and ready to go (and that I don’t forget the saddle pads, helmets, boots, or show jackets).

There are moments it feels like I’m doing it all solo—but I know I’m not alone. Every coach’s wife reading this knows exactly what that balance feels like.

First Flights and Sweet Reminders

A couple of weeks ago, my baby brother got married, and I took both girls with me—just the three of us.
Adam couldn’t come, because… well, football season.

It was Faith and Gracelyn’s very first time flying, and I’ll be honest—I was nervous. Traveling with kids can be chaotic. Traveling with kids alone during football season, when you’re already running on fumes? That’s another level.

But something about that trip reminded me that I can do hard things.

Faith immediately called dibs on the window seat and documented the entire flight like she was filming a travel vlog. It was precious. Gracelyn, meanwhile, completely surprised me—she handled it like a champ. From “wheels up” to “wheels down,” she giggled, wide-eyed, and yelled “woah!” during landing, and of course, we all laughed.

We lugged suitcases, ate airport snacks, survived security lines, and came home sleep-deprived but with hearts so, so full.

It was exhausting and beautiful all at once—the kind of memory that sticks.
A “first” I got to experience with my girls—without Adam, yes, but still with joy.
And that’s something we’ll remember forever.

The Weight of Missing

We love our coaches. We’re proud of them. But sometimes… we miss them.
We miss family dinners that aren’t dictated by football schedules.
We miss help with homework and bedtime routines.
We miss the feeling of being in sync instead of running on two completely different clocks.

Still, we choose this life—and the lessons it teaches our kids are worth it.

Faith and Gracelyn are learning firsthand what dedication looks like. They see their dad give his all to something bigger than himself, and they see their mom doing the same—showing up, supporting, loving, leading.

That’s the stuff that builds character—theirs and mine.

To My Fellow Coach’s Wives

If you see us this time of year—bags under our eyes, coffee in one hand and a backpack in the other—say a prayer for us. And good heavens, don’t even think about making a snark remark about our coaches… we might just go off on you. Or I might— respectfully, of course. 😅

We’re holding it all together.
We’re holding down the fort.
We’re raising kids who know what commitment looks like.
And we’re cheering on the man we love, even if it’s from the stands—or from a horse-show barn somewhere hours away.

This season of “ships passing” won’t last forever.
So when we do get time together, we protect it.
We make it quality. Whether it’s a Sunday morning breakfast before church, a quick lunch together during the week, or five minutes to talk before we go to bed.

Because this life may stretch us—but it also grows us.

Here’s to Us

Here’s to the wives keeping the schedules straight, the kids loved, and the house standing.
Here’s to the moms lugging gear, managing meltdowns, and cheering through exhaustion.
Here’s to the girls who travel solo, cheer from afar, and love hard through the chaos.
And here’s to Faith—for chasing her dreams with courage and heart.

It’s not easy—but it’s worth it.
We’re tired, yes. But we’re tougher.
And if there’s one thing I know for sure… this is what holding it together looks like.

Unapologetically Christian in a World That Wants Us Silent

Let’s be honest — it feels like the world is doing everything it can to quiet the voices of people who stand firm in their faith.

We’re told to be accepting — but not if that includes Biblical truth. We’re encouraged to “live our truth,” but only if it doesn’t make anyone else uncomfortable. We’re told to speak up — but only if it doesn’t involve Jesus.

But here’s the thing:
I am a fearless Christian woman, and I will not apologize for it.
Not now. Not ever.

I won’t water down the Word of God to make others feel better. I won’t stay quiet about truth out of fear that it might offend someone. I won’t pretend my faith is just a private part of who I am. It is the foundation of everything I believe, how I live, how I love, and how I raise my children.

This isn’t about politics. This is about truth.

Because the Bible doesn’t bend to culture.
The truth doesn’t evolve to fit the times.
And Jesus doesn’t change to please the crowd.

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” — Hebrews 13:8

As Christians, we’re not called to stay quiet. We’re called to speak boldly — not out of pride, but out of obedience.

And yet, everywhere we look, culture is encouraging people to walk around in a victim mindset. Offended by everything. Hurt by every disagreement. Constantly making everything about themselves.

Can I lovingly say something hard?
Not everything is about you.
Not every hard truth is a personal attack.
And not every disagreement is hate.

Sometimes the most loving thing someone can do is not tell you what you want to hear — but what you need to hear.

We’ve become so hypersensitive to being offended that we’ve lost the ability to sit in conviction. And yet, conviction is often where transformation begins.

