Around 2013, our family packed up our lives and hit the road, traveling the country on what we called our “Journey of Trust.” This season shaped us in so many ways, which I’ll share more about throughout this testimony.
After our initial month and a half traveling in an RV, God led us to a tiny town called Mauk, Georgia. We didn’t know what we’d find there — only that we were called to go.
That first few months in Mauk was especially challenging for our kids, Josette and Ray Jr. It was a tough adjustment for all of us, but even more so for our son. One of our biggest prayers was for Ray Jr. to find some sense of normalcy again. Our calling had brought about drastic changes — one day, the kids were surrounded by friends in New Jersey; the next, they were dropped into a “ministry life” none of us fully knew how to navigate yet.. It was hard enough on Jen and me — but for them, it was a very different kind of burden. As I look back, I’m amazed at how well they adapted and found joy during a time of great change.
Life in Mauk wasn’t easy in the beginning. We were a bunch of Yankees in a deeply rural Southern town that carried its own quiet biases about northerners. The people were kind, but the slower pace of life — and the uncertainty of where we’d even lay our heads long-term brought its own share of stress. I’ll admit, it made me question some of my choices more than once.
But Jennifer never wavered. She pressed on with a confidence, trusting God’s plan for our lives even when I couldn’t see it clearly. Her faith was stronger than any fear we faced, and her belief in the calling the Lord had placed on my life gave me peace. Even when everything around us felt shaky, she was a constant source of strength. Her love of the Lord and His plan for our lives renewed my trust in the calling He placed upon my heart.
One blessing from our RV travels was that we built relationships and friendships within the Methodist community around Columbus and Mauk, word spread about our calling and our needs, and one man felt led to help. David, a widower in his 60s with forty acres in Mauk, offered us a small house on his property — a structure that was once a former slave quarters, which he moved to his land and converted into a two-bedroom tiny home.
As a man, husband, and father, this was both a blessing and deeply humbling. I was so grateful to the Lord for providing us with shelter when we needed it most. But I couldn’t shake the thought that my family had gone from a normal, everyday home to this tiny cabin — a place built over a century ago to house people forced into slavery.
The cabin was so cramped that there was barely any privacy unless you wandered off into the pine forest on David’s property. I often found myself asking God, “What have I gotten my family into?” It was a strange mix of gratitude and guilt — thankful we had a roof over our heads, yet burdened by the weight of what we’d lost.
Jen and I just wanted to bring a little joy back into Ray Jr.’s childhood – some ‘normalcy’ in a world that felt anything but. So we prayed, and God opened a door: a fall baseball league in Thomaston, an hour away. (When you live out in the country, everything seems to be an hour away!)
Our finances were tight — painfully tight — but we knew we couldn’t let fear of an empty wallet close a door God had opened. We chose to just trust, which became a very common theme while living in Georgia.
When we joined the league, I asked if there was a spot for a coach. There wasn’t — at least not yet. But within days, a position for an assistant coach opened up right on Ray Jr.’s team. Just like that, I was on the field with two good men, Todd and Murray.
The team struggled early on – but the team began to hit on all cylinders.. These boys, who started as underdogs, pulled together and showed heart. Our team fought its way through the double-elimination tournament, losing our first game but battling back to win every game after that initial loss. Next thing you know, we found ourselves in the championship game. Watching Ray Jr. so excited to play. He had joy and purpose, which made it worth every mile we had to drive. We won that championship game and was really a blessing for our family. I remember that our daughter Josette look forward to rooting Ray Jr. and the team on from the bleachers.
As the spring approached, our excitement grew for the prospect of another season of baseball – only this time, the commissioner asked me to be a head coach. Apparently, Todd and Murray put in a good word for me and thought I would make a great edition to the league. It felt like a chance to give back to my son what my father and uncle had once given me through baseball — to be not just a coach, but a mentor. Ray Jr. was very happy to hear that I was going to coach his team and so was I. It was another chance to spend time with my son, doing something that we both loved.
