26 NCAA softball players baptized together before going head-to-head in Conference USA tournament



A group of 26 opponents crossed team lines to get baptized together just days before they would become adversaries on the field.

Student athletes from Jacksonville State, Liberty University, Sam Houston, and Western Kentucky University decided to get baptized before the Conference USA women's softball tournament. What made the event more interesting, though, was that the event was not planned, nor were their appearances predetermined.

WKU is hosting the CUSA softball tournament and organized a religious event beforehand called the "Worship on the Hill."

The WKU Fellowship of Christian Athletes put on the event in partnership with a local church in Bowling Green, Kentucky. At the service, 29 college students were baptized. This seemingly inspired attendees from the Jacksonville State softball team, who were in attendance after having just played WKU to finish the season. WKU players had invited their opponents to the church.

The next day, players from Jacksonville State contacted the WKU players and asked them to help set up another baptism event and invite others to join. The event ended up hosting players from multiple teams in town for the tournament, a spectacular feat given that they are all set to compete against one another in the most important games of their lives, to date.

"On May 5th, we witnessed 29 baptisms at WKU on South Lawn. Several CUSA softball players attended the event, but they had to leave early, so they missed witnessing the baptisms," the Fellowship of Christian Athletes wrote on Instagram.

"But God wasn't finished with them. They were so moved by Worship On The Hill that the next evening on May 6th, 26 COLLEGE ATHLETES crossed from death to life and were baptized in a hotel pool."

The video showed a number of female athletes receiving baptism at the event, which was surprisingly promoted by several of the schools directly on their social media pages.

'You could sense the Lord in the room.'

"For the most part, the Lord just stirred on their hearts that night," WKU FCA Director David Byrd told Sports Spectrum. "As they left and we were on the heels of the event, we thought this was another great event where God moved. Come to find out, He wasn't done."

"What made it really special is these softball players have been competing against each other all year," Byrd added.

The organizer said the competitive spirit was not present while the women were at the church and that rather a feeling of calmness permeated throughout.

"It was peaceful. You could sense the Lord in the room.," he concluded.

Liberty University is by far the favorite heading into the conference tournament, leading the conference with a 45-11 (23-3) record this season, eight games ahead of Jacksonville State and Western Kentucky.

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A Jew for Jesus: My baptism story and journey to Christ



Sometimes, life has this way of turning down the volume on all the chaos, and in that stillness, we get a clear glimpse of what truly matters. One of these moments occurred in my life last month.

It was a quiet January night, just a few days before the presidential inauguration. I was lying in bed in the middle of the night with my 6-year-old, Echo, gently calming her after a night terror had awakened her. As she finally drifted back to sleep, I felt a heaviness settle over me, thick and suffocating, like the air before a storm. It pressed against my chest, not like a weight, but like a presence — something unseen yet undeniable. At that moment, I could only think to bow my head, close my eyes, and offer a silent prayer to God.

The valley of the shadow of death

In September 2024, our family suffered a heart-wrenching loss — one I’m not prepared to speak about in detail yet, but I will when the time is right. Not long after the tragedy, I met an incredible woman named Diane, a bishop, who had prayed with me after my loss and was the first to ask me if I wanted to be saved. (I’m still getting the hang of the lingo. Some say pastor, preacher, or minister, depending on the church — but I know Diane as a deeply faithful soul who helped guide me closer to Jesus. For that, I am forever grateful.)

I first crossed paths with Diane through my masseur, Ade — pronounced “Ah-day” — a Mayan-Mexican immigrant I got to know after my divorce from Echo’s dad. Ade is a kind, quiet Christian who would whisper prayers for me while he worked without ever letting on. It wasn’t until months later that he told me about it. To this day, he remembers the first time we met and how worried he was about me. Coming out of my previous marriage, I was thin, fragile, totally worn down, and in anguish.

Faith is not about having all the answers but about trusting in the one who does.

One day, it finally hit me that his prayers were doing more to heal me than the deep tissue massage ever could. As we were wrapping up a session, I asked, “Hey, Ade, do you know anyone who can help keep ‘bad energy’ away from people? Basically an exorcism.” Ade looked at me, paused, and simply said, “Yes — when you are ready.”

In the weeks following our family’s loss, I saw Ade again, and as he had so many times before, he prayed for me. But this time was different. I bowed my head, let the tears fall, and begged for God’s help. It was then that Ade connected me with Diane.

The water and the blood

That next morning in January, I called Diane, who had texted me earlier, “I want to talk with you about getting baptized.” This felt like the final confirmation of something I already knew: It was time. I called her then, and we decided that on Sunday (the day before President Trump’s inauguration), she and her husband, Peter, would baptize me in my backyard.

