Morning Light on the Road to Pinedale: Lord, Empty Me, Fill Me, Use Me
- Apr 20
- 4 min read
April 10, 2026
Morning Light on the Road to Pinedale: Lord, Empty Me, Fill Me, Use Me
This morning at 8:07 a.m., I walked the familiar path from my gate to Pinedale Road, the same route I have traveled hundreds of times. Yet today felt different. Early light filtered through the tall pines on the left and the graceful crepe myrtles on the right, turning an ordinary dirt lane into something quietly sacred. Puddles from last night’s rain caught the sun like scattered mirrors, and the air carried that fresh, earthy scent only a Southern morning can offer after rain.
As I walked, my eyes fell on something low to the ground that I often overlook, a lush carpet of white clover, Trifolium repens, also known as Dutch clover or shamrock. Its tiny white blooms dotted the green like scattered stars, thriving in the damp soil beside the path. That humble plant reminded me how God so often works through what is small and unnoticed, quietly nourishing what surrounds it. It brought to mind how Scripture says that God chose what is low and despised in the world to bring to nothing things that are, a gentle reminder that His power is often revealed in what we are most likely to miss.
I almost missed it all.
This morning was a tough one. I overslept and missed our Friday men’s breakfast, the one steady rhythm I have come to count on. Chef Jason always prepares a spread that makes you feel cared for, and he graciously lets me fix a plate for Mrs. Jerrie. I hated letting that simple tradition slip away. But as I stepped onto the path, I felt that quiet correction in my spirit, that reminder that His mercies are new every morning. Even this imperfect start had not slipped beyond His grace.
The Lettermen of the USA have taken fifteen good years of my life, not in a burdensome way, but in a full one. Between the One Yard at a Time Gala, projects, and responsibilities, the days have a way of filling up before you realize how much time has passed. It is easy to move from one task to the next and forget to notice the beauty that has been patiently waiting all along.
But this morning, I stopped. I really stopped.
At 62, life has a way of getting your full attention. The old football injuries from my Alabama days do not let me forget where I have been. I run into former teammates, and somewhere between the jokes, the conversation turns serious, with someone mentioning a surgeon who might offer a “teammate discount” on a knee or hip replacement. It is half funny and half sobering. The body keeps a perfect record, and some days the replay is louder than others.
Still, I am not complaining. Not really.
I am still here, and that alone is reason enough for gratitude. I have teammates and classmates who carry far heavier burdens every day, and the way they keep moving forward is a kind of quiet sermon. Their perseverance reflects the truth that though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day, a renewal no injury can take away.
This morning, my thoughts turned to Little James from The Chosen, the disciple who lived with a painful disability. He watched Jesus heal so many others and then asked why he himself had not been healed. Jesus could have healed him instantly, but He chose not to, not out of absence of love, but because Little James’s faithful endurance would tell a deeper story. A story of trust in the midst of unanswered prayers. A story that echoes the hard truth that sometimes God’s strength is made perfect in weakness, even when the healing we long for does not come.
Moments like this draw me back to a simple prayer I have been learning to whisper more often: Lord, empty me, fill me, and use me.
Empty me of distraction, of self-pity, and of the need to control the day. Fill me with Your peace, Your perspective, and Your presence, especially when the old pains speak a little louder. Then use me, even in my brokenness, to encourage someone else who is limping along their own road. It is not a grand prayer, but it feels honest. It feels enough.
As I walked between the pines and crepe myrtles, with power lines stretching like thin prayers against the blue sky and clover soft beneath my feet, I remembered Job’s words, that I came into this world with nothing and will leave the same way. Everything in between is borrowed. The road, the trees, the breath in my lungs, the people I love, even the pain that reminds me I am still here, all of it is grace.
Sometimes the simplest walk becomes a classroom. Sometimes missing breakfast opens the door to a better feast, the one God sets before us when we finally slow down enough to see it. It made me think of how Jesus taught that life is more than food and the body more than clothing, and how often I forget that truth in the rush of ordinary days.
The crepe myrtles were blooming in their quiet way. The tall pines stood like faithful sentinels. And for a few unhurried minutes on the path to Pinedale Road, I was not chasing the next thing.
I was simply walking in the light He had given me for today, remembering that His word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path, even on a dirt road I have walked a hundred times before.
And this morning, that was enough.
Darryl
Comments