I was made the team manager, a fancy name for the guy who oversees the team’s laundry, soccer balls, training equipment, and ensures that there is drinking water in the two, giant, green and black plastic kegs with the Gatorade logo. This was not what I bargained for, but I kept my head up, trained hard and continued to pay my dues. I was the team manager and not an “official” teammate throughout the fall 1998 season.

The NCAA Division One soccer season was usually in the fall, so in the spring of 1999 we just trained. I was still with the team, pursuing my “calling.” We were given a break for the summer, but our head coach demanded that we be in shape when we got back in the fall. During the summer, I hit the gym and ran miles every other day, even in the muggy, blistering, scorching heat. Our assistant coach, who also doubled as our fitness expert, required that each member of the team be able to run two miles in fourteen minutes. I did it in twelve.

Prior to getting back with the team for the fall season, I browsed our website to check the new players and confirm that my name was finally on the roster of the VCU Rams. It wasn’t. I cannot begin to tell you my disappointment and feelings of rejection. I refused to accept the implications of the roster. I still showed up with my teammates for the mandatory team meeting that we were to have before we commenced training for the fall season. After the meeting, my coach called me aside and apologized that I was not on the squad. One of the new players on the team had eligibility issues and my coach reasoned with me that if things did not work out with the player, I would be the first consideration to take his place.

The player was not eligible; I still wasn’t given his place. My place was still in the laundry room, overseeing my teammate’s jerseys and hoses. Serving my teammates in lieu of playing officially with them was a very humbling experience. Equally humbling was my experience at a hotel booked for our team for a tournament away from our school. Due to some miscommunication, there were not enough rooms booked for our team. Actually, they were one person short. Guess who? So, I had to bunk with two “fresh men.” The hotel improvised by providing a rollaway bed as an addition to the twin beds in the room that was booked for them.

As a “senior” student and the fact that I had been with the team a “year” longer than the two freshmen, I did not think that we had to play a game to determine who got the beds and who ended up on the rollaway. Though I did not share my conviction with the fresh-out-of high school kids, they did not share my sentiment, either. The freshmen decided that we should play “scissors-paper-rock” to figure out who ended up on the rollaway. I lost the game—but I won the rollaway. I did not tell my other teammates, though. I kept it to myself, just like I kept the feelings of rejection of not making it on the squad.

My school upset the University of Maryland on their home field, and, despite our coach’s caution to us not to be careless in our next match, we were upset in the next game by American University. We felt the wrath of our coach during training the next day after the loss.

With all that I had stomached for the past year, and feeling that I should no longer kiss the dirt, get knocked down on the soccer field, cramp, pull muscles, press through rigorous training, and occasionally drive the team van, while going to school full-time and holding down a part-time job since I did not make the team, I approached my coach after the training and handed him my resignation papers. Funny thing was…I was never officially hired.

Please don’t get me wrong, I was no Pelé, Samuel Eto, Lionel Messi, Christiano Ronaldo, Ronaldinho or Landon Donovan. I could not bend it like Beckham, but I could still bend the ball—even though it might end up outside the stadium. All the same, I was as good as some of the players on the team. Furthermore, my unofficial tenure with the team wasn’t all doom and gloom. I built camaraderie with the team, and despite being the “team manager,” I enjoyed the perks: free sports gear, hotel accommodations, Golden Corral, and the numerous slices of Papa John’s pizza that served as our dinner after playing away-games, washed down with cans of Pepsi…yeeaaaah baiiiiibey!

Thanks to my unsuccessful stint with the soccer team, I had more time to dedicate to attending Bible study at my college. Interestingly, the Bible study was organized under the name VISION. So, being rejected from the soccer team led me to vision. I was provided for vision—provision; I was also led to God’s vision for my life. That was where I fit.

In addition to attending my church and cultivating my personal time with God, going to Bible study was where I began to discover and express my affinity for the gospel. It was my fellowship with other students that emboldened me to minister. It was in the session that I was given a voice, granted an audience and had my first speaking engagement. It was also in Bible study that I received my first leadership position as the president of VISION and experienced relationships and learned reasonable amounts of information that contributed to my messages and my books—this one included.

In Bible study, I was not required to serve; I volunteered to serve. I set the room before our sessions and cleaned up after. I was treated like a teammate. I was embraced, appreciated, and encouraged. I was depended upon; at times I was treated like the go-to guy. I did not feel like a fringe player like I did with the Rams. I felt like a major player. I enjoyed it; God made me good at it, and I was called for it! I was not supposed to be in the ministry of football (not NFL); I was supposed to be in the ministry of the gospel. Soccer was not my niche; scripture was.

I still play the game of futbol for recreation and to keep myself in shape. Nonetheless, I had no business playing the game professionally. Not being able to break into the college team made that crystal clear, and that helped redirect me to what I’m doing now. And for that I’m grateful.

1. Excerpted from O. J. Toks, Rejected for a Purpose (Paoli, PA: Elevator Group Faith, 2010), 145-148.