The day of the draft arrived. I arrived early at the Thomaston elementary school with Ray Jr. We were both excited about drafting the players for our “championship run.” The only issue was that we were new to the league and were unfamiliar with many of the players, as they were not part of the Fall Ball experience.
The draft that spring was unlike any I’d ever experienced in all my years around baseball. Each round, the coaches would draw a number from a hat to decide the pick order. Every time, Ray Jr. would look at me with hopeful eyes, silently begging for a good draw. And every single time — like clockwork — we would receive a curveball and draw the last number for the pick.
By the third round, it became rather comical. The process would repeat itself and I would get the last pick from a list of kids that were unknown to me. It didn’t give me any confidence that the other coaches seemed to relish in the fact that we were getting the less experienced or problem players. But deep down, I knew the Lord had a plan. This wasn’t just about baseball and winning a championship. The Lord was assembling the team, handpicking His very own version of the “Bad News Bears” with a Kingdom twist. If you remember the movie, they were a ragtag group of misfits that were viewed as the outsiders. By the end of the movie, they became a team whose members were given a chance to belong, grow and discover their worth.
When practice began, I realized the team God was giving me was more than just a baseball team — it was a mission field. Many of these boys came from broken homes. Some were medicated for ADHD. Baseball practice was their escape, their chance to breathe, to laugh, to be kids.
The December after Fall Ball, I had badly hurt my knee from a fall. This caused me to be very limited with my physical abilities. I couldn’t run around much with my bad knee, as I was experiencing a lot of pain. But God showed me these boys didn’t need a perfect coach; they needed a present one who really cared.
Fathers were mostly absent at practices and games, which was rather disheartening to me. My wife stepped in as our dugout mom, to assist me with the boys who could be unruly at times. I didn’t have a steady assistant coach, so most days, it was just me doing it all. The boys were generally respectful but rough around the edges. Discipline was lacking, and honestly, so was any real baseball talent. No matter how much we drilled the basics, it just wasn’t there yet.
Our first scrimmages showed exactly how outmatched we were. I could see the boys starting to get discouraged. I’ll admit — up to that point, my focus had been on coaching to win. I thought if I leaned on my own skills and love for the game, maybe we would have the chance to have a miracle season. But that’s not what God had in mind.
One evening after practice, I felt God remind me that this was bigger than baseball — bigger than winning any championship. It was really about the boys and giving them a chance to shine. I didn’t fully see it at the time, but that “shine” wasn’t just about playing better — it was about being a light in the darkness. When I shared with Jen what the Lord had put on my heart, we both knew: this team needed to be dedicated to Him. It had to be all about Jesus, not just the scoreboard.
At our next practice, I gathered the boys in the dugout and started talking to them about Jesus. This wasn’t some lecture about how they needed the Lord — though we all do — but more of an honest conversation. I asked them a few simple questions: who went to church, who believed in Him. I just wanted to understand where they were coming from.
Most of them, being kids from the South, had at least stepped foot in a church. But I could still sense a heaviness on them. They knew they weren’t the “good” team and I believe that familiar feeling of not being good enough troubled them. For many of them, they faced those feelings at home and now it was creeping in again, right there on the ball field.
I told them my focus wasn’t just on winning or losing. I spoke from my heart and let them know they were exactly who I wanted to coach — that I was honored to stand beside them. I reminded them that no matter what the scoreboard said, our real job was to honor God. I shared a lot with them that day, but most of all, I wanted them to feel how deeply they were loved — by me, by each other, and by the Lord. And right there in that dugout, we prayed. Those boys grabbed hands and dedicated the team and the whole season to Jesus.I was amazed as some of them took the initiative and led their own prayers. It was a wonderful moment that greatly inspired me and demonstrated the goodness of God.
Something shifted that day — not because of anything I said, but because they felt God’s love in a real way. From then on, our mission was simple: honor God in everything. Win or lose, we thanked Him. We prayed before, during, and after every game.
As the season started, we took the field for our first game. The boys gathered together at the pitcher’s mound and we prayed. The love of God seemed to engulf the entire field and move in the crowd. Jen found herself praying with mothers who were shouldering burdens too heavy to carry alone. One mom, Kelly, stood out. She came from the hardest part of town — a place beaten down by gangs and crime. But even in those areas, God is working. Where darkness hovers, hope fights back through those with willing hearts.
