Bob Davidson, my mentor and A&M Church of Christ minister, introduced me to handball, inspiring discipline, growth, and a passion for improvement.

It’s often the quiet moments—the ones that seem simple at first—that have the most lasting impact. For me, one such moment came in the echo-filled gymnasium of the A&M Church of Christ, where Bob Davidson, then the college students’ minister, handed me a pair of goggles and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

That was my introduction to handball.

What followed was more than a game—it was a mentorship that molded my mindset, instilled lifelong discipline, and offered unexpected joy, all thanks to a man whose guidance extended far beyond the walls of a church or the lines of a handball court.

Meeting Bob Davidson

I first met Bob during my early days at Texas A&M. Like many young college students adjusting to a new chapter in life, I was searching for community and direction. The A&M Church of Christ was a natural place to turn, and it didn’t take long before I was drawn to Bob’s warm demeanor, thoughtful sermons, and sincere interest in the lives of the students he served.

He wasn’t your typical minister. Bob had an easygoing style and a sharp sense of humor. He had a way of making you feel seen, not just as a student or a congregant, but as a person with potential and purpose.

He also happened to be an avid handball player—and an incredibly accomplished one at that.

A Surprising Introduction to Handball

Until Bob mentioned it, handball had never really crossed my mind. Basketball, football, even racquetball—sure. But handball? I couldn’t have picked it out of a lineup of sports. But Bob’s enthusiasm was contagious.

“I’ll show you the ropes,” he said with a grin. “But be warned—I play to win.”

And so, we started meeting in the church gym, often early in the morning or in the quiet hours of a weekday evening. At first, I was more flailing than finesse. The ball moved faster than I expected, and my hands stung after every return.

But Bob was patient. He’d pause mid-rally to correct my stance, demonstrate a better angle, or simply offer encouragement. “You’ve got to read the bounce,” he’d say. “And remember, your feet need to be where your brain already is.”

Those lessons weren’t just about handball. They were about life.

Discipline on the Court—and Off

What stood out most about Bob—on the court and in the church—was his consistency. He didn’t have an “on” switch for performance and an “off” one for real life. He showed up the same way every time: thoughtful, committed, prepared.

If we had a game scheduled, he was there ten minutes early, stretching and warming up. If I had a question about faith, life, or school, he gave it his full attention. There were no halfway efforts with Bob Davidson.

Over time, that rubbed off on me. I began arriving early too. I stayed longer to practice. I asked more questions. I started to realize that the way you approach something small—like a morning handball match—reflects how you handle the bigger things in life.

That kind of discipline started to show up in my academics, my relationships, and my spiritual life. Bob never explicitly said, “This is how you should live.” He simply lived it—and invited me along for the journey.

The Joy of the Game

There was something beautifully pure about playing handball with Bob. It wasn’t about bragging rights or rankings. It was about rhythm, movement, and mental agility. Bob played with intensity, but also with joy. He laughed when he made a good shot and cheered when I managed a lucky return.

We talked about everything between points—faith, family, college life, the importance of humility, the value of hard work. Some of the most honest, open conversations of my college years happened with a rubber ball bouncing in the background.

Eventually, I improved. My footwork got faster, my reactions sharper. Bob took pride in my growth, but never let me forget that learning was never over.

“You’re getting good,” he’d say with a smile, “but remember—complacency is the enemy of excellence.”

Lessons That Transcended Sport

What started as a recreational outlet became a cornerstone of my personal development. Through Bob and handball, I learned how to:

• Handle failure: I lost a lot before I started winning, and Bob never sugarcoated the sting. “You learn more from a loss than a win,” he’d remind me.
• Stay present: Handball forces you to focus—every bounce, every angle. In life, too, distractions can make you miss what’s right in front of you.
• Keep improving: No matter how much better I got, Bob found a way to challenge me. “There’s always another level,” he’d say. That lesson stuck.

Even now, years later, I can hear his voice in my head before major presentations, family decisions, or difficult conversations: Be where your brain already is. Prepare. Respect the moment.

A Legacy of Mentorship

Bob eventually retired from his position at the church, but he never stopped mentoring. Whether through faith, sport, or life advice, he left a mark on countless students like me—young men and women looking for someone to believe in them.

I often wonder if Bob knew just how much those handball games meant to me. Maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he kept showing up, pushing me, laughing with me, teaching me.

And maybe that’s the truest form of mentorship—not flashy speeches or grand gestures, but simple, steady presence. Showing up. Investing time. Sharing wisdom.

Looking Back with Gratitude

When I reflect on my college years, Bob Davidson remains one of the most influential figures in that formative chapter of my life. He didn’t just teach me how to play handball. He taught me how to approach life with intentionality, humility, and passion.

He reminded me that ministry could happen anywhere—even in a gym. That spiritual mentorship could be wrapped in sweat and strategy. And that the small things, like learning to read the bounce of a ball, can prepare you for much larger challenges.

Paying It Forward

Now, I try to honor Bob’s legacy in my own life—whether by mentoring others, investing in relationships, or simply staying disciplined in my pursuits. Every time I step into a gym, I think of him. Every time I find myself guiding someone younger through a challenge, I remember how he guided me.

We all have that one person who helped shape us—who saw something in us before we saw it in ourselves. For me, that person was Bob Davidson.

And I’ll always be grateful for the gift of his mentorship, the lessons from our games, and the lasting impact of a handball court in the heart of a church.

Let me know if you’d like a shorter version, an adaptation for a speech, or a version that includes more biographical detail about Bob!