This mindset of always being the victim is not only exhausting — it’s dangerous. It keeps us stuck. It distracts us from truth. It shifts the focus to ourselves instead of pointing people to Jesus, who willingly became the ultimate sacrifice, though He was the only one who didn’t deserve it.

It’s time we stop centering ourselves in every narrative and start centering Christ.

Because the world doesn’t need more people crying “I’m offended.”
It needs more people standing up and saying, “Here I am, Lord — send me.”

And let’s also not forget — God calls each of us to spread the Good News.

That’s not a suggestion. It’s a command.
But here’s the beautiful part: your walk with God will look different than mine.
Your story will not match mine. Your pace, your process, your past — they’re not identical to anyone else’s.

And that’s the beauty of who God is.

He doesn’t require perfection. He doesn’t ask us to clean everything up before coming to Him. He meets us exactly where we are — in our mess, in our doubt, in our growth. And from there, He does the transforming.

But just because our walks look different doesn’t mean the truth changes. And it doesn’t mean we stay silent while “figuring it out.”

You don’t have to have it all together to be bold in your faith.
You don’t have to be a theologian to speak truth.
You just have to be willing.

Willing to say, “Here I am, Lord.”
Willing to love people enough to tell them the truth.
Willing to stand firm — even when it’s hard.

We don’t need to raise kids who are afraid of being disliked.
We need to raise kids who are confident in truth, bold in faith, and grounded in who they are in Christ — even when it costs them something.

But that starts with us.

We can’t model boldness if we’re constantly backing down.
We can’t teach confidence if we’re always walking on eggshells.
We can’t raise warriors if we act like victims.

So if you’ve been feeling the pressure to stay quiet, afraid to offend, or hesitant to speak up — let this be your reminder:

Now is not the time for silence.
Now is not the time for fear.
And now is definitely not the time to play the victim.

Now is the time for unwavering, unapologetic faith.

For us.
For our children.
And for every soul watching, wondering if the Jesus we follow is really worth it.

Spoiler alert: He is.

Let’s raise bold kids by being bold adults.
Let’s stop playing the victim and start pointing people to the Savior.
Let’s be unapologetically Christian — not in arrogance, but in obedience.

Enough is enough.

The world doesn’t need more silence.
It needs more Jesus.

Six Months Ago, I Left My Job — And Found My Way Home

Six months ago, I walked away from a job I had poured my heart and soul into.

It wasn’t just a job. It was something I helped build from the ground up — something I believed in, fought for, and gave countless hours to.

I believed in what I was doing...
Until I didn’t.

The truth? I was completely burnt out. Not just tired — burnt. I was still showing up for everyone else, but I wasn’t showing up for myself… and definitely not for the people who mattered most — my family.

Somewhere in the chaos of deadlines, expectations, and hustle, I lost track of who I was.
And even scarier — I stopped recognizing the culture I once helped shape.

It’s wild how fast things can change.

One decision-maker shifted the entire environment.
What once felt life-giving and mission-driven became something I couldn’t stand behind.

I still loved the people — many I still call friends — but I realized I no longer fit the story that place was writing.

So when the door opened…
I walked through it.

Quietly. No press release. No goodbye tour. Just obedience.

Not because I was better.
But because the version of me that once thrived there no longer existed.

I had changed.
The place had changed.

And staying would’ve been the comfortable thing.
The safe thing.
The expected thing.
But it wouldn’t have been the right thing.

And I’m humble enough to say thank you to the place I left — because that role gave me space to grow… until it didn’t.

It was part of my story, part of my shaping, part of the preparation for where I am now.
For that, I’m grateful.

But it wasn’t mine to carry anymore.

Why I Made the Decision

Here’s the truth no one tells you:
Most companies don’t know what they have until it’s walking out the door.

It took resigning for them to make an offer. To “see” me. But by then, I was done.

It was no longer about the title or the salary.
It was about my health.
My marriage.
My kids.
My calling.

Leaving wasn’t walking away from a paycheck.
It was walking toward peace, purpose, and God’s plan.

The Truth About Burnout

Burnout doesn’t always come from a lack of passion — sometimes it comes from having too much of it, for too long, without enough oxygen left for yourself.

I kept pushing, thinking I could fix it — thinking I had to.

But God doesn’t call us to be martyrs to misaligned missions.
He calls us to obedience.

So when I heard that whisper — “It’s time” — I listened.

Even with no guarantees.
Even with fear in my chest.
Just trust.

The Leap That Changed Everything

I didn’t have a roadmap.
I had a whisper from God and a worn-out heart.

