My father-in-law, who passed away in 2017, would’ve been 81 years old today. As I marinate on his life, I retreated to the archives of my journal and found this entry regarding a few thoughts surrounding the day we laid to rest, Tom Wilson, one of the greatest men I ever knew.

To most, this photo may seem like a benign climb along a path shrouded by Rhododendrons and White Pines. To dreamers, a simple question may arise. Where does the path lead? For goal setters, where does it end? For the pragmatic minded, why is it here and what’s its purpose? And, for the imaginative amongst us, we create characters in our minds of mythical creatures formed from the silhouettes of tree limbs and the sounds of critters moving about.

This path actually represents a journey of a thousand tales.

A journey of many families who have walked this old fire road for decades. The effort put forth, never so in vane. The reward realized, never disappointing. The sense of peace, never hard to find. It’s a path which leads to inspiring mountain vistas where silence is sought and rest is assured.

A thousand tales told by dozens of families fills a guest book that reads like a Hemingway novel. The adventure, romance, wildness, and spiritual connection to God’s creation is a common theme that runs through this land at Cherry Lane Farm in Sparta, NC. However, on this day, this climb was of a more somber tone.

Today, we buried the ashes of Tom Wilson, husband of Alice Wilson. His ashes were placed in a small, nondescript White Oak box made by a local mountain carpenter, and nestled carefully and peacefully into a small grave, dug by human hands, hands of those who loved and cherished Tom. As Genesis testifies, we were formed from the dust of the ground and true to scripture, Tom returned to the ground as dust today. But, we rejoice as his body has now been made whole in Heaven.

As I reflect on those faithful friends and loving family climbing that hill today to Tom’s internment, I wonder if I’ve lived a life worthy of that climb? Will I be loved such that those who dream will rejoice in the journey to where my life’s path had lead? Will the goal setters be encouraged and pleased with where my path had ended? Will the pragmatic minded understand what my purpose was and why it was so important? And, will the imaginative see the creativity of life in me they so hoped for?

Only time will bear out who will make a similar climb on my behalf. However, the path I will walk will not be one paved with conviction of who I want people to think I am, but by who God has created me to be. Upon that path, I will stake my life and upon that hill, I will rejoice with Tom in Heaven one day.