If I wasn’t in the gym or on a field playing ball as a kid, I was helping my grandparents on their tobacco farm outside of Snow Hill, North Carolina. There, among those hot summer rows of sticky, leafy stalks, I got an education that in many ways surpasses the two degrees I’ve received from East Carolina University, where I am now head baseball coach. I got a PhD in hard work in those fields.
My granddad believed in hard work and finding solutions. If a problem arose, he’d ask, “Now, Cliff, how are you going to get that mule out of the ditch?” Granddad always left it up to me to solve whatever problem I faced. He taught me to think for myself.
I played football and baseball in high school, but basketball was my true love. Dad was the coach of my basketball team, and I constantly strove to make him proud.
My parents took me to church growing up, and in middle school, I got baptized. But once I entered high school, I left my faith in the dirt like an old glove that no longer fit. The only things on my mind were working out, eating, winning, and girls.
I worked hard and achieved much on and off the field. And each night, I went home to my parents, who loved me and supported my efforts. Life seemed good. I felt sad for my buddies whose parents were divorcing. “That’ll never happen to me,” I thought. But it did, and when my mom moved out the day I graduated from Greene Central High School, my world changed.
I love my mom and dad, and they have always loved and supported me. Having both my parents’ presence in our home brought me security. But now, that security was gone. The new situation angered and confused me, and resentment grew in my heart.
Only recently, however, nearly four decades later, have I been able to name these emotions and identify how my parents’ divorce impacted me. Through counseling, I’ve learned that my reaction to their divorce was to become distrustful of people and fiercely independent. Subconsciously, I began protecting my heart by not letting anyone get close to me, especially women. As you can imagine, this thinking wasn’t conducive to lasting and healthy relationships.
Looking back, I realize my parents were doing the best they could. Everyone has struggles in life, but as a teen, I didn’t know how to process all those emotions. All I knew was that one of Granddad’s “mules” was in the ditch, and I had to find a solution. I threw myself into my college studies and sports.
When my dream of playing college basketball didn’t pan out, I accepted a scholarship to play baseball for East Carolina University (ECU) in the fall of 1996. This was the year before ECU hired the legendary Keith LeClair as head coach. When he arrived, he told the team he was taking us to the NCAA Men’s Collegiate World Series. I knew if I wanted to be a part of that winning team, I needed to up my game.
Coach LeClair worked us like we were training to become Navy SEALs. I met all his demands and strove to be first on the field and last to leave. I worked hard in class too. Being busy kept me from feeling the sadness over the breakup of my family.
My time as a player for ECU baseball and playing with my best friends were the best years of my life. The lasting memories of winning championships and spending time with my boys will never be forgotten. I graduated, and shifted my focus to coaching collegiately. I couldn’t imagine life without sports.
I’ve had an incredible coaching career with stops at Kinston High School, UNCW, Vanderbilt, Notre Dame, LSU, UCF, and Ole Miss. I spent the first ten years of my career assisting top coaches nationwide.
In 2014, I helped coach Ole Miss to the College World Series in Omaha. The head coaching position at ECU opened during that time, and they wanted me to interview at my alma mater. I made sure the ECU Athletic Department was committed to competing for a national championship before I accepted the job. I wasn’t planning on staying long, though.
My plan was to take ECU to Omaha for the World Series and then go on to a bigger job. It was all about climbing the ladder of success and making more money. But over time, my priorities changed. The shift occurred after I met a mule I couldn’t budge, no matter how hard I tried—the mule of depression.
This dark season began in 2020. Like many, the isolation of COVID and being forced out of my normal routine of coaching and winning games impacted my mental health. Suddenly, I wasn’t as active or engaged with the team and didn’t have the dopamine produced by winning pumping through my veins. Then I got COVID, and that virus took a toll on my body and mind.
In 2021, the father of two of my players, who was also my friend, suddenly passed away. The grief I felt led me further into darkness. I told no one about what I was experiencing, though. This was my problem to solve, so I pushed through the darkness. Still, that stubborn mule of depression refused to budge.
Things got worse again when, in the summer of 2022, several of my players were involved in a tragic boating accident. When Parker Byrd’s father called and told me the doctors were going to have to amputate Parker’s leg, I fell to my knees and wept. I felt responsible. (See Parker’s story in Issue 4, 2023.)
Over the next several months, I watched Parker and his family face incredible trials and an uncertain future with strength, dignity, and faith. As my players rallied around him, I saw that many of them had the same astonishing hope. I couldn’t see the light they saw at the end of the tunnel. I only saw darkness. When I got COVID a third time, I reached a new low. Life no longer felt worth living.
In September of that year, I was asked to introduce one of my baseball heroes, Darryl Strawberry, at a Victorious Living fundraiser called “A Night of Hope.”
How ironic—me, a man who felt no hope, on stage at a Night of Hope event. I remember being onsite just moments before the event started and trying to figure a way out of introducing Darryl. You know you are low when you’re trying to back out of an opportunity of a lifetime like this.
