By Lisa Hansford
On Halloween night during the Fall 2025 season, the Miracle League field glowed under the lights. Athletes, buddies, and staff wore costumes as they took the field. Families, friends, and fans filled the bleachers, and teammates were all abuzz for the final game of the season.
But this at-bat felt different.
For the first time, Renleigh wasn’t being pushed around the bases in her wheelchair.
She stepped forward with her walker.
Just months earlier, Renleigh relied entirely on her wheelchair for mobility. She could not maneuver it independently and required someone to push her everywhere she went. Sports had never been part of her world. She had attended The Maker’s Child — a respite program serving families of children with special needs — since she was two years old and loved being around other children, but baseball felt uncertain.
Her mother, Emily, wasn’t sure about signing her up.
“My biggest concern was wondering how she was going to play t-ball when she was in a wheelchair and not very mobile,” Emily shared. “She was still so dependent on someone else for almost everything she did.”
Registration had already closed when Emily decided to reach out anyway — something she now believes was a nudge from God. Renleigh was welcomed in.
They haven’t looked back since.
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At her first game in Spring 2025, Emily remembers being surprised — not by difficulty, but by joy.
“She laughed the whole time,” she said. “And I mean literally the whole time.”
Seeing her in a team uniform was surreal. It brought tears to her family’s eyes. She wasn’t on the sidelines. She was part of a team.
The other athletes and buddies welcomed her with open arms. She wasn’t the girl in the wheelchair.
She was a teammate.
Behind the scenes, something else was happening.
In therapy, Renleigh had begun working with a walker. Week by week, she grew stronger. Her endurance improved. Her balance steadied. Her therapists noticed growth not only physically, but socially as well.
“Renleigh has improved her socialization skills and overall interaction with other peers since participating in Miracle League,” shared her therapists at The Pediatric Therapy Center.
Her excitement to play fueled her motivation. She began wheeling her wheelchair more independently and walking farther in her walker — especially in places she loved. The field gave her a reason to push herself.
Then came Halloween night — the final game of the Fall season.
“She had not used her walker at all during Miracle League,” Emily said. “I knew this was her moment to shine. Very little people had seen what she had been working so hard toward.”
When Renleigh stepped out of her wheelchair, her mother felt a wave of nerves.
“I didn’t want to overwhelm her with doing too much,” she said. “But I had faith she could do it.”
The bat made contact.
She moved toward first base.
And the cheering began.
Step by steady step, Renleigh rounded the bases in her walker as teammates clapped and the crowd rose to their feet.
“It was the best feeling watching all her hard work pay off,” Emily said. “It does our heart good to see her take such a huge step in being more independent.”
From the bleachers, her grandparents watched something they will never forget.
“Sitting there watching her excitement, seeing her so happy to hit that ball and round those bases makes me so proud and grateful,” said her grandmother, Terri Haga.
Her grandfather, Scott Haga, described it as overwhelming pride.
“To see her progression from being rolled around the bases in her wheelchair to now rounding them in her walker is living proof to what caregivers, therapists, and all her supporters can accomplish.”
But perhaps Terri says it best:
“To have a group of people so giving of their time and resources come together for a common goal that benefits so many renews my faith in humanity.”
Miracle League gave Renleigh a place to play.
But more than that, it strengthened her body, built her confidence, expanded her independence, and connected her family to a community that shows up — every single game — ready to cheer.
And on that Halloween night, as Renleigh crossed home plate on her own two feet supported by her walker, everyone in the stands understood something powerful:
Progress doesn’t always come in giant leaps.
Sometimes it comes one base at a time.
For our staff, it was one of those Miracle League moments we will never forget — the kind that reminds us why we say yes to late registrations, why we turn the lights on, and why this field matters.
Because sometimes the biggest victory isn’t the run scored.
It’s the step taken.