But when I made space — He moved.

Opportunities opened that I didn’t go looking for.
Doors swung wide I didn’t know existed.
And most of all, peace flooded in like a wave.

I landed in a role that doesn’t just fit my skills — it fits my soul.
It grounds me. It honors my faith. It centers people. It feels like home.

What Life Looks Like Now

Today, I’m part of something that feels holy.

The work isn’t performance-based or platform-seeking.
It’s rooted in purpose, presence, and people.

Where I work now, we live by two values:

We do what right looks like.

And here’s what I’ve come to learn about what right actually looks like:

• Sometimes right looks like leaving.

• Sometimes right is protecting your peace even if people don’t understand.

• Sometimes right is refusing to sacrifice your family for your job.

• Sometimes right is releasing something that once served you — because it doesn’t anymore.

• Sometimes right is stepping away in silence and letting your peace do the talking.

• Sometimes right is choosing obedience over optics.

• Sometimes right is not staying to fix it — but leaving so God can.

• Sometimes right is making decisions because it’s what’s best for the customer — not for your own pocketbook.

We are the hands and feet of Christ — not the mouthpiece.

That second one hit me hard.

I don’t need to defend my decision.
I don’t need to broadcast my journey.

Because when you’re walking in obedience, the fruit speaks for itself.
No platform required.

Only those closest to me even know what I’m doing these days — and I prefer it that way. Because this work doesn’t need applause.
It just needs faithfulness.

What God Has Taught Me in 6 Months

Here’s what I know deep in my bones:

• Obedience brings peace — even when it’s terrifying.

• Provision follows faith — not control.

• Your identity isn’t your job title — titles fade. Christ doesn’t.

• Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is leave — not in bitterness, but in integrity.

• Not all growth happens where you’re planted — sometimes it begins when you uproot.

If You’re Standing at the Crossroads…

If you’re tired.
If you feel stuck.
If you’ve outgrown the room you’re in… hear this:

You don’t have to break to be loyal.
You don’t have to shrink to belong.
You don’t have to stay just because it’s safe.

Sometimes faith looks like walking away from something good — so God can give you better.

It won’t always make sense.
But obedience rarely does…
Until you’re standing on the other side of it.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6

So take the leap.
Let go of what’s no longer yours.
Make space for what’s next.
And trust the God who sees the whole picture — even when all you can see is the next brave step.

The Final Word

I didn’t leave because I lost faith.
I left because I finally had enough of it to move.

This journey was never about a title.
It was about time — time to rest, to realign, to trust God again.

And trading one for the other?
Was the best decision I’ve ever made.

Because peace — real peace —
is better than applause.
Every. Single. Time.

And if I had to do it all over again?
I would — without hesitation.

We Don’t Have It All, But We Have Everything

When I look at this picture of Adam and me, I don’t just see two people standing on a beach. I see 12 years of memories, laughter, challenges, and a love that has only deepened over time. This photo is more than just a moment — it’s a glimpse into a life we’ve built together: messy, unfiltered, and perfectly imperfect.

The Beginning of Us

We started as two wide-eyed 20-somethings in 2012, with no idea what the future held. At the time, I was living in Houston, living for adventure with my friends.

Then one weekend, I drove seven hours to West Texas to visit my parents and catch my brother’s football game. Little did I know, I was picking out my future husband on the sidelines. Fate had a funny way of introducing us.

Not long after, Adam proposed — on a football, of all things — right before football season kicked off. A spontaneous, imperfectly perfect moment that marked the beginning of our story.

12 Years Later...

Now, 12 years and two kids later, I look at Adam and think, how did we get here? Time has flown by, but one thing I’ve learned is that marriage isn’t about perfection. It’s about partnership. It’s about showing up for each other, even when you're exhausted, frustrated, or feeling less than your best.

We’ve built a life that might not look perfect to the world, but it’s ours. A life where love isn’t just a feeling — it’s a choice we make every single day.

When I look at Adam, I see the man who makes me laugh, supports me through every challenge, pushes me to be better, and loves me more deeply than I ever thought possible.

Real Talk on Marriage

As we reflect on the years, we’ve learned that a thriving marriage isn’t about getting everything right. It’s about growing together through life’s ups and downs and showing up when it’s hardest. The world says we need more things: bigger homes, fancier cars, picture-perfect vacations. But when I stand beside Adam, raising our Christ-fearing kids and living a life grounded in love and faith, I know this for sure: fulfillment doesn’t come from stuff. It comes from the people God places in your life.

