Epilogue

One by one, each leaving in his own time, we drifted away from that sign on the mountaintop and slowly made our way back down Katahdin. I was reminded of high school graduation, when I walked out of that school and thought, It’s over. Now what do I do? Once again, I had no job and no idea what to do. In my prayer at the sign, I’d also asked God for wisdom as I sought new beginnings. I wondered if I’d be able to put into practice all that I’d learned in the wilderness.

Back at Katahdin Stream Campground, I found myself behind the wheel of a car for the first time in many months. Franklin and Einstein had already left, but as I passed a small pavilion, I noticed Fargo sitting there, waiting for his ride. I stopped the car, and we exchanged addresses and said good-bye.

As I climbed back into the car, Ina said, “Fargo had tears running down his cheeks when he walked away.”

There were two of us with tears in our eyes. I got back out of the car and called my friend’s name. He turned around, and I said, “Hey, Fargo, give me a hug.” With tears streaming down both our faces, we embraced.

We were just two average men who had shared life on a difficult, 2,176-mile hike from Georgia to Maine. We’d met and become like brothers. We were family.

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As the car bounced down the rutted dirt road leading out of Baxter State Park, I was caught in a swirl of emotion. What had kept me working so hard had now ended. Back in March, I’d driven the dirt road up Springer Mountain, dodging potholes on my way to the unknown. That unknown became the rhythm of waking up early, hiking long miles, struggling over mountains—always striving toward my goal. Now here I was again, on another rutted road leading into another unknown. I was unemployed. Katahdin was behind me. I needed new goals.

Several hours later, I was speeding down the Massachusetts turnpike when I spotted the overpass carrying the Appalachian Trail over the highway. I had crossed that overpass and watched the traffic, thinking ahead to the day when I’d be in one of those cars, finally heading home. Now I looked at the walkway and thought back to my days on the trail. That narrow pathway had been my path to freedom; it had taught me and changed me.

God had honored His promise to be with me, and now I needed to honor my promise and give folks the message He had asked me to deliver.

Back in Holmes County, my first stop was at the hillside cemetery where Mary was buried. With tears running down my face, I knelt in front of her memorial stone.

“I did it, Mary. I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail. It was so much harder than I ever imagined, but I did it!”

I told Mary how much she had meant to me and how much our family missed her. My children had been without both a mother and a father these past five months.

“Mary, I’ll tell you all about my hike when we meet again. Now I’m going home to see our new grandson.”

A number of people had followed my hike, reading my entries on the Trail Journals website. I soon received invitations to speak about my adventure. The first meeting was at a local restaurant with a group of area seniors. Following my presentation, a lady sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I knew the gentleman beside her. He was stooped with age, with two canes lying across his lap. He looked familiar, but I could not put a name to the face. My jaw dropped when the lady told me he was a retired evangelist from Nebraska.

He was the same man who had scared me half to death many years ago with rapping knuckles and shouting about Jesus’s imminent return. I reached out and took his feeble hands in mine . . . and examined his knuckles. To his bewilderment, I replied, “I’m checking your knuckles for calluses. Do you have any idea how badly you scared me that night so many years ago?”

I smile even now, realizing the incredibility of our meeting. God sure does move in mysterious ways. God was reminding me that the message He gave me is real, and I needed to get to work and get it written for other folks.

My hike had to be about more than just walking two thousand miles. When I decided to do the hike, I needed a greater purpose for quitting my job and changing my life so drastically. One of my goals was to remind men to appreciate what they have today—don’t take your family and your wife for granted. It really is true; we never realize what we have until we no longer have it. How it would change our lives if we could fully see what we see in our families and marriages, be grateful for what we have, and make gratitude part of our daily living!

Using my story on the trail as a vehicle, I also wanted to write a book that shows readers that the Christian life doesn’t have to be boring. To my Christian friends: If people observe your daily life, would they say, “I want what he has”? We Christians should be the happiest folks in the world, with what we know about life in the hereafter. Why are we often seen as the most downtrodden, dismal, and judgmental people around? It’s no wonder the world doesn’t want what we offer. Maybe we need to remind ourselves of what we really do have.

When I started this hike, I never imagined how difficult it would be. Had I known, I would never have attempted it. The trail is much like our lives. We never know what difficulties we’ll encounter on this earthly pilgrimage. What we are assured of, however, is a finish line.

That does sound rather strange, doesn’t it? The biggest event of our lives will be the finish line, when we end life’s journey. Yet we don’t like to think about the end. We don’t want to be reminded that we will die, because we often are afraid of what lies beyond death. Fear of that great unknown prompts us to try to ignore the matter.

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Remember the free meal in a log home in Virginia? The owner spoke about salvation and offered us books if we wanted to read more. That night, he handed me a small piece of paper with a short message. That message spoke to my spirit, and I want to share it with you. Here’s my paraphrase of that message:

Supposing that we’ve traveled all these miles together, and I’ve never told you about God and the reality of a future judgment. If we meet someday at that final judgment, I don’t want you to say to me, “You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me?”

Here’s what the Apostle Paul—the real one—says about the importance of this choice. He sums it up clearly in Romans, a letter he wrote to the church in Rome. These may be the most important words you’ll ever read. You can take this message and never open it, and figuratively hang it from a nail on a board fence, just as Motormouth did with his spiritual book that night in Virginia. Or you can hang your eternal existence on these words, if you choose.

For some reason, God wants to have a relationship with us. I don’t pretend to know why, but I suspect it has something to do with love. However, there’s a problem between God and us. The problem is sin. God just absolutely cannot tolerate sin.

In Romans 3:23, the Apostle Paul tells us that everyone has sinned. Romans 6:23 says the price we pay for a life of sin is death. So there you have it: everyone has sinned, and the punishment for sin is death.

But our friend the apostle also has some good news for us. Romans 5:8 says that God demonstrated how much He loved us by allowing His Son Jesus to die for us on the cross. That death on the cross paid the price for our sins.

The defining question is this: What must we do to be saved from death? Once again, the real Apostle Paul gives us the answer. Romans 10:9 says that if we speak with our mouths that Jesus is Lord and we believe that God raised Jesus from the dead after He was crucified, then we’ll be saved.

It can’t be that easy, you might be thinking. I thought I had to jump through all kinds of hoops and follow all kinds of rituals to be assured of eternal life. My friend, it is indeed that simple. Paul says in Romans 10:13 that everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

You see, there truly are two pathways in this life. One is the path to destruction and everlasting death. The other is the path that leads to an eternal life with God in a place called heaven. These paths run somewhat parallel to each other in our earthly life; however, there is the problem of crossing from one path to the other. Don’t look back. You cannot change what is behind you. To change your path and change your life, you’ll need a bridge. You’re at that bridge now. The cross of Jesus can take you from the path of death to the path of life. The cross, that great symbol of Christianity, beckons you to give up whatever is keeping you on the wrong path. Cross the bridge, and find a peace you’ve never imagined and a journey with God that is indescribable.

Nailed to a cross, Jesus paid a great price for your life. Choose wisely, my friend. You can mock that cross if you wish, or you can say, God, forgive me. Words do have meaning.

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It’s time to finish this adventure. What a journey it’s been! From the highest mountain to the lowest valley on the Appalachian Trail, my summer of 2008 is a story of peace and healing. I hiked with a partner, God, who is the originator of love. God’s love will comfort you too through valleys of despair and will lead you to your own mountaintop of peace and freedom.