I somehow made it onto that stage. Looking out into the audience, I saw Parker Byrd with his freshly amputated leg and most of our baseball team. I wondered if they could see the broken, hopeless man standing before them. The crowd welcomed me—the coach of their beloved local team. I guess I pulled it off. None were the wiser.
And then I needed a knee replacement. The physical pain only added to the darkness. I hoped to recover before a much-needed vacation to the Bahamas with my friends. But then, an infection set in. I underwent another surgery and missed the trip. As I lay in that hospital bed, thinking about my friends going without me, I hit an all-time low.
I had no idea how to process my feelings. I also didn’t know how to ask for help as I was embarrassed to let anyone know I was depressed. I was Coach, the one with the answers, the tough guy who could solve anyone’s problem.
What would the other coaches and players think of me if they knew I had to lean on someone? I felt so weak.
I finally decided it didn’t matter what anyone thought because if I didn’t tell someone, I wasn’t going to survive. Humbling myself and admitting I needed help was the hardest thing ever, but it saved my life. Trusting people and leaning on my friends is why I am still here today. God used those men to lead me to Jesus, the light that shines without fail in the darkness (John 1:5).
My friends encouraged me to go to church. I wasn’t sure I wanted to retrieve that old glove from the dirt. I’d been in Greenville for ten years and hadn’t set foot in a church once.
I had many reasons—all selfish, of course. I had myself convinced that if I did go, I’d have to talk about baseball. We live in a small town, and I’m often recognized. I didn’t want to be “ECU Head Coach” at church; I just wanted to be Cliff Godwin. So I stayed home.
But there was a bigger reason too—I was afraid to walk into church alone. Isn’t that amazing? I’m a head baseball coach who lives in the spotlight and has walked out on a field alone, on camera, over a thousand times. But I was afraid to walk into a church by myself?
Finally, on Christmas Eve, I set my fears aside and went to church with a couple of friends. As soon as I walked through the doors, all I could do was cry. I was breaking all my rules— no crying in baseball or life. I was convinced people were staring and wondering what was wrong with me. I surprised myself by going back. Again, then again. By the third Sunday, I was walking in by myself.
As I sat in a community of believers weekly and under excellent biblical teaching, hope returned to my heart and mind. I began to see the light as I realized my purpose and identity was much more than being Coach Cliff Godwin.
As I learned about the goodness of God, I began to regret my past decisions, especially how I had treated women. But instead of confessing my mistakes, repenting of them to God, and receiving His forgiveness (1 John 1:9), I condemned myself and fell again under a heavy weight of shame and guilt.
But then God reminded me that we’re all sinners who fall short of His perfect standard (Romans 3:23). Every day, we make mistakes—we fall into a ditch of sin. God knew that would be our way—that’s why He sent His Son, Jesus, to die (John 3:16).
Through His death and resurrection from the dead, Jesus took care of my sin problem. He paid the heavy price of all my shortcomings and conquered the power of sin and the shame it brings. (See Romans 6:23; Colossians 1:13–14; 1 Peter 2:24.)
In the fall of 2022, I started going to Christian counseling. This was another challenging step for me to take. I had to get over the fear of what others might think, as well as the belief that talking about my past and facing my emotions meant I was weak or that something was wrong with me. Since our first session, God has been using my counselor to bring me into a place of freedom (2 Corinthians 3:17).
Through counseling, I have discovered many things about myself, including my need to forgive my parents for divorcing. I realized I needed to ask forgiveness for how I’d treated the women with whom I’d had relationships. I admitted to being a prideful tyrant for years, especially on the field as a coach. God has softened me in that area, but I still struggle with losses and not getting caught up in the wins.
God has blessed me with an incredible team of young men who help me grow as a man of God. Our entire baseball team has been going through a spiritual revival. In January of 2024, ten players who had recently given their lives to Jesus got baptized on our playing field in a horse trough. I’d been baptized in middle school but decided to step back into the water. I wanted to make a fresh and public profession of my renewed decision to follow Christ.
I texted my parents right before it happened, and Dad texted back, saying, “I’ve been praying for this since the day you were born.” He said he had seen a change in my life about a year ago but couldn’t put his finger on it. “Now it makes sense,” he told me. Hearing that God was changing me in a way others could see confirmed that He was at work in me.
I am excited about what God has in store and grateful He has freed me from the darkness. Because of Jesus, I am a man living in the light and with hope. God’s Spirit is helping me to be a new person on and off the field (2 Corinthians 5:17).
Today, my priority is no longer climbing the coaching ladder and making money. It is to be a godly role model who helps the young men God brings my way to become more than great baseball players.
I want to help them become men of character who depend on God and who aren’t afraid to ask for help. I want them to know that admitting that you have a need or are facing a problem isn’t a form of weakness because it is in our weakness that God can make us strong (2 Corinthians 12:9).
Don’t try to go through life alone and in your own strength. The moment you admit you need God is the day you’ll find the strength you need. God’s grace is all anyone needs, and His power works best in our weakness.
CLIFF GODWIN has been recognized as one of the top collegiate baseball coaches in the nation. As ECU’s head baseball coach, he aims to be a godly role model while leading his team to a World Series Championship.
