A Spiritual Odyssey: The Lettermen’s Legacy

Ashley Walker
May 29
6 min read

In the spring of 2015, I sat at a desk in my Birmingham, Alabama home, a spiral notebook open before me. I was wrestling with a question that had become the cornerstone of my life’s mission: How can we truly serve the inner-city homeless of Birmingham? It was April 5th, and as I poured my thoughts onto the page, I was unknowingly navigating a “dark night of the soul.” My heart was silently failing. Though I had been diagnosed with aortic insufficiency back in 1994 by Dr. Herman Taylor—and later confirmed by Dr. Acuff at Johns Hopkins and Dr. Richard Pop at Stanford—I did not realize that my condition had progressed into aortic stenosis. That diagnosis wouldn’t come until August 2019. I had attributed my fatigue and shortness of breath to the weight of my mission. But even as my body faltered, my spirit clung to faith. Much like Job, who endured unimaginable suffering without ever losing hope, I found strength in God’s promise: “Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him” (Job 13:15).

This dream was rooted in my service with the Firehouse Shelter, where I had led initiatives like Cook & Serve, Clean the Shelter, and Feed the Shelter. Each project was about more than logistics—it was about restoring dignity and creating community. Cook & Serve brought people together to share meals with those in need. Clean the Shelter transformed the physical space into a haven of safety and cleanliness. Feed the Shelter ensured that no soul was left hungry, nourishing both body and spirit. We also launched the “One Yard at a Time” speaker series—drawing inspiration from football’s incremental progress—to encourage perseverance in tackling homelessness. Over time, it became our largest annual fundraiser: the One Yard at a Time Gala. This journey reminded me that trials—whether health-related, financial, or spiritual—can be overcome one yard at a time, with determination and grace. “Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9).

On April 6th, I wrote about the Lettermen of the USA—a brotherhood of former college football players united in service. I drew strength from the legacy of men like Antonio Langham and Joe King. Though they never played together, their leadership inspired me to uplift not just the homeless, but also fellow athletes in need. Kevin Turner, Alabama’s legendary fullback, was then battling ALS—a struggle that would end his life in 2016. His posthumous diagnosis of CTE cast a stark light on the hidden battles faced by players long after their last game.

The impact of trauma reaches far beyond the football field. I saw the same invisible wounds in our Wounded Veterans. Since 2000, over 300,000 U.S. military personnel have been diagnosed with Traumatic Brain Injury, many from IED blasts in Iraq and Afghanistan. Veterans and athletes alike endure the long-term effects of these injuries, often accompanied by PTSD. These battles are often hidden, but not forgotten. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). It is for them that we serve.

Through the Lettermen of the USA, we began honoring Wounded Veterans from World War II to Afghanistan, presenting them with signed footballs from universities across the nation—Alabama, Auburn, Stanford, Georgia, Texas, and more. Our mission was also supported by organizations like the NFLPA, the Boomer Esiason Foundation, and generous individuals like Antonio Langham and Dave Rimington. Together, we were building bridges of healing and unity.

Our path was anything but smooth. On April 6th, I recalled a quote from Mark Twain: “Most of the wisdom you need to succeed in life can be summed up in two things: ignorance and confidence.” Starting a nonprofit from scratch felt like walking on water. We encountered resistance—not from devils in red, but from those disguised as angels in white. They spread lies, discouraged donors, and tried to crush our mission. But I remembered Paul’s encouragement: “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair” (2 Corinthians 4:8). I chose forgiveness over resentment. If those same people needed help today, I would serve them without hesitation—because grace changes everything.

One defining moment came on October 19, 2012, as we welcomed home U.S. Army Sergeant Josh Wetzel, who had lost both legs in an IED blast. At Birmingham-Shuttlesworth International Airport, I presented him a football signed by Auburn’s Pat Sullivan and UAB Coach Casey Dunn. I said, “Josh, if you don’t mind an old Alabama football player handing you a couple of Auburn Greats’ autographs, I’d be honored.” When he rose from his wheelchair and walked through the BIRA Gate, a hush fell. Then the terminal erupted into applause. It was holy ground. Though my chest was tight and my breathing shallow, my spirit soared. That moment reaffirmed what Scripture says: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles” (Isaiah 40:31).

My faith hadn’t always been steadfast. A late friend once said I was searching for truth in all my projects—and he was right. I wasn’t some noble hero like Brad Pitt in Seven Years in Tibet. I was a broken man: a college football player turned salesman, coach, and stay-at-home dad. I had fallen to lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. I was spiritually bankrupt. But God doesn’t use perfect people. “But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27).

On April 6th, I copied into my journal the words of Blessed John Henry Newman’s Lead, Kindly Light:

Lead, kindly Light, amid th’ encircling gloom,Lead Thou me on!The night is dark, and I am far from home;Lead Thou me on!

These words became my compass. Life’s trials were not meaningless. The Book of Job reminded me that suffering can have purpose. “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21). I came to see my suffering not as punishment, but as preparation.

By November 4th, 2015, I had not yet received my diagnosis of aortic stenosis, but I had begun to face the truth of my physical condition. The organization I had dreamed of was taking shape. The One Yard at a Time Gala had become a cornerstone, alongside our other outreach programs. I dared to believe our efforts could impact not just hundreds, but hundreds of thousands.

I envisioned a future: the Heroes Village, a 44-acre haven for veterans in northern Jefferson County. It would include a chapel, learning center, 120 tiny homes, five family homes, a theater, and outdoor assisted living—especially for our Korean and Vietnam War heroes. A place where healing would flourish, where God’s presence would dwell. “They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor” (Isaiah 61:3).

That day, I returned to Newman’s words from The Pillar of the Cloud:

So long Thy power hath blessed me, sure it stillWill lead me on.O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, tillThe night is gone…

As I wrote “The End” at the bottom of my journal page, I felt peace. Nearly 1,400 lives had already been touched by our work. And I believed—still believe—that one day, through the Fisher House and Heroes Village, over 500,000 lives will be transformed. Through it all, my Redeemer had led me. And I trust He will continue to do so.

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us… to Him be the glory” (Ephesians 3:20-21).

Dark Night of the Soul

Job 13:15