Our marriage isn’t always Instagram-perfect. Our daughter recently said something that really made me pause. She said, “I’ve never even heard y’all fight before.” And she’s right. We don’t fight — not because we don’t disagree, but because we’ve learned how to disagree without attacking each other. We talk, listen, and value each other’s perspectives. We don’t let the little things fester. Sure, I can get snarky (okay, often 😅), and Adam may let out a deep, exaggerated sigh (his version of rolling his eyes) but we work through it and always find a way to laugh about it. Laughter really is the best remedy.

Building a Life Together

At its core, marriage is about partnership. It’s about choosing each other every day, even when life feels overwhelming and a glass of wine and Netflix seem easier than a deep conversation. But we show up. Every single day.

When I see Adam, I see the man who makes me laugh, supports me through every season, challenges me to be better, and loves me even on the days I’m less than lovable. He’s not just my husband; he’s my best friend. And together, we’ve built a life that might not look like “everything” to the world, but to us? It’s more than enough.

Love isn’t just a feeling — it’s a decision. It’s a commitment to choose each other through every high and low. We’ve learned that patience and kindness aren’t just nice ideas — they’re essential. We’re two flawed people, figuring out life together, learning to give grace, listen when it’s hard, and remember that no marriage is without its challenges.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” — 1 Corinthians 13:4-5

We may not have everything the world says we should, but we have everything we need. And that’s enough.

A Final Thought

To all the married couples and soon-to-be-married couples out there:

I know how easy it is to get caught up in the daily grind — work, kids, chores, everything that fills our lives. It’s easy to feel like there’s never enough time for each other. But here’s my advice: Make the time. Even when you’re busy, tired, or overwhelmed, carve out space for your relationship. Whether it’s a quick coffee together in the morning, a 10-minute conversation before bed, or a spontaneous date night, those small moments add up. It’s not about the big gestures — it’s about showing up for each other in the little ways, every single day.

In the chaos, make sure you’re still choosing each other, because at the end of the day, that’s what keeps the love alive.

Here’s to finding your person and making it last—just like Adam and I have.

From Playgrounds to Pre-Athletics: Letting Go (Just a Little) as She Starts Junior High

This weekend, my heart feels like it’s in a million pieces — some proud, some nervous, and some just wondering where on earth the time went.

It’s the last weekend before my oldest — my firstborn, the brown-eyed girl who made me a mama — walks into junior high for the very first time.

Junior. High.

How did we even get here? I swear it was just yesterday I was telling Adam I was 99.9% sure I was pregnant. We weren’t “ready” then — but honestly, who ever is? And yet… here we are.

Junior high is a turning point. The place where kids grow three shoe sizes overnight, discover the world of deodorant (hopefully), and start speaking in TikTok references that make us feel like we’ve aged 30 years in 30 seconds. Their independence grows, the friend groups shift, and yes… sometimes a little sass sneaks in that makes me say, “Nuh uh, girl… think again.” Gone are the days when I could lay out her outfit without question.

I remember the first day of kindergarten like it was yesterday—her tiny hand gripping mine, her backpack swallowing her whole, and my sunglasses doing their best to hide the fact that I was blinking back tears. Fast forward to now: that backpack is still somehow bigger than she is, but this time she doesn’t need my hand. In fact, she’s gently shaking it off because, “Mom, everyone’s watching.”

Truth is, this girl—and all our kids, really—can teach us parents a lot if we’re willing to let them. I’ve learned more about patience, grace, and what truly matters from her than from most adults. I think children have a way of making us better humans if we’ll just slow down and pay attention.

This year brings pre-athletics — which means her very first locker room. We’ve had the talks: what to expect, how to handle nerves, and how to remember she’s not alone. Some of her worries mirror mine from years ago, and now here I am, the one offering the advice.

We’ve been intentional about the “big conversations” — phones, friendships, faith, safety. She got a phone earlier than planned (thank you, Verizon deal), but with it came rules: no social media, boundaries in place, and a foundation of trust. Along with the phone came a phrase we created together—her “safe phrase.” If she ever feels uncomfortable, unsafe, or just needs me right now, she can text those words and I’ll be there quicker than she can finish typing. It’s our unspoken promise that no matter where she is or what she’s facing, she’s never alone.

The other day in the car, I told her what I’ll keep saying: I trust you. You’re a good kid, and you know Jesus. Just don’t break that trust. You can tell me anything. And whatever you face, I promise — I’ve been there.