As she pulled into my driveway, I was struck by her presence. Like me, she is a woman of mixed race from Oakland. With piercing blue eyes and curly black hair, she is a grandmother in her 70s with a quiet strength about her. I soon learned she was no ordinary chaplain but, in fact, the lead chaplain at Santa Rita Jail, the fifth-largest jail in the country.

Image source: Nicole Shanahan

During that meeting, Diane opened her worn and well-loved Bible — filled with highlights, underlines, and Post-it tabs. A book that had been studied and prayed over thousands of times. She moved through it with laser precision, guiding me to verse after verse as I struggled to read through my blurry, tear-filled eyes. The pain of life sometimes can consume your entire reality, and the injustice, the loss, and the extreme nature of it all can feel genuinely unbearable. The weight of the world, perpetuated by greed, lies, and indifference, can often feel hopeless. Diane looked at me and said with absolute certainty that Jesus could save me — that his blood is able to wash away sins and defeat the darkness that haunts the innocent.

I think it took the pain of that moment, the desperate need for hope, and the unwavering intensity in Diane’s eyes to finally break through the last, most stubborn skeptic in me. When Diane asked if I wanted to be baptized, I didn’t hesitate — I said yes.

The whole armor of God

I’ve always believed in God, but I never fully grasped the reality of the devil. Growing up with a father who seemed overcome by his demons, I try to avoid “bad energy.” He was addicted to alcohol and would fall into manic rages, yelling profanities at the wall. He would scream, laugh, cry, and wail all in a single evening, alone downstairs in our home in Oakland. I was taught that my father was a “sick” person, but I never seriously considered whether demons were real — until recently. Honestly, my last year in politics changed that. Learning just how far some will go to inflict atrocities on innocent Americans has shocked me awake. Other unexplainable events have also forced me to reconsider whether we are waging a war not merely with flesh and blood but with spiritual forces.

Many people shy away from acknowledging the reality of spiritual warfare. But anyone who has seen addiction up close or lived through deep trauma and witnessed how evil takes hold in this world knows that the battle of good versus evil isn’t just theoretical — it’s real and all around us.

Demons certainly exist, and Jesus is our covenant with God to fight them. When I said “yes” to accepting Jesus as my savior, I felt something I could hardly put into words. It was like being wrapped in a warm cocoon while becoming a grounded, weighted, immovable obelisk.

I’ve long practiced meditative prayer, influenced by years of practicing yoga, studying Eastern religions, and engaging in “personal development” through programs like the Hoffman Process. But now, my prayers are directed toward Jesus. He is the bridge between us and heaven — our intercessor before the divine creator.

A Jew for Jesus

In the summer of 2014, I converted to Judaism.

As I wrote to my rabbi at the time, “I am choosing to become Jewish for many reasons. One of the largest aspects of Judaism I’ve come to enjoy is that it brings families together, and if I’m going to give my future kids something I didn’t have growing up, Judaism provides a wonderful blueprint.” (I was engaged to marry a Jewish man then, and we had celebrated Jewish holidays for years together.) The process was long and immersive: over a year spent at Congregation Emanu-El in San Francisco, attending study sessions and group conversion classes several times a week. I wrote a 10-page conversion statement — one of the best pieces of writing from that chapter of my life, in hindsight. It was a deep dive into the Torah, guided by the wisdom of several teachers.

For over a decade, I identified as Jewish. But now, with the New Testament in my hands, I see the world’s spiritual pain in a way I never could before. It’s like a veil has been lifted, revealing a deeper understanding of the struggle between light and darkness.

Today, I am a Jew for Jesus.

Image source: Nicole Shanahan

When my partner, Jacob, heard I was getting baptized, he didn’t hesitate. “I want in — I want to be baptized, too,” he said. I smiled and said, “Great, we’ll both be Jews for Jesus!”

Jacob comes from a rich and complex spiritual lineage. His father is a Brooklyn-born Ashkenazi Jew, and his mother is a blonde Scandinavian Lutheran from Ohio. Although raised in the American Jewish tradition, Jacob has felt a pull toward Christianity in recent years. He also sensed that something was missing in his spiritual journey.

Jesus longed more than anything to save “God’s lost sheep.” It was the deepest, most unfulfilled desire of the holiest being to walk this earth. And I believe that longing still exists today — an aching truth we’ve ignored, distorted, and misunderstood for far too long. The universe itself is pressing us forward, like cheese through a grater, forcing us to feel the weight of God’s pain, the sorrow of a Father who gave his only Son, only to see him rejected instead of upheld as the one true Messiah.

For those who are searching, who feel the same longing I once did, I can only say this: Keep asking, keep seeking, keep knocking. Faith is not about having all the answers but about trusting in the one who does. And when you find him, you will know you are finally home.

Nisi Dominus aedificaverit domum, in vanum laboraverunt qui aedificant eam. Amen.

