When my family moved to the country, I had no idea what the next few years would hold. It would be another new school and a new school district. This was our 4th move as a family in my first 13 years. It seemed as if nothing would ever be permanent, which, as we all know by now, it never is; no matter how much we want it to be. I guess by that point I had gotten used to the moving around or at least handled it well. All I knew was that we were pretty far out in the county and making the school bus trip seemed to take forever. The properties were backed up against the river and we lived where the county line and the river met. There was little traffic, usually just us locals, especially when there was snow or flooding. The road was desolate and we had it to ourselves. Our bikes, sleds and my friends’ dirt bikes and 4-wheelers made that road our own. A great place to play and explore through the thick woods.
As I rode the bus that first day, I met the guys that would be my best friends for those next few years. They lived about a mile up the hill from my house. Going up that one-mile hill was always hard, but I was young and my friends lived up there. It was always a slow trek and I had to push my bike up, but the fun and adventure that awaited me was worth it. Sometimes it was for a day full of shooting baskets. Wayne would be Larry Bird and shoot 3-pointers and I would be Michael Jordan and make trick shots. Sometimes it was to help Troy with his chores, so that we could play afterwards. Sometimes we would all ride 4-wheelers and dirt bikes together, cutting trails in the woods behind Troy's house. Sometimes, we would get off the school bus at the end of the road. We would stop at the country store and we would get a soda and a candy bar for the walk to our houses. Their walk was shorter than mine and I would continue on down the road, a total of almost 2 miles down to the valley to get home.
In the winter, we would sled down that hill and my friend's Dad would drive us back up in his 4x4 truck. Wayne's dad owned a lot of land and we would go sledding down those hills in the cow pastures. One time, we found a particularly steep hill with a rocky crag hidden under the snow. As we slid down and hit that rock, we found ourselves flying through the air and somehow landed unharmed. Of course, we immediately climbed back up to the top so we could do it again. I don't know how many miles we traversed during those early teen years, but there was not much of that territory that we did not cover.
We each attended different churches with our parents and probably didn't have much of a Faith life. We pretty much were directed by the compass of our peers and the pop culture of that time. As we grew older and our interests turned to girls, cars and what we would all do after high school, we spent less time together. My family moved again before my senior year and I would see the guys in the hallways at school, but time and distance kept us from the activities that had been so fun for us at those earlier ages. As we moved forward into our early adult life our roads would separate us even further. Wayne went away to college and I went to work at a local grocer. Troy became a father soon after school and now works as an EMT. In the fall of what was his sophomore year of college, we lost Wayne and the loss hit me and our group of friends pretty hard. I don't remember very many conversations about his faith and I remember feeling guilty about that. I can't say that I was really certain at the time of just how little faith I had.
Three friends connected by one road, one small community on the map. The woods, the streams all in between us. The river on the other side of Chestnut Mountain. That mile long hill to link us all for longer than we knew at the time. Great memories—the swimming hole, the sledding fun and those two winter storms within a week of each other, each dumping over 20 inches of snow. The bus rides and the friends made on there. Our discovery of the iron ore furnace, one of many in the area. The life we all enjoyed there, helped to shape us and provided great memories.
There was only one road in, but we took many roads out. We all made it off that hill, eventually. Wayne lies under the oaks at the Methodist church he attended in his younger years. His parents are there now too. Troy’s parents are still there and he and his family live nearby. It has been a number of years now since I have been back to see the changes to the community; and the things that have remained the same.
The Hill symbolizes to me the path we take through our years of life. It gets harder going up and growing into adulthood. Tragedies will happen and the nature of friendships will change. We all make the climb, and hopefully, enjoy the life we have along the way. Uncertain of what awaits us at the top, we still make the trek. The path will bring us friendships along the way to help us through certain times in our lives. But there may be times when we seem to walk alone. We keep pushing because we want to arrive at the top. Our Faith deepening as we make each step, we look forward to hearing “well done” when we finish our climb. We may not have asked for the Hill, but we are given it to climb anyway, just as our Leader climbed the hill on His way to His ultimate purpose. Life is hard but He walks beside us. The hills and valleys of life extend out before us. Let us walk on and remember He is there.
As I rode the bus that first day, I met the guys that would be my best friends for those next few years. They lived about a mile up the hill from my house. Going up that one-mile hill was always hard, but I was young and my friends lived up there. It was always a slow trek and I had to push my bike up, but the fun and adventure that awaited me was worth it. Sometimes it was for a day full of shooting baskets. Wayne would be Larry Bird and shoot 3-pointers and I would be Michael Jordan and make trick shots. Sometimes it was to help Troy with his chores, so that we could play afterwards. Sometimes we would all ride 4-wheelers and dirt bikes together, cutting trails in the woods behind Troy's house. Sometimes, we would get off the school bus at the end of the road. We would stop at the country store and we would get a soda and a candy bar for the walk to our houses. Their walk was shorter than mine and I would continue on down the road, a total of almost 2 miles down to the valley to get home.
In the winter, we would sled down that hill and my friend's Dad would drive us back up in his 4x4 truck. Wayne's dad owned a lot of land and we would go sledding down those hills in the cow pastures. One time, we found a particularly steep hill with a rocky crag hidden under the snow. As we slid down and hit that rock, we found ourselves flying through the air and somehow landed unharmed. Of course, we immediately climbed back up to the top so we could do it again. I don't know how many miles we traversed during those early teen years, but there was not much of that territory that we did not cover.
We each attended different churches with our parents and probably didn't have much of a Faith life. We pretty much were directed by the compass of our peers and the pop culture of that time. As we grew older and our interests turned to girls, cars and what we would all do after high school, we spent less time together. My family moved again before my senior year and I would see the guys in the hallways at school, but time and distance kept us from the activities that had been so fun for us at those earlier ages. As we moved forward into our early adult life our roads would separate us even further. Wayne went away to college and I went to work at a local grocer. Troy became a father soon after school and now works as an EMT. In the fall of what was his sophomore year of college, we lost Wayne and the loss hit me and our group of friends pretty hard. I don't remember very many conversations about his faith and I remember feeling guilty about that. I can't say that I was really certain at the time of just how little faith I had.
Three friends connected by one road, one small community on the map. The woods, the streams all in between us. The river on the other side of Chestnut Mountain. That mile long hill to link us all for longer than we knew at the time. Great memories—the swimming hole, the sledding fun and those two winter storms within a week of each other, each dumping over 20 inches of snow. The bus rides and the friends made on there. Our discovery of the iron ore furnace, one of many in the area. The life we all enjoyed there, helped to shape us and provided great memories.
There was only one road in, but we took many roads out. We all made it off that hill, eventually. Wayne lies under the oaks at the Methodist church he attended in his younger years. His parents are there now too. Troy’s parents are still there and he and his family live nearby. It has been a number of years now since I have been back to see the changes to the community; and the things that have remained the same.
The Hill symbolizes to me the path we take through our years of life. It gets harder going up and growing into adulthood. Tragedies will happen and the nature of friendships will change. We all make the climb, and hopefully, enjoy the life we have along the way. Uncertain of what awaits us at the top, we still make the trek. The path will bring us friendships along the way to help us through certain times in our lives. But there may be times when we seem to walk alone. We keep pushing because we want to arrive at the top. Our Faith deepening as we make each step, we look forward to hearing “well done” when we finish our climb. We may not have asked for the Hill, but we are given it to climb anyway, just as our Leader climbed the hill on His way to His ultimate purpose. Life is hard but He walks beside us. The hills and valleys of life extend out before us. Let us walk on and remember He is there.
RSS Feed
