The Day My Work Became My Witness

Chapter 30: The Day My Work Became My Witness

“I didn’t lose my job. I gained my voice.”

And not just my voice—I gained my freedom.

There was a moment, not long after the fall, where I stopped seeing my morning walks as something I did to prepare for work. They weren’t warm-ups for my real job. They were the work. They were the mission.

Writing these stories—my memoirs, my novels, the children’s books, the sacred coaching moments I’d spoken aloud to kids and never written down until now—these weren’t healing exercises anymore. They were my calling.

As I walked before dawn, sometimes as early as 2 a.m., I stopped trying to get ready for something else. I was already inside the sacred. I wasn’t preparing for the stage—I was standing on it.

Every step, every breath, every whisper of prayer or wind that wrapped around my shoulders on those walks became a part of something bigger. Something holy.

And I realized something:

My new pulpit wasn’t a gym floor—it was the blank page.

My new sermon wasn’t a lecture—it was presence.

My new congregation wasn’t a classroom—it was whoever dared to listen with an open heart.

I had been disciplined for years. The routines, the coaching philosophies, the mental performance teachings, the hourglass and compass rituals, the handwritten affirmations, the prayers over my wife and daughter before the sun rose. None of it was background. It was always the foreground—I just hadn’t seen it that way yet.

I remembered the Wisdom of the Ages—how I walked with the voices of Patanjali, William James, Martin Luther King Jr., Jesus Christ, Saint Francis of Assisi, and Wayne Dyer. These men weren’t just voices in a book. They were with me. They shaped me. They reminded me that I wasn’t stepping away from something—I was stepping into it.

The titles don’t define me. Coach was a role. But I am more than a coach.

I am a storyteller.

I am a messenger.

I am a witness.

When I surrendered the need to hold onto the title, I made space for the light to take over. And when it did, it expanded faster than anything I could contain. It flowed through the stories. Through the pages. Through my voice. Through these very words.

Something inside me exploded like light at the end of The Matrix—when Neo realizes who he truly is, and the illusion around him shatters. That’s what it felt like.

I wasn’t holding the light.

I had become the light.

And I remember again: the soul has an agenda. It’s not control. It’s not status. It’s not a role or reputation. It’s expression. It’s truth. It’s God demonstrating Himself through us.

And that, more than any job I’ve ever held, is the most sacred work of all