Guest Blog by Roland Bazaldua
The sports and day care ministries are the reason I have been a member of Baptist Temple since I was 9 years old...almost 40 years! The day care introduced me to BT, but it was the sports ministry that drew me in.
I watched Pete Burton coach a women’s softball team at South Side Lions Park. I can’t tell you how excited I was when I found out one of the women from that team would be coaching a youth boy’s softball team. Wanda Phillips was the coach. Cleta Foster, Evelyn Walker, and Marcia Frazelle served as assistant coaches. These women taught us more than how to play a game. They used each practice and game as an opportunity to witness to us and teach us life lessons. I’m not saying it was a religious service or devotional time. What I am saying is that they would show us love, patience, encouragement, and strict discipline should we need it.
Here’s one life lesson that remains with me to this day. To be eligible to play in that week’s game a player could not miss Sunday School for two weeks in a row. Coach Phillips had me so scared to miss Sunday School that I would attend the First Baptist Church of Sinton and bring back the bulletin to show I had been in Sunday School when we went there to visit my grandmother.
On one occasion, our pitcher and best hitter, Steve Hartsfield, was “benched” because he had missed Sunday School for two weeks in a row. Coach Phillips could have chosen to “overlook” his absence. Instead, she announced at practice that Steve would not be playing that week. These are the kind of life lessons we learned from these women.
As teenagers Mike Edwards and I moved up to the men’s team. There was one small problem for me. I wasn’t as good as most of the men on the team. I would only be put in the game in the late innings when the game was usually out of reach. That’s when Max Brunnemann and I developed a relationship that I cherish to this day. Max was the catcher. He took me under his wing and showed me how to play the position of catcher. Our pitcher was Mr. Ray Black. Max taught me how to place the glove just the way Ray wanted it.
During some games, at the objection of some of the players, Max would take himself out of the game so that I could play. If you know of Max’s competitive nature, you might think this was a tough decision for him. However, if you really knew Max, you would know a man full of love and compassion. He realized that softball was a ministry and that all should be included.
Even though I wasn’t athletically gifted, the men on that team made me feel as if I belonged. The greatest game in the history of Baptist Temple softball is the one that never was played! At practice some of the men talked about how much fun it would be to play a practice game against the women. The reason the men gave for not playing the game was that they “did not want the women to get hurt.” Between you, me, and the fencepost, I think the men knew the Baptist Temple women might have won.
The sports ministry is an important part of Baptist Temple. I’m sure glad that Pastor Jorge is supporting the various sports and extra-curricular activities here. You never know if one of the kids you are ministering to today will make a profession of faith, join Baptist Temple, and spend the rest of their life loving and worshipping the Lord. I know that is what happened to me.
Published in the Baptist Temple Church Bulletin on May 15, 2011 in recognition of BT’s sports ministry during our centennial celebrations.
Within weeks of her diagnosis, Hargrove experienced a second, devastating loss. Her son, Jarvis, was killed at the age of thirty-one. The loss was sudden, violent, and devastating. While she was fighting for her own life, she was also burying her child. Yet, Hargrove says she sensed that God had not abandoned her.
Hargrove does not describe her story in terms of certainty or resolution. She does not say she has been cured. She still takes chemotherapy medication and will do so for the rest of her life. But today she is in remission. She is walking again. She is standing again. And she believes God has preserved her for a purpose. “There were people around me who didn’t make it,” she said. “I’m still here.”
That sense of calling is what brought her back—not just to work, but to service. Hargrove has worked as a barber and stylist since 1987. Over four decades, she built her life around a skill she learned early and never abandoned. Though she spent time working in nursing while raising her children, she always returned to hair—work that allowed her to serve people directly, face to face.
She now offers haircuts and styling at the Highland Park Community Assistance Network Thrift Store. On designated days, she cuts hair for donations that support the church. At other times, she charges modest, affordable rates so that people who have gone years without professional care can come without shame or fear of cost. She gives a portion back to the church and uses the rest to cover basic needs, including medications not fully covered by insurance.
Her focus is on making a positive impact rather than earning money. “I just want to do what God gifted me to do,” she says. “If I can help somebody feel better about themselves—about their life, even for a moment—then I know I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Hargrove’s testimony is simple and steady: God did not remove every hardship, but He did not let go of her either. As long as she can stand, she intends to serve. She approaches each day with a quiet determination to use the time she has been given.
Among evangelical churches, the picture was more complex. Large congregations, particularly those with regional or digital reach, remained stable. Some even grew. However, many small evangelical churches closed. These closures reflected demographic shifts, changing patterns of participation, and the long shadow of the pandemic.
Some churches sold property and relocated; others gave birth to new churches before disbanding. Some created community spaces, partnered with other ministries, or repurposed facilities to serve broader needs. It was a year of honest questions about mission, stewardship, and presence.
Baptist Temple remained, committed to presence over numbers and content to be smaller if it meant staying rooted. Old memories—revivals, full choirs, packed Sunday schools—no longer defined the present reality. Yet they remained witnesses, reminding the congregation that faithfulness is measured in obedience rather than numbers. BT’s story is about a sanctuary that remained open, a congregation that refused to surrender its calling, and ministries that adapted rather than disappeared—a story of resilience.
The neighborhood changed, attendance dipped, and the pandemic disrupted familiar rhythms. What emerged was not retreat but resolve. The church learned new ways to serve the community, simplified programs, leaned into relationships, and reclaimed the basics of worship, teaching, and care. BT learned that strength is not measured in size but in presence.
Attendance did not return to former highs, but engagement deepened and baptisms followed. New leaders emerged. The church remembered that it did not exist to preserve a building or a legacy but to bear witness to the gospel in this place and time.
BT remained faithful in a neighborhood shaped by poverty, transition, and displacement. Success came to be measured in food served, prayers offered, and doors kept open—a place of continuity in a continually changing neighborhood. Victory looked like persistence: a church still gathering, a pastor still preaching, a congregation still praying for its neighborhood.
Baptist Temple’s story is not one of decline but of survival shaped by faith—a church that weathered cultural change, economic pressure, and seasons of uncertainty and still remains. Still worshiping. Still serving. Still standing.
