My Testimony
Where The Model Ended and Grace Began
by Erin Fivecoats
Hi, I’m Erin. And for most of my adult life, I was a school administrator working with 7th graders.
Yes, seventh graders. All day. For 31 years.
People used to ask if I was crazy-and honestly, sometimes, I wondered the same thing. But deep down, I loved it. That age is messy and awkward, but it’s also wildly real. You get to see kids right at the edge of everything-figuring out who they are and why they matter.
And over the years, I noticed something.
They didn’t need just grades and guidelines. They needed tools. For thinking. For feeling. For processing. For handling life.
They had phones in their hands, but what they really needed was someone to help them deal with their thoughts and emotions.
What I didn’t know was that God was using those years-those 750 seventh graders a year—to prepare me for something much bigger.
I also want to say this right away: I didn’t grow up in trauma.
I had a charmed childhood. A strong, loving family. Stability. Faith. Honestly, the hardest part was probably being the youngest of four and trying to get a word in at dinner.
And for a long time, I thought that meant I couldn’t relate to people in pain.
But I’ve learned that my story matters too-because not everyone needs therapy. Some just need guidance. Not every loss looks like trauma. Sometimes it’s the quiet, invisible kind—like losing your energy. Your sense of purpose. Your direction. Yourself.
That’s what coaching is for. It’s not a replacement for healing-it’s a pathway for moving forward.
I'm also a wife to Mark. And a mom to four amazing adult kids-each of whom found their person. That means four extra in-laws in our family who we love like our own.
Then came the grandkids. Six total. Four of them came after Mark’s diagnosis, so they were light after a very dark season.
We weren’t sure we could keep up with them-but let me tell you, we made dang sure we could. Grandparenting became our joy. Our purpose. Our sport.
But before all that… life shifted.
Mark was diagnosed with bladder cancer. It was a shock. He had always been healthy. The kind of guy you count on for everything. And suddenly, we were the ones in the waiting rooms, watching scans, praying for clear margins and a Lamborghini bladder!
At the time, we were members of a very large satellite church. It checked the boxes. But it didn’t feel personal. We were fading.
Then our daughter and son-in-law’s church started praying for Mark. And even though we hadn’t visited, they lifted us up. So we thought—well, we should probably check it out.
That’s when we walked into Life.Church. And something stirred.
Mark’s faith deepened in a way I’d never seen. And God started to move… in us, around us, through people we hadn’t even met.
During this same season, while still working full-time, I enrolled in coaching certification.
I didn’t do it to change careers. I did it because I needed help. I needed tools to stay grounded—for my students, my family, and myself.
That’s when I discovered Brooke Castillo’s “Model”:
Circumstance → Thought → Feeling → Action → Result
It changed how I saw everything. I realized I didn’t have to be at the mercy of my emotions or my environment. I had agency. I had tools.
And those tools helped me walk beside Mark through his cancer, while still showing up every day for my staff and students.
After he recovered, I got certified. And I started helping other women too. Women feeling stuck. Tired. Lost.
I thought, “Wow, God. I see the plan. This is what I’m meant to do.”
Then came Ryder.
Our beautiful, strong grandson. He was perfect like his twin sister, River.
Until he wasn’t.
At just a year old, he contracted a parasitic infection that led to global brain atrophy.
It was like watching a light dim. But what none of us expected was how that light would fight its way back on.
Ryder learned to walk again. To smile. To laugh. To light up a room. To say “I love you” with the tightest of squeezes you will ever know.
He became the soul of our family. Our joy. Our purpose.
We sold our house in Bixby and moved to Claremore. Built a life that revolved around his therapy, his recovery, his radiant little spirit.
And in the middle of that, we found Vessel Church. A new faith family that didn’t just welcome us—they carried us.
For three years, Ryder grew. He wasn’t “healed” in the traditional sense. But he was whole. Loved. Powerful. Hilarious. He taught us more about God’s goodness than a thousand sermons.
Then, six months ago, without warning… he was gone.
In the night. No symptoms. No explanations. Just gone.
We still don’t know why.
We just woke up to a different world.
And suddenly… The Model didn’t work.
I tried everything I had taught my clients.
Feel your feelings.
Challenge the thoughts.
Choose intentional action.
But there was no action. No thought. Just silence.
I couldn’t fix my daughter.
I couldn’t fix myself.
And I couldn’t bring Ryder back.
That’s when Jesus met me again-not with answers, but with presence.
He didn’t say, “use your tools.”
He said, “Let me carry this.”
He didn’t say, “coach yourself out of it.”
He said, “I’m in it with you.”
And for the first time in my life… I knew what grace felt like. Not grace for the edges, but grace for the middle. For the messy. For the unbearable.
I still believe in coaching. I still use The Model.
But I don’t worship it.
I worship Him.
I’ve learned that where the model ends… grace begins.
Now, I coach women who are walking through loss:
Loss of identity
Loss of energy
Loss of direction
Loss of a marriage
Loss of a child
Loss of who they used to be
I offer tools. Structure. Clarity.
But more than anything, I offer presence.
Because coaching is not about performance.
It’s about being human-together.
To Vessel Church… thank you.
You prayed for us before we ever walked through your doors.
You loved us before we had words for our grief.
You gave us a place to bring our heartbreak-and now, to bring our healing.
This is our story. This is our offering.
May it remind someone else that even when life unravels…
even when your brain can’t find the answer…
Grace is still enough.
Jesus is still near.
And the story isn’t over.
Thank you.