— (@)

You’ll never guess who Jase Robertson baptized in his pool last week



Jase Robertson loves to hunt ducks, play golf with his brothers, and support the LSU Tigers, but there’s nothing he loves more than seeing people come to know Jesus.

Last week, Jase got to do his favorite thing when he baptized 49ers offensive lineman Colton McKivitz as his new brother in Christ in his own backyard pool.

“This story is incredible,” he says.

McKivitz grew up watching "Duck Dynasty" and going to church, but it wasn’t until recently that he decided to take the final step and get baptized.

The decision was spurred by none other than an episode of the “Unashamed” podcast.

“You guys [were] talking about being baptized and what it meant, and I knew it was time,” McKivitz tells Jase.

Through a mutual friend, McKivitz was connected to Robertson, and before he knew it, he was scheduled to be baptized on a Sunday bye week by his childhood hero.

When Jase asked McKivitz, “What is your confession?” he says the linebacker’s response was “one of the greatest confession speeches [he’s] heard.”

“He basically just shared Jesus and the gospel, and he ended it with, ‘I'm ready for Him to be the Lord of my life,”’ Jase recalls.

And when Jase lowered 6’6”, 300-pound McKivitz into the icy pool water, he knew he would have to rely on the Holy Spirit for the strength to pull him back up.

“That worked well,” he laughs.

However, the baptizing wasn’t over. McKivitz’s father was actually baptized next.

To hear the rest of the story, watch the episode above.

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What Trump's VP pick has revealed about his Christian faith and baptism



President Donald Trump's running mate, Sen. JD Vance (R-Ohio), is now a practicing Catholic, but that was not always so.

Years before his baptism and reception into the Catholic Church, Vance told Deseret News he grew up in a "pretty chaotic and hopeless world. Faith gave me the belief that there was somebody looking out for me, that there was a hopeful future on the other side of all the things I was going through."

Vance's Pentecostal father would occasionally take him to church.

"Going to church showed me a lot of really positive traits that I hadn’t seen before. I saw people of different races and classes worshiping together," said Vance. "I saw that there were certain moral expectations from my peers of what I should do."

The future Marine, venture capitalist, and senator indicated that unlike the other children on his block in Middletown, Ohio, the kids his age at the evangelical church he would occasionally attend expected him "not [to] do drugs or have premarital sex or drink alcohol."

Although he found a supportive community through church that could serve as a check against the negative influences he encountered elsewhere, he felt that the particular kind of evangelical Christianity he practiced with his father encouraged "a cultural paranoia where you don't trust and want to withdraw from a lot of parts of the world."

Years later, when he entered Yale Law School, he indicated he "would have called [himself] an atheist." He elsewhere indicated that his reading Christopher Hitchens and Sam Harris corresponded with this turn away from faith.

By the time of his graduation, however, he began exploring his faith again.

"Back home, kids who grew up to be relatively successful tended to abandon their faith," Vance told Deseret News. "All of my close friends growing up were all really religious but, with the exception of one of us, we all considered ourselves nonreligious by age 25."

At Yale, I was exposed to faith groups in which that didn't seem to be happening. Mormons and Catholics at Yale Law School, who were really smart and successful, were engaged with their faith. There was a moment when I was like, 'Maybe it is possible to have Christian faith in an upwardly mobile world.' You can be a member of your faith and still be a reasonably successful person. That's not the world I grew up in, but maybe that's true.

Vance hypothesized at the time that the practices of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and Catholicism, contra the variety of Evangelicalism he was exposed to early on, did not apply the same type of "isolating pressures."

Months prior to the 2016 election, he indicated that he was "thinking very seriously about converting to Catholicism."

Rod Dreher, author of "The Benedict Option" and "Live Not By Lies," attended Vance's Catholic baptism in Cincinnati in 2019 and interviewed him about his spiritual life for the American Conservative.

'The hope of the Christian faith is not rooted in any short-term conquest of the material world.'

Dreher, who left Catholicism in 2006 ultimately for Eastern Orthodoxy, asked Vance, "Why Catholicism? Why now?"

Vance's answer loosely resembled that provided by G.K. Chesterton in "Twelve Modern Apostles and Their Creeds": "I became persuaded over time that Catholicism was true."

"I was raised Christian, but never had a super-strong attachment to any denomination, and was never baptized. When I became more interested in faith, I started out with a clean slate, and looked at the church that appealed most to me intellectually," Vance told Dreher.

Dreher, who covered sexual abuse in the church for the New York Post, asked if Vance found "the Catholic Church's travails daunting."

I do in the short term, but one of the things I love about Catholicism is that it's very old. I take a longer view. Are things more daunting than they were in the mid-19th century? In the Dark Ages? Is it as daunting as having a second pope at Avignon? I don’t think so. The hope of the Christian faith is not rooted in any short-term conquest of the material world, but in the fact that it is true, and over the long term, with various fits and starts, things will work out.

