memory #121: Tattered hide

Saray, I remember when your dad pastored, for a short time, in Happy Union, Texas, or was it Cotton Center? He loved baseball, and he gave me a black outfielder's baseball glove. Every time you guys would visit, he'd toss the ball with me. I'd catch every ball he threw. I felt I owed it to him out of respect for his gift. I cherished that glove.  I had it for many years after your family moved to Illinois. I used it until it was tattered hide and disappeared from my life.