Intentional Acts: Reflections by Alex Manning
by Alex Manning (’14), Boys Head Lacrosse Coach and MS and US Substitute Coordinator
This story originally appeared in the 2026 Whitefield Magazine.
If you had known me as a sophomore at Whitefield, you probably would have described me as most coaches did at the time: smart aleck, athletic, and just immature enough to keep things interesting. I loved lacrosse and football, pushed the rules at school more than I should have, and could be fairly combative when I didn’t agree with something. My faith was there—I went to church every Sunday and Christian camps in the summer—but it wasn’t exactly intentional. It was just part of the routine in my family.
Then there was Coach Hunter. My first impression of him? An old guy with a gravelly voice, high socks, and a coaching style that could knock you down a peg before you even knew you needed it. He was different. Even at fifteen, I could tell.
He held us accountable, but not in a harsh way. He held us accountable in a way that showed he genuinely cared. He raised the standard for our team in everything we did. He created offseason plans, convinced most of us to spend the summers playing lacrosse together, and found ways to teach concepts that somehow always made sense. We knew he worked around the clock for us. We knew he cared. But I didn’t understand how deeply until years later.
The moment that helped me realize the depth of his care came in 2019, the spring after I graduated college. I had come back to Whitefield as a community lacrosse coach, walking out of the same locker room I had basically lived in as a student—not from the row of lockers this time, but from the coaches’ office.
Coach Hunter handed me a prayer sheet. Half a page, with a simple prayer at the top and the roster listed below it. He was letting me know my responsibility as a coach: to care for each player intentionally. Scribbled next to each name were notes about a parent’s health, academics, leadership qualities, college decisions, and more. I remember scanning over it and realizing immediately that he had likely used a sheet exactly like this, and I was one of those names.
He had prayed for me. Every day. Quietly. Consistently. Without me knowing.
I felt a mix of things—conviction that I hadn’t recognized it earlier, a little guilt that I had benefited from something I never saw, but mostly inspiration. It was humbling to realize the impact of someone’s unseen choices—the intentionality behind the way he coached and loved his players.
Around that same time, I was working in construction and wrestling with burnout, purpose, and, honestly, some depression. Coaching was the only place I felt energized and alive. I was spending most of my free time around the sport anyway, and over time I felt God pulling me toward something more intentional. Something that looked a lot less like building houses and a lot more like building young men.
When I think back on it now, the moment with the prayer sheet was one of the clearest points where God shifted my understanding of what coaching could be. It wasn’t just about X’s and O’s or Jimmy’s and Joe’s. It was a ministry. It was discipleship. It was servant-leadership lived out in small, faithful ways.
Coaching at Whitefield since 2019 has only reinforced that calling. I feel genuinely supported by the families and staff here, and I love the relationships formed with the players. Getting to pour into these young men—on the field, off the field, in their faith—is the part of my day I look forward to the most.
As I step into the head coach role this coming season, I feel both excitement and the weight of responsibility. I want to honor what Coach Hunter built here while also developing my own voice and leadership style. At the end of the day, my goal is simple: help our players grow in character, deepen their faith, and build friendships that last far beyond high school.
One of the biggest lessons Coach Hunter taught me—without ever saying it—is that the small, unseen choices often matter most. A half sheet of paper filled with prayers I never knew about has shaped the way I coach and the kind of man I want to be.
So these are the questions I keep returning to and the ones I will leave you with…