From Stuttering to Speaking: My Journey from Quiet Kid to Coach
God has a sense of humor. I can say that with absolute certainty because He took a first-grader who could barely get his words out—who stuttered so badly he sometimes couldn't speak at all—and called him to become not just a coach, but a public speaker for His ministry.
Looking back at my early years, I was the definition of a quiet kid. In fact, in first and second grade, stuttering wasn't just a minor inconvenience—it was a daily struggle and it shaped how I saw myself and how I interacted with the world. Speaking in class was a mountain to climb, and casual conversations felt like navigating a maze. If anyone had told me back then that I'd spend my life speaking in front of people, I would have thought they were crazy.
But God had a plan for me, and He started revealing it through the coaches in my life. At seven years old, I knew I wanted to coach, so I started watching Coach Gustafson at Churchill and Coach Ferrara and then Coach Potter and Coach Hansen at Eisenhower in eighth grade. These men became more than just coaches to me—they were living examples of what it meant to invest in young people's lives. Without ever saying the word "love," they showed it through their actions, their dedication, and their belief in every player who stepped onto their field.
By the time high school came around, my guidance counselors had solidified their own ideas about my future. "Eric, don't go to college," they told me. "Get a trade instead." But something had already taken root in my heart—a calling I couldn't ignore. I decided right then that football would be my credential, and coaching would be my future.
The irony wasn't lost on me when God first called me to coaching. Here I was, a naturally introverted person who struggled with speech, being led into a profession that required constant communication. But that's where the beauty of God's plan started to unfold. Coaching forced me out of my comfort zone and pushed me to find my voice. It taught me that impact often comes from the places where we feel weakest.
For 40 years, I served as a high school coach. In every school where I worked, I started a Fellowship of Christian Athletes (FCA) huddle. Each time I stood in front of a group, each time I had to give a speech or lead a meeting, I remembered that stuttering first-grader. After retirement, when I thought maybe I'd finally get a break from public speaking, I saw God’s sense of humor at work again. He called me into FCA ministry full-time—a role that puts me in front of people more than ever before.
Even today, there are moments when fear creeps in before I have to speak. When that happens I remember Moses, who also questioned his ability to speak for God. Unlike Moses, though, I didn't ask for an Aaron—I learned to trust that God's strength is made perfect in our weaknesses.
Today, as I walk onto school campuses and speak to students and coaches, I carry the memory of that struggling first-grader with me. It reminds me that God doesn't call the equipped—He equips the called. When I see a quiet kid hanging back from the group, or a student struggling to express themselves, I can share my story and show them that God can use anyone, especially those who think they have nothing to offer.
My journey from stuttering to speaking isn't just about overcoming a speech impediment. It's about trusting God's plan even when it seems to contradict everything we know about ourselves. It's about understanding that our greatest weaknesses often become the platform for our greatest ministry.
To any young person reading this who struggles with speaking, or who feels limited by their perceived weaknesses, or who's been told to lower their aspirations: God isn't limited by our limitations. He's not looking for perfection—He's looking for willingness. And sometimes, His greatest work begins with a stuttering first-grader who just needs to trust that God knows exactly what He's doing.