Signing the contract for A Year of Playing Catch was a life-changing moment.
It just didn’t change my life in the way I imagined.
After writing for almost a decade — blogs and ghostwriting and one million words of curriculum — I was positively giddy to sign a contract with Zondervan. Some of my favorite books in the world are published by Zondervan. Now, my name was going to be added to their library. This opportunity came about simply because I listened to the wisdom of my daughters, going on an adventure to answer the question, “What would happen if I played catch for a year?”
I imagined that signing this contract would greatly ease the process of publishing future books. I had ideas bouncing around in my brain for other stories I wanted to tell, other characters I wanted to introduce to the world — specifically Gracelyn and Henry. I thought that, once I was established as a published author with Zondervan, my career as a writer would take a quantum leap forward. No longer would I struggle with queries and agents and the inbox full of rejections. I had finally paid my dues. I had pressed on, kept at the craft, and been found worthy.
After signing the contract, I hoped to be a sought-after speaker at conferences and churches and across a variety of industries, motivating and inspiring others as they learned to live good stories. I looked forward to going to new places and making new friends and anticipated taking Jamie (and my glove) with me. And I dreamed of returning to the National Baseball Hall of Fame as a storyteller and a catch player.
Those were just the easy things I imagined happening after I signed the contract. More books. More storytellings. More new catch partners. More life. I couldn’t even begin to dream about other benefits.
A Year of Playing Catch published in September of 2020. On the day the book published, I had an early morning, East Coast radio interview. Because it was so early, I planned to sit in the van in the garage so I wouldn’t disturb Jamie and the girls. I woke up 10 minutes before my alarm went off and carefully crept out to the van, only to discover the garage was open. Overnight, someone had broken into my car and then into the van. Thankfully, they didn’t come inside. Adrenaline surged throughout my body. I continued with the interview and don’t remember a single word of what I said.
When the book published, Covid protocols canceled all in-person opportunities. Almost all of the marketing for the book was online. My dreamed-about catch-playing book-tour and glove sponsorship never became a reality.
Four years later, A Year of Playing Catch is still my most recently-published book, though I did have a few poems published in the Queen City Bards anthology. All of my queries and proposals for my novel have been met with rejection. I have continued to try and write, but have serious doubts about actually calling myself a “writer.”
I have spoken here and there on a few occasions, a couple of churches and local groups, sharing stories about faith, play, courage, hope, and living a good story. No major conferences. No inspiring captains of the industries. No National Baseball Hall of Fame.
Life moved on.
Our landlord wanted to sell our house. So, we moved on, too.
I applied for jobs where writing wasn’t the primary role.
Kaylea and Sophie grew up and needed their own cars to go on their own adventures.
And Jamie was diagnosed with cancer.
Jamie was only diagnosed because she advocated for herself again and again and again. For the last 18 months, she has seen more doctors than I can begin to count. She has endured chemo and radiation and spent hundreds of hours on the phone with insurance, all the while continuing to do amazing work encouraging and teaching her students.
All I could do was be there with her, which was a horribly helpless feeling. Some days, it was hard to pray. Some days, it was just hard. I tried to cook and clean and do laundry. But these attempts at doing something felt utterly deficient compared to the story she’d been living.
I am so grateful for the friends who reached out to me for a game of catch, giving me an opportunity to get out of the house, to get out of my head, and who listened to me process and ramble through all of my emotions while we threw the ball.
Because her particular kind of cancer is both rare and aggressive, there is a constant, background fear that it could come back anytime. It’s not necessarily an elephant in the room. But it’s definitely a hidden soundtrack in any conversation. We are making it through together, day by day.
The silver lining, in all of this, goes back to the book. Even though it never came close to topping any best-seller list, somehow, people found and read the book. And then, they started playing catch.
Jason in Washington was the first. He played catch while being treated for brain cancer. He continued for more than 500 days.
John in Washington started in 2022 has been playing catch for almost 700 days.
J.D. in Boston isn’t too far behind John. He recently eclipsed the 500-day mark.
Don in New York completed his year and David, also from New York, is nearing the end of his.
These are just a sample of the catch-playing advocates across the country.
I loved reading their stories and seeing their pictures. I loved encouraging them to keep up the good work, and even connected with John at a Royals and Mariners game. Heather, his wife, caught a foul ball at the game. It was awesome. Their catch-playing adventures inspired and encouraged me, even when life was hard. Their stories were words of hope and joy and wonder, helping me remember that there are better days ahead. Don’t give up. Hard pressed, but not crushed.
One of the reasons I’m attempting another catch-playing year is because of these catch-playing friends. I want to play catch with them and laugh with them and hear their stories firsthand. I want to meet their families and hear their stories, too.
And, I want to thank them. I want to hug them and shake their hands and thank them for seeing what would happen if they played catch for a year.
As I look at an extended forecast of cold and rain and a thoroughly Midwest winter, I remember all too well the challenging days of trying to play catch in January and February. I remember waking up and wondering, Who will play catch with me?, and all the details of navigating the daily challenge.
But, there is also a sense of being given a second chance.
A sense that something good is stirring.
Because playing catch is an infinite game.
As Seth Godin wrote, “The infinite game is the game we play to play, not to win. The most important parts of our lives are games that we can’t imagine winning. We don’t do this work hoping that we will win and the game will be over. Play to keep playing. Each step is movement on a journey that we can only hope will continue. It is simply a chance to trust ourselves enough to participate.”
The book is done.
But the story is still being lived.
