One day I answered a call on my cell phone, asking if I was the Jim Palmer who wrote Divine Nobodies?” Instantly I knew who it was because I was familiar with his distinct voice as an NBA fan. Ernie Johnson Jr., host of the NBA broadcast for TNT with Charles Barkley, had read Divine Nobodies, and called to chat about it. He had gotten the book from Paul Byrd (Cleveland Indians pitcher), which eventually led to my friendship with Paul. Both Ernie and Paul are a couple of the humblest, down-to-earth, spiritual, and compassionate people I know.

In recently-released Free Byrd: The Power of a Liberated Life Paul tells his story of finding freedom in Christ beyond the legalisms and boxes of “religious” Christianity. If you are a true baseball fan, you won’t be disappointed; there is some awesome baseball stuff.

Here’s an excerpt:

“Once upon a Monday night in August, I accidentally got to pitch in the big leagues. I buttoned up a red pin-striped jersey and threw a baseball for the Philadelphia Phillies. I was playing for the Braves Triple-A team at the time, and the Phillies purchased my contract off the waiver wire. I was supposed to be sent to Philadelphia’s Triple-A team, but some crazy rule in the wavier process forced Ed Wade, the Phillies’ general manager, to send me to the major leagues for at least a day. Because the Atlanta Braves minor league system had seen enough of my act the previous two years, they peacefully let me go with a handshake.

I will never forget that call.

After a few days of hanging out in limbo and holding hands with my overly calm wife in our cozy Richmond, Virginia, apartment, Mr. Wade called and said, “One of our pitchers got hurt yesterday. Congratulations, you’re going to the big leagues.” Then he chuckled and followed with, “You’re going to get one start on Monday night against the Houston Astros and Randy Johnson. After that we have no idea what’s going to happen.”

I was in shock. My wife, Kym, was in shock. And as my two toddling boys, Grayson and Colby, pulled at my blue-jeaned pant legs, I realized that I had just gotten called up to the big leagues by some cosmic mishap — and in three days I was going to have a gun-slinging showdown with one of the greatest pitchers of all time. Confusion, joy, fear, thankfulness, anxiety, and all sorts of other claustrophobic emotional nouns seemed to take turns licking my brain senseless. Part of me wanted to compete and immediately grab a ball and hit the catcher’s mitt to take down Randy Johnson and the Astros — and the other side of me wondered if this is what a man on death row feels like days before he’s going to be executed.”