But let’s be real, y’all…
This is also the season where I become a part-time chauffeur, part-time counselor, part-time short-order cook, and full-time prayer warrior. Because middle school is a wild ride. One minute they’re little kids asking for fruit snacks, the next they’re negotiating sleepovers like seasoned lawyers.

When they’re little, you’re the coach on the field—calling every play, setting every boundary. But as they grow, you become more of a sideline coach. You don’t stop guiding, but you give them space to run the plays themselves. And sometimes they’ll fumble. Sometimes they’ll score. Sometimes they’ll trip over their own shoelaces. And you just keep cheering, encouraging, and praying over them the whole way.

The Bible says in Proverbs 22:6:

“Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.”

That verse is my reminder that while I can’t walk the halls with her anymore, I can send her out with truth in her heart, kindness in her words, and the knowledge that she is fully and wonderfully made by a God who loves her more than I ever could—a love deeper and wider than anything we can ever imagine.

To all the parents stepping into this season for the first time — I see you. I’m right here with you. May we have patience when they push back, discernment when they need guidance, and the courage to be parents first and friends second (even if it makes us “uncool”).

To my sweet, brown-eyed girl — we named you Faith because, long ago, when we were young and didn’t have a clue, I trusted God’s plans for our lives more than my own. And I’m so glad I did. You’ve been a living reminder that His plans are always better than ours.

So this week, and every week ahead, walk in with courage. You belong. You are loved. And no matter how tall you grow or how far you go, you’ll always be my little girl.

So this week, when you see me in the school drop-off line—sunglasses on, coffee in hand—just know I’m holding it together by the grace of God and dry shampoo.

Because ready or not, here comes the next chapter. And I have a feeling it’s going to be beautiful.

Our steady mantra through it all: Faith First, Heart Open, and Real as Ever.

We Might Not Wear the Headsets, But God Gave Us a Role Just As Big

12 Years, 7 Moves, 5 Schools, 2 Kids, and a Whole Lotta Football

Adam and I will celebrate 12 years of marriage this August. TWELVE. I swear we blinked and here we are.

In those 12 years, we’ve packed up and moved 7 houses, adapted to 5 different schools, served thousands of athletes, switched out five sets of school colors, welcomed two beautiful kiddos, and navigated more staff changes than I can count. If you know, you know.

And yet… every single year when summer starts winding down and the sound of whistles returns to the morning air, I get that same little flutter in my stomach.
A quiet yes in my spirit.

It’s time.

Friday Night Lights Hits Different

I don’t care how long you’ve been a coach’s wife—there’s just nothing like the return of Friday Night Lights. You either get it, or you don’t.

It’s the buzz in the stadium, the flags waving in the stands, the grinding of teeth on the sidelines, the pre-game butterflies, and the coaches—like my husband—up in the press box, eyes locked in, pulse racing with every single snap.

It’s the Hail Mary’s.
The inches-short-on-4th-down plays.
The game-winning touchdowns.
The sting of the losses that stick with you through the weekend.
The late-night pajama rides home, sticky kids in the back seat, all fast food and sweat and sleepy grins.

It’s Texas high school football, y’all. And we LIVE for this.

From Summer’s End to Season’s Start

If I’m being honest? I need the time between the last down of fall and the first early morning whistle of two-a-days to reset. Mentally. Emotionally. Even spiritually.

Because this life is beautiful, yes—but it can be exhausting.

And yet… here we are.
Every year, like clockwork, I find myself ready again.

Excited.
Eager.
Expectant.

This year feels different. Deeper. Like I’m rooted in something steady—a school that genuinely feels like family. That kind of culture? It doesn’t just happen… but when it does, it changes everything.

The “In-Season Single Mom” Club

Let’s just say it: being a coach’s wife is hard.

There’s no way around it. There are days you feel invisible. Days you feel like a single mom with your husband living at the fieldhouse. (Shoutout to the Coach Widow Crew—you’re my people.)

But let me tell you what makes all the difference…

Finding other women who get it.
Other wives who are in it too. Who show up with the extra snacks. Who cheer on your babies. Who know what it means when you say, “He won’t be home ‘til after film.”

Sisterhood in this life is everything.

A Word for the Fans in the Stands

Before we wrap, let me just gently say this—especially as we all gear up for another season…

To the fans: we love you. We need you. Your cheers, your energy, your support—huge.

But please remember, these coaches are building more than football players.
They’re building men. They’re pouring into your sons. Showing them how to lead, how to be disciplined, how to rise after a fall.

And truth be told? During football season, your son’s coach might be spending more time with him than even his own kids get at home.