When pressed on how his faith might affect his politics, Vance indicated his views "are pretty aligned with Catholic social teaching."

This appears to have helped inform his economic populism.

'Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that if I converted I would no longer be my grandmother's grandson.'

Vance hit on a theme in the interview that has also been explored by other past speakers at the National Conservatism conference, including First Things editor R.R. Reno and Notre Dame professor Patrick Deneen: that the Cold War fusion between libertarians and social conservatives, which long defined the Republican Party, did not particularly benefit the latter.

"Part of social conservatism’s challenge for viability in the 21st century is that it can’t just be about issues like abortion, but it has to have a broader vision of political economy, and the common good," said Vance.

Vance indicated in a 2020 op-ed for the Lamp that he often wonders what his grandmother "would have thought about her grandson becoming a Catholic."

She was a woman of deep, but completely de-institutionalized, faith. She loved Billy Graham and Donald Ison, a preacher from her home in southeastern Kentucky. But she loathed 'organized religion.' She often wondered aloud how the simple message of sin, redemption, and grace had given way to the televangelists on our early 1990s Ohio TV screen. 'These people are all crooks and perverts,' she told me. 'All they want is money.' But she watched them anyway, and they were the closest she usually came to regular church service, at least in Ohio.

Growing up with "Mamaw," Vance indicated he was left with the distinct impression that "Catholics worshipped Mary," "rejected the legitimacy of Scripture," and would have the anti-Christ amongst their ranks.

Catholics didn't, it turned out, worship Mary. Their acceptance of both scriptural and traditional authority slowly appeared to me as wisdom, as I watched too many of my friends struggle with what a given passage of Scripture could possibly mean. I even began to acquire a sense that Catholicism possessed a historical continuity with the Church Fathers — indeed, with Christ Himself — that the unchurched religion of my upbringing couldn't match. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that if I converted I would no longer be my grandmother's grandson.

He later determined, however, that "Catholicism [was] the closest expression of her kind of Christianity: obsessed with virtue, but cognizant of the fact that virtue is formed in the context of a broader community; sympathetic with the meek and poor of the world without treating them primarily as victims; protective of children and families and with the things necessary to ensure they thrive. And above all: a faith centered around a Christ who demands perfection of us even as He loves unconditionally and forgives easily."

Sohrab Ahmari, who similarly interviewed Vance earlier this year, recently told the National Catholic Register that Vance, poised to potentially become the second-ever American Catholic vice president, is "very open and proud about his faith, but it's not that gross over-piety that's kind of fake."

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'Thank you Jesus for this amazing moment': Minor league baseball player gets baptized by teammate on the field



Minor league baseball player Wes Clarke was baptized on the field by a teammate in Nashville, Tennessee.

Clarke plays first base for the Nashville Sounds, the Triple-A affiliate of the Milwaukee Brewers.

The baptism happened after a 4-1 victory against the Memphis Redbirds, with right-fielder Brewer Hicklen hitting a two-run homerun in the game.

'I just asked God.'

After the stellar performance, Hicklen then also fulfilled the duty of performing the baptism for his fellow Christian. Both men wore T-shirts that read "Jesus Won" as Clarke was baptized on the field at First Horizon Park.

"Had the privilege of being baptized yesterday on the field by one of my good friends [Brewer Hicklen] after our game," Clarke said on Instagram. "Thank you Jesus for this amazing moment in my life. I am incredibly blessed to be surrounded by so many supportive people. It was such a special night!" the first baseman wrote, with photos that included his pregnant wife, who was in attendance.

The 28-year-old Hicklen had a rather unique path toward performing the baptism ceremony for his teammate. After a six-game stint in the major leagues in 2022, Hicklen was traded from the Kansas City Royals to the Philadelphia Phillies organization in August 2023, Sports Spectrum reported.

Hicklen would opt for free agency that same November and thought to himself, and God, about where he might end up.

"I just asked God, 'Place me somewhere where You feel like I could have some influence and have some opportunity to make eternal connections with some teammates,'" Hicklen recalled.

He then signed with the Brewers organization just three weeks later. It was at that point he felt he could become a spiritual leader on the team. He joined the Bible study group that he said grew from 10-12 participants after it started with just four or five.

More professional athletes have become open about their faith with organizations increasingly including it within their ranks. For example, the NBA's Milwaukee Bucks made headlines with their prayer circles led by Kenneth Lock, the team's chaplain.

The chaplain said that a part of his role is to regularly ask players what they can do to be a better person, and players have responded.

As for Clarke, the 24-year-old Richmond, Virginia, native played at a Christian academy in high school followed by three seasons at South Carolina. He was drafted by the Brewers in the 10th round of the 2021 MLB draft.

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