Prodigal Athlete, Come Home

The email landed in my inbox at 1:37 a.m. It was from a guy on the track team—someone I’d just met a few nights earlier at a team Bible study. We’d planned to get together later that week, but clearly something was weighing on him. This is what he wrote:

“We don’t really know each other well yet, but if we’re going to meet and talk, I want you to know exactly where I’m coming from.

For most of my life I identified myself as a Division I athlete—a full-ride scholarship runner, 2011 NCAA champion—and as someone in an amazing six-year long-distance relationship with my high-school girlfriend. I thought I had everything: the girl I planned to marry, athletic success, a deep love for my sport. It looked perfect. But it wasn’t.

I built my identity around partying and attention from girls. I believed that was what ‘being a man’ meant. In that world I crossed lines I never thought I would. I was unfaithful. I hid it, lied about it, and let those lies snowball. When she confronted me, I finally confessed. She left, and I don’t blame her.

When she was gone, I still had running, until I didn’t. I developed hamstring issues. It’s February now, and I haven’t run since November. Running has always been my escape and the thing I relied on for identity. If I was succeeding on the track, everything else felt manageable. But with the conference meet coming up, I’ll be on the sideline instead of competing. The two biggest things I used to define myself, my relationship and my running, are shattered. I see myself as a cheater and broken. Not exactly the picture of a ‘real man.’

After the breakup I spiraled. I was drunk nine nights out of fourteen. I justified it as stress relief since running wasn’t an option. No matter how I tried to distract myself, I felt empty. My Christian friends and my parents warned me this was the worst place to turn, but I ignored them. I kept showing up to church, Bible study, and AIA, but I was just going through the motions.

Now I feel like all I can do is place myself in God’s hands. I’m a mess, but I’m moldable—like clay He can reshape. I believe God is using all of this to tear down the false identities I built and redirect me back to Him. The things I relied on weren’t strong at all. They were idols. God is the only solid foundation, and I want to learn to trust Him fully.

This season is painful, but I believe He’s working for my good. I want to leave behind the way I used to define myself and actually live for Him. I want to compete for His glory—not my own image or anyone’s approval. My athletic ability is a gift, not my identity.

I know this won’t change overnight. It’s going to take time, discipline, fellowship, and a lot of God’s help. But I’m ready to take the steps.”

Prodigal Athletes

This athlete, like many others, was living out the story of the younger brother in Jesus’s parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15).

In the parable (if you’re unfamiliar with it) Jesus shares about a younger son who demands his inheritance early, leaves home, and wastes everything in reckless living. When he reaches rock bottom, he decides to return home expecting rejection, but his father runs to him, embraces him, and joyfully celebrates his return. Meanwhile, the older brother struggles with anger and jealousy, revealing that both sons need the father’s grace. 

The younger son essentially said to his father, “I wish you were dead,” by demanding his inheritance early. Motivated by worldly pleasures, he went searching for life apart from his father’s love and care.

We can trace this playbook all the way back to Genesis 3. God created everything. And it was all good. God loved Adam and Eve deeply, created a world for them to thrive in, and they lacked nothing. God gave them one rule: don’t eat the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. 

While Adam and Eve were walking in this newly created world, Satan, disguised as a serpent, approached them. He convinced Eve that God was holding out on them—that there was something better than they currently experienced under God’s fellowship and care. All they had to do was disobey God and eat the fruit from the tree he had forbidden from them. “So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate” (Genesis 3:6).

What attracted Adam and Eve to the fruit are the same categories the world promises us every time it attempts to pull us from God’s way of doing things. It’s sin—the playbook of the world. What does sin promise?

It was good for food. Sin always meets some sort of practical need. 

It was a delight to the eyes. Sin always looks good.

It was desired to make one wise. Sin always promises more than it can deliver.

All three of these categories scream out (or whisper) to us “What you have is not enough. There is a better path to joy.” The foundation of sin rests in wanting to be our own god instead of serving the one true God. 

Adam and Eve bought into the lie.

The younger son bought into the lie.

And we buy into it—daily. 

Athlete, Come Home

In sports, this lie often means using our sport to glorify ourselves rather than God. And when we do, we cheat, play dirty, curse teammates, berate officials, talk behind coaches’ backs, or stew in passive-aggressive frustration. The problem isn’t just our behavior—it’s that we’re wandering far from the Father.

As Sky Jethani writes:

“The greater problem is not the son’s morality but his locality…The moral of the story is not ‘be more self-controlled to avoid hardship,’ but ‘stay connected to the Father who loves and cares for you.’”

The athlete who wrote to me wasn't asking for an inheritance, but his pursuit of worldly pleasure led him to the same crossroads as the prodigal son. Broken, empty, and far from the Father, he finally came to his senses. And what were his next steps? 

He owned his sin.
He confessed honestly.
He admitted that his plan didn’t work.
And he turned back toward God.

After years of walking alongside him, I can tell you that everything didn’t magically change overnight. But as he continued to stack faithful days of abiding in and with the father, he became a transformed person. 

Athlete, the same decision sits before you. If we build our lives on the pursuit of pleasure, performance, or identity apart from God, we will eventually hit rock bottom. We will find ourselves empty and wondering how we got there.

When that moment comes—and it always does—there are only two options:

Return to the Father’s embrace, trusting that He alone can satisfy the ache inside you.
Or harden your heart again and chase another short season of false promises.

One path leads home.
The other leads deeper into the far country. But it’s not too far to turn back.

Which one will you choose?

Ps. I know that it’s always challenging to be honest with people in your inner circle. If you want to model your first step back to God through writing an email (like the athlete did with me), I want you to know that I read everything that lands in my inbox and would love to hear your story. You can reach me at: Brian@thechristianathlete.com