So next time you want to yell about a call? Just… take a breath.
And maybe say a prayer instead.

Because I promise you, these men are doing Kingdom work, even if it’s disguised in cleats and clipboards.

To the Wives

Whether this is your first season, your 15th or your 25th…
Whether you’re at your dream school or still trying to find your people…
Whether you’re feeling strong or hanging on by a thread…

You are not alone.
I know you.
I see you.
I am you.

Tonight, as the lights go down and the alarm clocks are set for way too early, I hope you can pause just long enough to take it in.

You’ve made it to another season.
And that, my friend, is no small thing.

Here’s to the grind.
Here’s to the long car rides home.
Here’s to the candy grabs during high-stress plays.
Here’s to the impromptu high fives in the stands.
Here’s to the goosebumps under the Friday Night Lights.
Here’s to the whispered prayers behind sunglasses.
Here’s to the pajama rides home with tired kids in the backseat.
Here’s to passing babies down the row so Mama can catch a breather.
Here’s to the after-game celebrations.
Here’s to the laughs, the losses, and the lessons.
Here’s to our husbands, who need us just as much as we need them.
Here’s to strong women who hold it all down in the background.

Here’s to another season—may it stretch us, shape us, and remind us why we started.

Now get some rest—we’ve got a new season starting tomorrow, and it’ll be a while before we exhale.

“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.” — Isaiah 40:31

Until next time on Her Hudl...
Faith-first. Heart-open. And real as ever.

With love,
Brooke 🤍

The Day I Saved My Brother’s Life

To be honest with you, I wasn’t sure what I was going to write about this week.

I don’t want anything I share here on Her Hudl to feel forced. I’ve got plenty to say—trust me—but sometimes figuring out what to share and when feels a little complicated. I pray through it. I wait. I try to listen.

Friday evening, I was driving down Hwy 77 with the rooftop open, headed to meet a friend for dinner in Hallettsville. I flipped the music to Divine Sound Radio—which I do sometimes when I’m not jamming to other genres. I love all types of music. Music speaks to me. It always has—ever since I was a little girl. It lifts me up, makes me feel seen, gets me dancing around the living room or kitchen—just ask my daughter (she’ll tell you I’m too much, ha!).

Then a song I’d never heard before came on.

"God Story" by Anne Wilson.
I replayed it three times. I needed it three times.
The chorus says:

My life is a God story
Gotta tell the world what He’s done for me
Miracles on miracles that only He could do
I’m proof that we’re all only
One prayer away from a testimony

And right then, in the middle of that drive and that song, I knew what story I needed to tell this week.

I Was Eight Years Old

When I saved my baby brother, Gabe, who was drowning.

Gabe and I are 6 years apart. I was 8. Gabe was 2. Gabe isn’t just my brother—he’s also the godfather to my youngest daughter, Gracelyn. That bond runs deep, and this story is one of the reasons why.

It’s a moment I’ll never forget, and one that I now see—so clearly—as nothing short of a miracle. A God Story.

There are four of us kids. My parents were both working that day and we were home with a babysitter. My childhood home had a pool, and my parents were very clear: if you're not swimming, the gate stays locked. That was the one non-negotiable.

That afternoon, I was inside… sweeping. Don’t ask me why—I don’t remember if it was a chore or if I just decided to pick up a broom, but there I was.

And I heard it. A voice.
A strong, clear, unshakable voice: Go check on your brothers.

I was 8. Eight-year-olds don’t usually think like that. But I listened.

I put the broom by the front door, walked outside, looked toward the pool—and that’s when I saw him.

My little brother Gabe. Face down. Diaper up. Floating in the water.

I ran. I don’t even remember how fast. I flew down those pool steps and pulled him out, turned him over—and he started coughing.

Coughing up water. Breathing again. Life coming back into that little body.

And I truly believe... if I had been even seconds later, I’d be sharing a very different story right now.

It brings tears to my eyes even as I type this. Because that moment could’ve changed everything. But God—in His mercy—intervened. And somehow, I heard Him.

To this day, I have no idea where our babysitter was. But I do know God was there. And I know that still, small voice that nudged me? That was Him.

Why This Story Still Wrecks Me

Now, as a mom of two girls, the thought of something like that happening is absolutely unbearable. The weight of motherhood sometimes feels like one long prayer for their safety.

But that day when I was eight? It shaped me.

I don’t ever ignore those nudges anymore. That little voice that says, go check on them… go peek in their room… go slow down and pray—I listen.

