Inspiration found in the Tetons

I remembered it as if it were yesterday, I stood just inside our garage, surrounded by its neat clutter, tears welling in my eyes. All I prayed was to take our kids camping—to spend time with them and Jeanne outdoors, fishing and sharing incredible meals over a campfire. But our funds didn't allow it. Though this prayer seemed small, it was deeply meaningful to me, a longing I'd long forgotten.

This particular day, I found myself walking in that very longing. Climbing the mountain, my son took the lead, followed by my daughter, while I walked between them. We pushed forward despite an injured knee in the backcountry of the Grand Tetons to our first campsite. The overwhelming beauty surrounded us at every turn—descending into valleys, climbing out of ravines, and along thin trails along ledges, through mud, rain, snow, hail, and wind in our first 24 hours. It pushed me to my physical limits. For my son, a Marine, and my daughter, a nurse who smiled through every step, so it seemed, all was well. Prayers flowed with thankfulness and added concerns; my worship seemed continual as I witnessed His creation. Gazing up at the next mountaintop, wondering if I could reach just the next big rock ahead, the memory of that garage prayer was an epiphany. Living a forgotten prayer. It empowered my steps. Listening to my daughter sing and speak Scripture behind me—it was all overwhelming. Tearfully, I expressed to the Lord how good He is, not just for this moment with my children, but for resurfacing that longing. He truly heard a prayer I said in a passing lament. I was "Caught up," as they say.

The Trek Begins

This 45-mile trek began in mid-September at 10,000 feet after a gondola ride, and I was heavily packed with food, gear, and sleeping essentials.  Within the first mile, I knew I was in over my head—prayer was my faithful friend.  Our group included avid hikers, a respiratory therapist, a physical therapist, three nurses, a Marine, and me, a retired chaplain.  I was well surrounded.  Oh, and we each carried grizzly spray, just in case.

After my injury, concern rippled through our medical group about the miles ahead. I assured them I'd reach the first campsite. Four of the seven of us pushed ahead to prepare the site, nine miles on. My son led us forward, and my daughter trailed, which was deeply encouraging. My daughter feared she'd led me to my demise after a rest stop—due to thin air or my exhaustion. I collapsed against a hillside. Her worry showed: "Dad, I'm so worried about you." "Why? I'm not," I replied. "You're not?" "Nope." "Then I'm not either." "Good." I stood, and we pushed forward.

Moments of Vulnerability

In that heart-to-heart with my daughter and my son's calming presence, vulnerability hit me hard: no cell service, rugged terrain, weather, my limits, and wildlife like cougars, wolves, and grizzlies. Pride swelled for my children, yet I prayed: "Lord, I ask for Your mercy for us. Your beauty is everywhere, Your nearness evident, but mercy is what we need," was my breath prayer. Silence enveloped us as we took each step—the wind through towering pines the only sound. It invited stillness that absorbed my soul, a quiet sense of peace as His words quickened: "My mercy is fresh to you each day." I smiled, as if those words had broken the silence. "Lord, I receive Your mercy. It's the safest place to live."

I hiked with those words tucked in my pack, rock to rock, mesmerized by creation. My daughter and I sang a worship song, tearfully captivated by a mountain that stared back at us. All this in the first 24 hours before camp. I will never forget this day-a gift.

I didn't complete the full hike—my injury led four of us out at 17 miles into a lush canyon. This longing, shared with my kids, God's nearness, His creation declaring His greatness, and those whispered words transformed me.

Reflections for the Year Ahead

As we step into 2026, let's reflect on these truths from my trek:

• What prayers have we forgotten that may still lie ahead in unexpected places?

• His creation surrounds us now—from the most minor details to the awe-inspiring vistas. It's His way of revealing His love, power, and glory.  Pause daily to look for it, drawing us closer to Him.

• Embrace His fresh mercy each morning, no matter what you see. It's the safest place to dwell.  Acknowledge it as our need, and our safe place in prayer as a way of life.

If you need space to unpack some of these thoughts on the trek you are walking in your life—to be heard, seen, and received—I would be honored to sit with you.

May this coming year lead you to beautiful vistas, undreamed places, with loud whispers of His love and nearness. May the Lord smile upon you, be gracious, and grant peace beyond words.

Rob

pastoralcare4u.com