The Trail We Leave Behind

 

As I remember it, the story was told like this:  My family was camping in a remote wilderness area a couple hours from the small town in Northern California where I grew up. My dad left before sunrise to hunt for deer. My mom, brother and I left camp after breakfast to meet up with my dad, bring him some food and a fresh thermos of coffee. After a short time together, we continued on: my dad hunting and us hiking.  Instead of retracing our steps to the campground, my mom led us in a different direction to a waterfall that she had heard about from a ranger a few days previous. We ate lunch there and then looped around to the other side of the campground by afternoon. My dad wasn’t there when we arrived, which was concerning to my mom. Later, when he finally showed up, we were surprised to hear him giving my brother and I credit for leading him to camp.

After tracking and following a deer, but not being able to harvest it, my dad began to hike back to camp. Returning proved more challenging than he anticipated. He was lost, which was unusual for him as he knew the area well. This was our family’s favorite campground. On many occasions we were the only people at the campground and at most there would be one or two other sites occupied. The drive was a narrow steep logging road and involved driving through two rivers. The only water was the river and you brought your own toilet paper to use the pit toilets.  It was not a popular spot, but we loved it!

As he hiked, trying to orient himself and find the correct trail, Dad began to notice some people tracks. It wasn’t that unusual, but still he took note of it, especially because he began to see that it was three people with two of the three belonging to children. He also saw these other long trailing tacks in the dirt and mud. He said he wondered if the tracks could have been my mom, brother and I. But he didn’t think so because they were heading the wrong direction from where he thought he had met us that morning. He assumed we returned to camp the same way we had come. After making several circles and not able to find his way, he finally decided to follow these tracks for a while.  I remember him describing the long thin trails in the dirt, two of them. At times they crisscrossed over one another, other times they were parallel. As he followed them, he noticed that sometimes there was only one and other times both disappeared altogether. But then as he continued walking and looking, he would see them again. He was following these tracks, in hopes that he would eventually recognize where he was. After some time, he began to sense that he was towards the opposite end of the valley where the campground was. A picture also began to form in his mind as he followed the tracks. My brother and I would often look for the perfect walking sticks as we hiked. We didn’t need them for balance of course, we were kids. We used sticks to poke and tease one another, hit the bushes, pretend to chop the undergrowth, to trip and play-fight one another. We also liked to drag them, play in the mud or kick up dust. This is what my dad began to imagine and he became increasingly confident he was following the trail of my mom, brother and I, even if they were leading a different direction than he expected. Sure enough, he followed those tracks to the far end of the campground and showed up at camp with a big smile, grateful heart and surprising story.

I don’t remember that hike. The story was told and retold throughout the years as I grew up. It was told by my dad to remind us that anyone can get lost, even if you are in a familiar place. It was told to reinforce the things we were being taught about marking your trail and paying attention. It was told by my mom to show us that sometimes you don’t even realize that you’re doing something that will end up making a big impact for someone else.

I was probably around 6 years old at the time of that story. Now I’m nearly 50 and I was reminded of it this week because I followed a trail of what looked like white paint as I drove down the road. It went on for more than a mile, thicker at points and just when I thought it had ended, I spotted it again several yards down the road. I kind of hoped it would turn off into a parking lot and I’d see someone trying to sit-up an overturned barrel of paint in the back of a pick-up truck.

Watching that trail of paint on the road made me think of my childhood story and the trail that we leave behind. I had been thinking of legacy already, and when I thought those words “The Trail We Leave Behind” I saw it as a title. A dear friend of mine recently died after a battle with cancer. She won round one and we celebrated that she was cancer-free. But less than a year later cancer had returned and she, her husband and friends were suddenly facing the harsh prognosis of round two. It happened all too quickly. She was so young. They hadn’t been able to have the children they’d hoped and tried for. Her dreams for her future were cut short and many people grieve the absence of her vibrant, enthusiastic, bright and joyful life.

But I’ve been thinking of the legacy that she leaves behind. People ask me, “Did she have children?”. “No” I answer. As if that is the end of that part. But it is not!  The legacy she has left behind is tremendous! While she had not birthed the babies she had dreamed of, she had mentored and loved many children and young adults. She had given her life to serving God as a missionary in several Central American countries. She taught and mentored youth within a ministry organization. She traveled and did outreach in many countries. Her testimonies include overcoming physical struggle, violence and trauma. She persevered though great hardship and obstacles. She lived with a determined faith that refused to settle for mediocre. She was determined and spirited, she took on a challenge with boldness and loved adventure. She was compassionate and tender. She loved others fiercely. And she laughed! Her smile lit up her whole face and her laugh was hearty and loud, the kind of laugh that inspired everyone else to laugh as well.

There is a trail that she has left behind and I am part of it.  She added beauty and love to my life in a way that has changed me. She did that for many people and we are all her legacy. These are the truths lived and demonstrated so well by my dear friend.  These are the trail markers that she left behind:

• God is good. He is trustworthy and powerful.
• Love others well. Love can heal and restore the deepest of wounds.
• Give your excellence to what you love. Work hard and never give up.
• Life is worth living; don't hold back. Keep growing and challenging yourself.
• Have fun. Laugh and enjoy living.
• Forgive and let yourself heal. Pursue freedom and don't settle for less.

And so, I honor you, my dear friend. I think you thought you had more time. I thought you did too. I wanted more time with you. You weren’t trying to make a path or create your legacy, not yet. You were just living. But now we celebrate what you’ve left behind and we honor you. I see the legacy you have left behind my friend and it is beautiful. It is just as you would have wanted it to be. You are still pointing people to the love and beauty of God. There is a wealth of evidence that you walked the earth. You lived fully and invested so much. You have left your mark and people will follow the trail you have left behind.