Because that was God’s voice then.
And it still is today.

And here’s the full-circle part that gets me:

That little boy—my baby brother—is now a grown man. In just a couple months, he’s getting married to the sweetest, most beautiful girl from Virginia. This week, I’m flying to Florida to celebrate her bachelorette weekend. He’s the last of us four siblings to get married.

And I just keep thinking: what if I hadn’t listened?
What if that story had ended differently?

But it didn’t. Because of God.
Because He spoke. And somehow, by His grace, I heard Him.

We All Have God Stories

Maybe yours doesn’t look like mine.
But I believe if you’ve walked this life with faith—even just a little—then you’ve probably got a God Story too.

Those moments that make you say: that could’ve only been Him.
Those quiet whispers that turned into miracles.
Those near-misses that ended with grace.

This is just one of mine. I may share more from time to time because they aren’t just stories—they’re reminders. Testimonies. That He is good. That He is near. That even when we don’t see it, God is still working behind the scenes.

This week at church, the message was simple but deeply true:
To know God. To love God. To serve God.

And honestly? That’s the heartbeat behind this story.
I know a God who speaks.
I love a God who protects.
And I serve a God who shows up—in poolside moments, in quiet whispers, and in ordinary days that turn out to be divine.

I try to live from a place of gratitude, even when life tempts me toward resentment. Because when I stop and look back, the thread of His faithfulness is everywhere.

So if I can leave you with anything this week, let it be this:

Be still.
Listen to the nudge.
Even when it feels small. Even when it doesn’t make sense.
Because that gentle tug might be God guiding you…
Protecting someone you love…
Or writing the very first line of your God Story.

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’"
—Isaiah 30:21

And one day, you might look back and realize—it was never random.
It was rescue.
It was love.
It was Him.

Until next time—
Faith-first. Heart-open. And real as ever.

What My Daughter with Autism Taught Me at Karaoke Night

It was a random Thursday evening. Nothing planned, just one of those slow summer nights when you want to get out of the house, let the kids run off some energy, and enjoy a breath of fresh air as a family.

We ended up at Jail Break—our local Family Entertainment Center. The kids were excited for the playground, and Adam and I looked forward to sitting back for a moment, catching our breath (and maybe a drink), and watching them play.

We had no idea it was karaoke night.

But God did.

At first, our youngest, Gracelyn, was totally caught up in the playground. That’s her zone—climbing, spinning, bouncing, smiling ear to ear. But then a little boy walked up to the mic and started singing. And I watched something shift.

She locked eyes on him.

I knew that look. Her wheels were turning. I braced for the question I knew was coming:
“Why is he singing?”
“Can I sing too?”

Gracelyn was diagnosed with autism at age 3. Most who know me know her story—or parts of it. She is hilarious, kind, full of life, and completely unfiltered in the best way. But as she gets older, and her peers continue to grow past her socially and emotionally, I sometimes find myself holding back out of fear. Not her fear—mine.

As a mama of a child with special needs, there’s a protective instinct that runs deep. Not to stop her from being herself—but to stop the world from being unkind to her for it.

But here’s the truth: Gracelyn sees only the good. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She just is. And maybe… she’s got it more right than any of us.

She’s been slightly obsessed with “What Does the Fox Say?” for a while now (parents, you know what I mean). And sure enough, that was her one request for karaoke. And that was the moment my inner tug-of-war began.

Do I let her do this? What if people laugh? What if she doesn’t understand why they’re laughing? What if … What if… What if….

And then, as if God Himself sent backup, a man sitting behind us leaned over to my husband, Adam, and said,
“Just let her sing. It'll be fine. This is a family-friendly place.”

So we did.

She took the mic. She sang with everything she had. She didn’t just sing… she performed. The crowd clapped. They danced. They cheered. Some joined in. For those three minutes, Gracelyn was the star of the Jail Break party, and y’all—she owned it.

I cried.
Not once.
Not twice.
Three times.

Not out of sadness. But out of pure, overwhelming joy. There she was—fearless, happy, free. There I was—still learning how to let her be.

When she finished, she bowed and blew kisses like she was on the Grammys stage. Then she found that little boy who sang before her, gave him a high five, and told him he did a great job.

Who even is this child?

A teacher. A light. A reminder that our children, no matter what their journey looks like, are often our biggest teachers.

If I could give you one thing from this story, it’s this:

Let your kids be who God made them to be.

Even when it feels uncomfortable. Even when the world doesn’t understand. Even when your own fears whisper otherwise.

