Breathless Haste

Jay’s passion for Africa continued to grow. When he returned from his first trip, he shared stories with me that would tug at my heart. One of these was a picture of a little boy with a ragged orange shirt. The back of his shirt was completely missing, and the front was held together by only the collar around his neck. He was holding two handmade balls made of old, dirty plastic bags with string tightly wound around them to help keep their form.

A few months later, Neale joined a travel softball team. She had discovered her love for this sport following our arrival in Chicago. She declared to her father one day that she wanted to be a pitcher. Day in, day out, she would pitch to Jay beside our rental house. His hours of sitting on the ball bucket catching for her are some of his fondest memories, and it allowed for some of their best conversations. Pitching lessons and hours of practice as a pitcher and first baseman on other teams helped her to secure a spot on this travel team. The coaches asked us to raise money for her team so each player could have two uniforms with their name and number on the hat, batting bag, and jersey.

Not long after Neale joined the travel team, we had dinner with one of the church’s African mission partners. She lived in Malawi, and she was supported by our church to attend to the many needs of the people in that country. She had hosted Jay and the vision team while they were there. During our conversation, I chatted about how my daughter had made the team and that we now had to raise money for her.

She asked, “How much money?”

I could hardly speak. I wanted to throw up. “A thousand dollars,” I said.