Finally! I am finally writing to you wonderful and generous folks that were so unselfish and kind in your financial support for our Poland mission teams. I apologize for taking so long to communicate this heartfelt gratitude from me and all of our team members…I got a wicked case of pneumonia in Poland, carried it back here and dealt with it for another six weeks or so stateside...then I let life get in the way until now. But please know that your valuable and supportive gifts reaped a bountiful harvest, both then and now. Sorry this is on the longish side.

Honestly, we were not exactly sure what to expect from our time in Poland. We were given a somewhat vague idea of what we would be trying to accomplish in partnership with Bread of Life, but were also asked to be flexible. As it turned out, unlike the team right before us who spent almost all their time doing construction, we were tasked with spending most of ours directly working with…and playing with…kids that were both living in the surrounding slum areas, as well as the Ukranian refugee kids that joined them at the church camp. A part of the team also built a roomful of bedroom furniture for a Ukrainian refugee mother housed in the church whose son was serving in the Ukranian army. I was part of that group, and have never witnessed such joy and gratitude, and so many tears, for a room full of assembled out-of-the-box cheap furniture…as it turns out, the best furniture she’d ever had.

Our time with the kids consisted of playing all kinds of outdoor games, arts and crafts, lots of group singing and dancing, and sometimes just hanging out with the kids one-on-one to try to communicate and listen. But let me tell you about my favorite day…the day of the 1^st baseball game! I love baseball, so we decided, what the hey, let’s try to get a game going! Here was a bunch of kids who knew next to nothing about baseball, so when these 5 or 6 Americans starting playing…maybe 3 or 4 kids wandered over. Cool. Then something magical happened—as we taught them how to hit, how to run the bases (heck, what the bases even meant!) and the rules of the game…more and more kids (both boys and girls) wanted to play. And we should NEVER have taught them about stealing bases!!! What had started out as a line of 3 or 4 curious kids lined up to “bat” turned into a flood of kids that wanted to see what in the world their pals were doing! We would grab and hug the kids every time they tried to steal a base!!!

There was one especially talented little guy that I started calling Babe Ruth…he was one of the smaller boys, but he could absolutely crush the ball, and swung the bat from his toes…it was awesome! Every time he came up to bat, we’d all start saying, ”oh no, back up, it’s Babe Ruth”!!! Now this kid had no idea who Babe Ruth was, but it didn’t matter…the joy on his face, and the way he would light up hearing that as he crouched down to hit with that huge grin melted every American heart in the place. The pure joy these kids, who live in squalor and have nothing, got from playing the greatest game in the world had the whole American contingent in tears...as we talked about it later, we were reminded, as that “silly” game unfolded (and lasted for hours!), just how long it had been since we had experienced anything so innocent, powerful and humbling…and we realized it as it was happening.

I still often wonder how many of those amazing kids will even still be alive when we go back next year, or the year after. The odds, and life, are certainly against them, and it breaks my heart. If “Babe Ruth” was growing up in America, he could dream of playing pro baseball…in the slums of Poland, that chance is zero. Speaking just for me, those sweet children can’t possibly know the gift that they gave a tired, cynical and often ungrateful old man that very special day…hours of magical moments of gut-level laughter and pure fun, where time and distance and politics didn’t exist, or matter…the echoes of a time many, many years ago when a goofy little kid in Dallas, TX fell passionately in love with baseball. And of a God who is so very willing every day to give us glimpses of heaven in the midst of a hateful and divided world. All He asks of us is to just show up. I know 16 Americans who are sure thankful they did. That was the day I got pneumonia, but would get it 100 times more to experience that day even one more time.

It continues to make me laugh (mostly at myself) at the moments in my life when I am so unaware of the blessings God so desires to pour into our lives and hearts. When we first arrived at the church, and saw the church camp with all the kiddos running around, screaming and laughing and playing, my first thought was…seriously, we really came all the way to Poland to just play games?!?! Yep, that was the day of the baseball game that changed me forever, and reminded me (for the 10,000^th time) to be grateful…for breath, for life, for friends, for the most amazing wife on the planet…and for the now-cherished gift of having been able to fly for 9 hours to play in a silly baseball game with precious children that don’t even understand most of what I’m saying…funny how that never seemed to matter. Thank you, God, that you didn’t allow even a knucklehead like me to miss it. So as I wrap up with a sincere, grateful heart for each one of you that selflessly shared your hard-earned resources, I simply ask this…where is your silly baseball game, and are you willing to show up so that God can pour that blessing into your life?

With much gratitude,

Rick Harrivel