Our ‘misfits’ weren’t just learning baseball — they were learning and sharing hope. As the season went on, other teams began to notice how our boys honored God before, during, and after every game.
One game in particular stands out — it was against Todd’s team, the “best” team in the league. After our loss, Todd walked over to the pitcher’s mound and asked if his team could join us in prayer. So right there on the field, both teams joined hands and honored God together.
From that day on, it became a ripple effect. Week after week, more teams joined us. We prayed with other players, parents, coaches, and even umpires. Some were so moved they began praying with their own teams — some even brought boys who’d never known Jesus to church for the first time.
I’ll never forget Todd saying, “Brother, I’m taking my boys to church this weekend.” What a blessing that was.
God turned a bunch of kids no one wanted on their team into a band of brothers that changed hearts.
That season ended just the way you’d expect for a misfit miracle: with a twist. We made it to the last game but only had ten players — then two didn’t show. One, Quinton, was supposedly home with ‘food poisoning.’ We were supposed to forfeit — but the opposing team begged the umpires to stay and play. They even offered us extra players. The umpires let us play short, and we won. Unfortunately, the commissioner discounted our win because we only had eight players. The real victory came after the game, when kids from both teams circled up to pray.
When I checked on Quinton, I found out things were worse than food poisoning. His mom, Kelly, told me she had rushed him to the hospital — then to Children’s Hospital in Atlanta. He was getting sicker by the hour, unable to eat, throwing up everything. The doctors were baffled. They ran test after test — nothing. They removed his appendix as a last resort, but that wasn’t the answer either.
I felt the Lord pressing on me: Go. My truck’s tires were bald and my wallet was empty, but the urge was stronger than my excuses. I called Jennifer, who encourage me to go without a second thought. So Ray Jr. and I headed to Atlanta.
As I drove, I believe God began to show me something about Quinton’s condition. I saw a clear image of something like bacteria moving inside Quinton’s gut. He also gave me the words for how to pray and even how long to stay. This was something that I never experienced before.
When we arrived at the hospital, we signed in at the front desk and were directed to his room. Kelly was seated in a chair by his bedside and greeted us with a brave smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The moment we stepped in, I felt it — a heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on the room like a spiritual darkness that wouldn’t lift.
Quinton lay there in the hospital bed, completely out of it — eyes closed, too weak to speak or even acknowledge that we were there. He looked so small, so fragile in that stark white bed. Beside him, Kelly did her best to keep it together, but I could see the fear in her eyes — the fear any parent would feel standing at the edge of the unknown, watching their child slip somewhere they couldn’t follow. Helplessness hung in the air, mingling with the steady beeping of monitors and the constant busyness of the hospital. All any of us could do was stand there, holding on to hope like it was our last lifeline.
Kelly stood by my side and lifted Quinton’s gown to reveal his stomach. She then looked at me and motioned towards the middle of his belly. I was stunned — there, clear as day, was what looked like the image of a devilish face with a grin on his skin. Was it just pareidolia, my mind seeing something that wasn’t really there? Or was evil mocking us in the middle of this battle?
I asked Kelly if I could anoint Quinton with the oil that Jennifer had given to me. As I anointed his forehead, I began to speak to him. At first, it was just regular conversation, letting him know that Ray Jr. and I were there to see him. Quinton did not respond or even seem to realize we were there.
I moved in closer and gently took his hand. In a soft, reassuring voice, I leaned down and whispered in his ear that Jesus was with him, so he didn’t need to be afraid — and to my surprise, he managed the smallest nod. I told him, “Let Jesus know you love Him. You don’t have to say it out loud — just say it in your heart. He’s fighting this battle for you.”
