Today's Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Marking the Trail

By Tim Chaney as told to

LeAnn Thieman

I sat in the front pew holding hands with my mom and sister as the choir sang,

" I go before you always, come follow me. . . . " I took a few deep breaths to

quiet my pounding heart and allowed my mind to wander to one of my favorite

memories.

I loved that early morning hike with Dad. The smell of Rocky Mountain pine and

the chilly air filled me with energy as I hustled behind him on the trail. I had

hiked with Dad a dozen times in my eleven years, but I still worried when the

trail disappeared.

" Is there a trail, Dad? I can't find it. " I ducked under the aspen branch he

held back with his large, sturdy frame. " The scouts and their dads following us

are never gonna find us, " I said, with mixed delight and concern. " If you

weren't here, how would I ever find the way? "

He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. " We'll mark our trail. "

On his instruction, I gathered rocks and stacked them in a pile. Next, we

arranged stones to form an arrow pointing uphill. " This shows anybody behind us

which way to go, " he coached.

Around the next bend I collected stones and formed them in another small heap.

" Now they can follow us easily, " I beamed.

We repeated these rock formations several times as I panted and stumbled over

the steep terrain, following his big footprints in the soft dirt.

Feeling more exhilarated than tired, we reached the summit. There we sat in

silence on the rocky peak listening to nature's concert. Wildflowers blanketed

the meadow stretching between the rolling foothills. Dad gestured toward an

eagle soaring in the cobalt sky.

I knew my dad created these moments especially for me. I was always the youngest

scout and frequently missed out on adventures my older brother and sister

experienced. Dad loved his role as an adult leader because it allowed him to

combine the three loves of his life - family, faith and the great outdoors.

Storm clouds gathered over a faraway ridge. Thunder rumbled as the distant

clouds collided in a clash of lightning.

" Did I ever tell you about how I really found God during the war? " Dad asked,

breaking the silence. I knew he enjoyed telling that story almost as much I as

enjoyed hearing it over and over again.

I knew it by heart. He had taken a break from maintaining the generators that

provided electricity for his platoon. Sitting atop a hill, he watched the Earth

burning in patches below. When a magnificent lightning storm illuminated the

blackened sky, he realized no man-made electricity could compare to that of the

Divine Creator. " That's when I knew, and I have never doubted Him since, " Dad

nodded with a smile.

I reached for his hand and held it tight as we watched power sparks in the

distance.

When he said it was time to leave, I groaned in protest. I didn't want this

treasured moment to end. He reminded me that, while we loved the trail, there

are often better things at the end. " Like Mom and her pancakes waiting back at

camp! "

Before beginning our trek back, Dad arranged rocks in a circle then placed a

single rock in the center. " This marks the end of the trail, " he said. " This

will tell those who follow that we went home. "

Several years later, Dad was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease. His most

difficult path of life lay ahead. We learned all we could about the incurable,

debilitating illness, while Dad's ability to eat and speak gradually diminished.

Accepting his impending death with courage and faith, he still showed me the

way.

He led me through earning my Eagle Scout award.

I followed in his footsteps when I was confirmed in my faith.

He guided me through the rocky path of high-school graduation and choosing a

college.

He gathered me with my mom, grandma, aunt and uncle to pray together after

church every Sunday.

In written notes, he told us that, while he loved life's journey, he looked

forward to eternity with the Master Electrician.

My sister tugged gently on my hand. The choir ended the refrain, and the piano

played softly as Father Bob offered the final funeral prayer. Dozens of scouts

and former scouts came forward, placing a circle of rocks on the altar. Together

my sister, brother and I placed the single rock in the center.

It was the end of the trail.

Dad had gone home.