The Closer (25 page)

Finally, I get off the bench and go out to the mound. I throw my warm-ups. The crowd is once more standing and cheering. The first hitter, catcher Jose Lobaton, hits a cutter away right back to me on a high hop. I jump to grab it and make the play.

One out.

The next hitter is Yunel Escobar, the shortstop. He takes a cutter away for 1–0. I come back again with a cutter that is up a bit,
over the plate, not the best spot by any means, but Escobar swings and lifts a pop-up to Robby Cano.

Two outs.

The next hitter is Ben Zobrist, one of my All-Star teammates at Citi Field. I take a deep breath, hoping I can finish this up without losing it, hoping I can do my job one last time. I am about to get back on the rubber when I look to my left and see Andy and Derek walking out of the Yankee dugout toward the mound.

I thought I told you not to do this,
I think.

Andy and Derek are both smiling at me. I am smiling, too.

Andy’s face says,
I know you told us not to do it, but we’re doing it anyway, because this is the way you need to go out.

Andy motions to the home plate umpire, Laz Diaz, that he wants the right-hander, and he and Derek keep walking, and now they are on the mound.

Andy holds out his left hand and I put the ball in it. I won’t be needing it anymore.

Andy wraps his arms around me and I put mine around him and now the dam finally bursts, the emotions flooding me, overwhelming me, the finality of it all descending on me like an anchor. I weep like a child in his arms. Andy holds the back of my head and the sobs keep coming, deep heaves of joy and sadness and everything, all at once.

It’s okay, Derek says. It’s okay.

The embrace lasts a long time, and then I hug Derek, and I don’t want any of this to end, with the Stadium drenching me in applause, the two teams doing the same.

I walk off the mound and wave my hat to the crowd, to my teammates, to the Rays. When the game ends I sit in the dugout by myself, just trying to be still, to drink up the glory of the Lord and the power of the moment. The crowd files out. Everybody gives me space. A few minutes pass.

I don’t want to leave. But I am ready. I decide I need to go back to the mound, my office for the last nineteen years, one more time.

I toe the rubber a couple of times and then bend down and scoop up a handful of dirt and pack it into my right hand. It makes sense to me. I started playing in dirt so I might as well finish playing in dirt, the perfect keepsake for a simple man.

F
OR THE LAST NINETEEN
seasons, the Lord has blessed me with the opportunity to play professional baseball for the New York Yankees. My job was to save games, and I loved every part of it. Now I have a new job—probably better described as a calling—and that is to glorify the Lord and praise His name, and show the wonders that await those who seek Him and want to experience His grace and peace and mercy.

From saving games to saving souls? I’m not sure I would put it that way, but I will say this:

With the Lord, all things are possible.

About four years ago, Clara and I started an evangelical Christian church called
Refugio de Esperanza,
or Refuge of Hope. We held services in a former home of ours in a town not far from where we live. The services were sparsely attended at first but quickly grew, attracting people of varying ages and ethnic and religious backgrounds. We had Spanish-speaking people and English-speaking people; wealthy people and poor people; devout believers and some skeptics, too, who were curious to find out what all this rejoicing and singing was all about. And before long we knew we needed a much bigger space. Now, after a two-year, $4-million restoration project, we are moving into that space… a magnificent House of the Lord in the city of New Rochelle. It used to be known as North Avenue Presbyterian Church.

Now it is known as
Refugio de Esperanza.

North Avenue Church was built in 1907, a stately stone building with a slate roof and stunning windows. I first saw it two years ago after a friend told me about it.

It doesn’t look like much on the outside. In fact, it’s a wreck, my friend said. But it has all kinds of potential.

When I first walked in the place, it wasn’t just abandoned. It was on the verge of being bulldozed. I mean, it was nasty. Just about everything was in disrepair. There were holes in the roof and windows, the sickening smell of dead animals, more debris and neglect than you can imagine. But the Lord was with me that day, and I truly believe He gave me a vision of what this church could be. In spite of the horrid condition, I saw only beauty. I saw the most majestic wood framing the sanctuary. I saw a soaring ceiling. I saw the glory of the Lord. Ankle-deep in garbage, surrounded by shards of windows and busted pews, I called Clara—the pastor of
Refugio de Esperanza.

Clara, I have found our church. It’s perfect. You have to come and see it right now, I said.

Clara arrived a short time later, and she, too, saw the possibilities. She, too, could envision it being full of people worshipping the Lord, a place rich with the Holy Spirit, a place that knows only goodness.

It’s going to take a lot of time and work, and money, too, but it will be so worth it, she said.

Clara is the senior pastor of the church, and it is her profound faith and humility that are the spiritual bedrock of all that we do. The mother of our three sons and a woman who is the real superstar of the family, Clara grew up with the Gospel, but it wasn’t until the age of twenty-five that she had a personal encounter with God that changed her life.

I believe in God and my desire is to always please Him, Clara says.

Our plan—the Lord’s plan—is for the church to be not just a Refuge of Hope but a community hub that will include a food pantry, educational programs, tutoring, faith-based initiatives for kids and families, and more. It will be there for people of all walks of life, and seek to serve those among us who may not have had the easiest time of it.

It will be a place of giving, and love, following the lead of Jesus Christ.

There are so many troubles and tragedies in this world that sometimes it’s hard to know where to start if you want to make a difference. It is equally hard to hold on to optimism. We know we can’t solve every problem at
Refugio de Esperanza,
but what we can do is try to touch people’s hearts, one at a time, to offer comfort and support in a way that might make people’s burdens easier, and their road less difficult.

It is a daunting task, but the idea of spreading hope is a wonderful thing to contemplate. In our old home and our new home, our services at Refuge of Hope are without a doubt the greatest moments of my life. Eighteen hours before Mariano Rivera Day at the Stadium in September, we have one of the most beautiful services I can remember. I am so overcome by gratitude and lightness during the service that I just begin to weep. There is no containing the joy I feel in that moment. It is the presence of the Lord, the wonder of living in His light and sharing His goodness with others. Joy and goodness are what the Lord wants for us. That is the truth.

I loved saving baseball games for the New York Yankees, and I am grateful every day for my experiences in baseball. I have the dirt from the new Stadium and the bullpen bench from the old Stadium, and I have memories and friendships that will last a lifetime. I will never forget how it felt to put on that uniform every day. Through all of my years as a closer for the New York Yankees, I
tried to honor the Lord; to live and play with a pure heart; and to give everything I had, every day, to the team and its fans.

And that is just what I seek to do with my new calling.

I know the possibilities are without limit, and the best is yet to come, for it is written in Philippians, chapter four, verse thirteen:

I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.

I am all legs, and full of pride, the day I graduate from Victoriana Chacón Elementary School—and shake hands with Puerto Caimito mayor Eugenio Castañón.

For most of my childhood, my dream was to be the Pelé of Panama. Here I am at eighteen—right before I gave up the sport of soccer due to a serious eye injury.

Clara and me on our wedding day, November 9, 1991. Marrying her was the best decision I’ve ever made.

Getaway day: Clara and I are off to Panama City for a two-day honeymoon before I have to leave to play instructional league ball.

On the day I leave Panama for the first time—and get on a plane for the first time—I put on a brave face, but don’t be fooled. Here I am at the Panama City airport with my father and mother. That’s my cousin Alberto hiding in the back. (Clara took the photo.)