One Yard at a Time: Two Days, 1,100 Miles

Ashley Walker
Nov 3
5 min read

I returned the black Mazda SUV to Enterprise in Rainbow City with ten minutes to spare before closing, the fuel gauge sitting above the mark it had when I picked it up two days earlier. The odometer read 1,100.3. The clerk raised an eyebrow.

“You drive for a living?” he asked.

“No,” I said, handing over the keys. “Just for the ones who can’t.”

That was Thursday, October 23. The journey had begun only forty-eight hours earlier, but it felt like a season. Two days. Five cities. Four missions. One purpose: to lay the foundation—thread by thread, mile by mile—for the Seventh Annual One Yard at a Time Gala, coming February 27, 2026 at The Club in Birmingham.

Presented the welcome package, which included a black short-sleeve golf shirt, to Steadman Shealy in his law office in Dothan, Alabama.

This isn’t a travel log—it’s a confession. Because the work of honoring heroes doesn’t happen under bright lights or in crowded rooms. It happens in the quiet, unseen moments God ordains—print shops before dawn, parking lots turned into meeting grounds, highways slowed by storms or spills. It’s in those pauses that the Lord whispers reminders: that service isn’t a show, it’s stewardship. That gratitude is not a feeling, but a discipline.

It started Wednesday at 2:28 AM in Southside. No alarm. Just habit—and grace. Anima Christi. Phone exiled to the hallway. Cold shower. Vitamins. The small rituals that keep a man upright when the road is long and the sleep is short. I’ve come to believe that God works best in the small things—the quiet obediences that no one applauds but heaven sees.

By 6:04, I was rolling south in the Mazda, bound for Bessemer. Dale at LD Cut & Print didn’t waste words. He slid one black 2026 Athletic Honorary golf shirt across the counter—stitched with the gala crest, custom-made for Steadman Shealy. It wasn’t just a shirt. It was a reminder of calling—a sign of faithful work well done. Steadman wore it that same day. Our military honorary, Alan Cook, will receive his soon—when we do the formal presentation he deserves. In four months, they’ll stand on stage, not to be glorified, but to give glory back—to the God who gave them strength for every yard gained, every battle endured.

Twenty minutes later in Trussville, a kind clerk at the UPS Store carried the box to the Mazda himself. Inside: footballs, Sharpies, hero cards. None for sale. Every ball given, not sold—a small echo of grace itself. Because what we give freely honors the One who gave everything for us.

Then came I-65. Ten miles north of Clanton, a chemical spill shut the interstate down. Flashing lights. Hazmat suits. Two hours and fifty-five minutes of waiting. I rolled the windows up, turned the radio low, and tried to be still. It’s strange how traffic can become a teacher—how God can use gridlock to work patience into a restless heart.

I reached Dothan at 12:52 PM—forty minutes early. Enough time to rehearse in the parking lot of Steadman Shealy’s law office. Our event planner, arrived right on cue. At 1:30 sharp, we went live on Facebook.

Steadman stood tall in his new black golf shirt. Before the camera rolled, we did what old players do—compared scars. His from a 1977 ACL tear that nearly ended everything. Yet through the pain, infection, and rehab, he returned to lead the undefeated 1979 Crimson Tide to glory. No interceptions in SEC play. No surrender to fear. His story—like so many others—bears the unmistakable fingerprints of redemption. Broken things made whole. Weakness turned into witness.

I was tired. Dothan had hotels. But Tuscaloosa had a Thursday TV slot. So I pointed the Mazda north on US-231, UpTime in the cupholder, gospel music humming low. The road can feel lonely sometimes—but faith has a way of keeping pace beside you.

Thursday began at 1:38 AM in Tuscaloosa. Four Rosaries before sunrise. The Luminous. The Glorious. The Thanksgiving. The Scripture. Words that keep the heart centered when the body would rather rest.

By breakfast, I posted a message from the hotel lobby:

HEARTFELT SEND-OFF FOR 1-114th ARMY AVIATION HEROES!

Pre-Deployment Luncheon in Birmingham

THANK YOU FULL MOON BAR-B-QUE for the feast!

Framed Helicopter Tribute from Troops

Lettermen of the USA: Standing Strong for Those Who Serve

It wasn’t marketing—it was ministry. Gratitude in motion.

By noon, I was at WVUA Channel 23 in Tuscaloosa. The segment ran long—football stories always do. When it ended, my chance to meet Bill Purnell for the gala deposit was gone. One call. “Next week?” he said. “It’s four months out. We’ll survive.” Grace again.

At 5:51 PM, I coasted into Enterprise in Rainbow City—ten minutes before close. The clerk checked the gas twice.

“You drive for a living?”

“No,” I said. “Just for the ones who can’t.”

The Ledger – Two Days

1,100.3 miles
4 missions accomplished
1 honorary golf shirt delivered
1 box of footballs and hero cards, all to be given freely
1 live presentation to Steadman Shealy
1 TV segment filmed
1 social media tribute to the 1-114th
1 black Mazda returned with more fuel than received

Behind every mile was a habit. Behind every habit, a discipline. Behind every discipline, a devotion—to faith, to service, to the men and women who wore the uniform on the field and in the field. But behind all of it, unseen and unearned, was grace—the kind that carries you when you’ve given all you have left, the kind that redeems the ordinary into holy ground.

The One Yard at a Time Gala is February 27, 2026 at 6:00 PM at The Club in Birmingham. The shirt is worn. The footballs are ready. The stories are waiting.

In two days, I drove 1,100 miles to earn one yard.

The rest belongs to God.

One yard at a time.