Because when we let go—really let go—we make space for them to shine. For their joy to spread. For their confidence to soar.

Gracelyn reminded me that night: It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. About purpose. About joy.

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." – Psalm 139:14

She is wonderfully made. So is your child. So are you.

And yes, sometimes that means belting “What Does the Fox Say?” in front of strangers and bringing down the house.

Let’s raise kids who know they’re deeply loved, unconditionally accepted, and created with a purpose.
Let’s raise kids who trust God and know the freedom of being exactly who He made them to be.

And maybe along the way, let’s let them teach us how to do the same.

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When the Waters Rise: Holding On to Faith Through the Heartbreak in Kerr County

This past week, Kerr County has been shaken by devastating flooding that has taken far too many lives. As someone who lives in this state, my heart aches for every family affected. But one piece of this tragedy hit home in a way I never expected—an all-girls Christian camp, Camp Mystic, was caught in the rising waters. In the early hours of the morning, little girls—many around the same age as my own two daughters—were swept into a storm they never saw coming.

Some were rescued. Others weren’t.

As a mother, it’s a pain too deep to name. The thought of young girls, asleep in the safety of a place meant to pour faith and fun into them, being woken to chaos and fear—it breaks me. And then, the unimaginable reality for the parents who received the news no parent should ever have to face.

It is heavy. It is hard. And it’s in these moments we’re reminded of a truth we often tuck away: we are never promised tomorrow.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18

As a Christian woman, I cling to the only hope that remains unshaken—Jesus. I will never understand why things like this happen, and maybe we’re not meant to. But I can’t stop thinking… I pray those precious girls, in their final moments, saw the face of Jesus. That as the waters raged, He wrapped them in His arms. That He whispered, “Well done, good and faithful servant... enter into the joy of your Lord” (Matthew 25:23).

That image is the only peace I can find in something so senseless.

In this space—Her Hudl—I often write as a coach’s wife, a woman of faith, and a mama who loves deeply. And this week, I write simply as a mother with a broken heart. A mother who knows how fragile life really is. One who is reminded that all the things we chase in this life pale in comparison to the one thing that truly matters: our relationship with Christ.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” – Proverbs 3:5

We cannot control tomorrow. We cannot protect our children from every storm. But we can prepare them for eternity. We can teach them to trust God, to walk in His light, to know His voice. I want to raise my daughters to love Jesus deeply—to be the light in a dark and broken world. Because one day, when they are called home (or when I am), I want us to see the face of Christ. Together.

So today, I’m holding my babies a little tighter. I’m putting down the distractions. I’m choosing what matters most.

Because life is short, but eternity is forever.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.” – Revelation 21:4

To the families grieving the loss of their daughters, I’m praying for you with everything in me. And to the mamas reading this—may we never forget what a gift it is to hold our children close.

Welcome to Her Hudl - Let’s Huddle Up

Hey there, friend!

I’m so glad you’re here. Truly.

I’ve had this idea brewing in my heart for a while—Her Hudl. A space for women who are showing up in the thick of real life: the good, the messy, the beautiful, and the completely overwhelming. If you’ve ever felt like you’re calling plays without a playbook, juggling life with a cold cup of coffee in hand, or wondering if anyone else forgets what day it is by 10am... then girl, you’re in the right place.

I’m Brooke DuBose—wife, mama, friend, and now your unofficial teammate in this season of life. Around here, I’m not about filters or pretending to have it all together. I’m about real talk, relatable moments, and encouragement that feels like a deep breath. I believe in honest conversations, practical tips, faith that grounds you, and finding joy in the middle of the madness.

So… What Is Her Hudl?

Think of it as your timeout, your locker room pep talk, and your group chat with friends all rolled into one.

We’ll talk about:

• Motherhood (the kind that’s equal parts magic and meltdown)

• Marriage (because love is more than highlight reels)

• Faith (for the days you’re strong and the days you’re struggling)

• Real-life tips (for the days when survival counts as success)

• Community (because we’re better when we do life together)

Whether you're a coach’s wife, a sports mom, or just trying to keep your people alive and your spirit intact, this is your space.

Why "Hudl"?

In sports, a huddle is where the team gathers, catches their breath, gets on the same page, and goes back out with a plan. That’s what I hope Her Hudl is for you—a place to pause, reset, and be reminded you’re not alone.

So here we are—day one.
No pressure. No perfection. Just a place for us to be ourselves, grow together, and maybe laugh a little along the way.

Thanks for showing up. I can’t wait to walk this journey with you.

With love and sideline snacks,
Brooke