Let me make this perfectly clear: I don’t believe for a second that my presence in that hospital room was the key to any healing — God doesn’t need me to accomplish His plans. But He chose to use me because I had a willing heart, faults and all. I’ve always held to the truth that obedience is greater than sacrifice — we’re called to do what the Lord asks, nothing more and nothing less. Being there wasn’t about me being the source of any miracle. Quinton had a real medical condition, and only God holds the power over life and death.
As it says in 2 Corinthians 4:7, “But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us.”– 2 Corinthians 4:7 (NKJV). I was just a jar of clay — He is the Healer.
But I also know that in times of deep struggle, the enemy loves to creep in — to fill minds with lies, fear, and hopelessness. I was simply there as a willing vessel, to be an instrument to push back that darkness, to speak life and hope, and to remind Kelly of the power and authority she has through Jesus Christ. I was there to encourage her heart to stand firm, because our God is still the God who brings light into the darkest places.
I felt led in my spirit to pray, in the name of Jesus, against the spirit of lies and deception that seemed to be hovering in that room. As the prayers grew more intense and focused, the television suddenly got louder, and a burst of demonic laughter from some show filled the air — almost like the darkness wanted to make itself known. I saw fear flash across Kelly’s face as she looked at me, but I kept praying with even greater confidence, knowing that in Jesus’ name, that darkness didn’t stand a chance. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)
I opened my Bible to Psalm 24 and felt led to hand it to Kelly. I told her, “Read God’s Word and stand firm in the authority you have through Jesus and His precious promises. This is your time to stand boldly for your son.” Then I prayed with her and spoke words of hope and strength over her heart — reminding her that even in the darkest hour, God’s Word is our unshakable foundation.
After spending time with Kelly and Quinton, I leaned over, kissed Quinton on the forehead, and told him I loved him. Just as we turned to leave, Quinton opened his eyes, said my name clearly, and even sat up for a moment. All of us — especially Kelly — were amazed, since it was the first time he had shown any awareness of what was going on around him. As quickly as he sat up, he drifted back to sleep — but in my spirit, I knew God was doing a great work.
Kelly walked Ray Jr. and me out of the room, and right then, the Lord put it on my heart to stop at the ATM. I pulled out the little money I had left and handed it to her, trusting in God’s plan. I told her it was for her stay in Atlanta and for the gas she would need on the third day when she drove Quinton home. I can’t explain it — those words just came out of my mouth with such confidence. Giving a time frame was something I never would have expected. I certainly didn’t want to be the kind of person who speaks in empty platitudes or gives false hope.
Then I said, “Next time I see Quinton, he’ll be playing basketball.” Again, I had no idea why those words came out, but they did — and they came from a place of deep trust. I encouraged her to stay strong in the Lord and to stand firm against anything trying to harm her son, remembering “No weapon formed against you shall prosper.” (Isaiah 54:17)
Exactly three days later, I got the call: Quinton was coming home. Kelly called me from the car, overjoyed and full of praise. The doctors said Quinton was going to be okay. They believed the sudden illness had been caused by some sort of bacteria — probably from swimming in the river — but by God’s grace, Quinton was healed. I believe this was an amazing miracle orchestrated by the Lord.
That summer was brutally hot, and the little church we were using for the ministry had an old wall unit that didn’t work anymore. I remember talking with Kelly about it, just in passing. She told me, “Come by the house — I have some extra A/C units in storage you can have.”
A few days later, I drove down to Thomaston to pick up the air conditioners.. As I turned onto Kelly’s street, there he was: Quinton, laughing and playing basketball in his front yard with his friends. In that moment, I was reminded of what God had put on my lips and in my mind. I was overwhelmed by His faithfulness and the testimony He wrote into all of our lives.
Looking back now, I see so clearly how God was moving the whole time — pulling us to Thomaston that fall, letting us meet the right people in that league, giving us the last pick in the draft to build a team of overlooked kids. He was in the prayers declared in dugouts and in the hospital room.
It was never about baseball. It was never about me. It was all about a handful of kids in a hurting world — that hope is real, and that Jesus meets us right where we are. Even in a dusty dugout with a busted knee, an empty bank account, and a team of misfits – The Lord used us to bear witness to Him and become a beacon of light in a world that often finds itself in the dark.