Where God Is
Tom’s taillights blinked crimson before they disappeared around a corner. Tyler eased on the brakes and did the same. On either side of us, pine trees crowded the road. They whispered to each other between needles. Who on earth would be out on the roads at this hour? Be careful, they hissed at us. Bison eyes don’t reflect headlights!
Carefully, carefully, we continued on.
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September 29th, 2024 - Yellowstone/Teton Day 2
I yawned and swayed a little on my feet. My mind was still foggy with sleep. Trying to stimulate more mental activity, I looked around the little Sinclair gas station. I was standing in an aisle that held trinkets, oil funnels, and cans of soup. Ru was lingering near a heated display cabinet with paper-wrapped breakfast sandwiches. Tyler stood with Tom, making the sort of conversation appropriate for early morning. Tom was being extremely gracious to us. It was Sunday, his day off. The night before, we had overheard him making plans to visit Lamar Valley. Since we also planned to drive out to Lamar Valley, we asked if we could tag along. Tom had decades more experience in the park than we did, after all. If anyone knew the wildlife hotspots in Lamar Valley, it would be him.
Tom struck a deal with us. “If you can meet me at 6 at the Sinclair in Cooke City, you can follow along.”
Eagerly, we promised we’d be there. “Bright and early at 6! That’s 8:00 at home, so we’ll be just fine.”
Tom teased, “You know how many times I’ve heard that before? I can’t wait to hear your excuse when you don’t show up.”
“Oh we’ll be there, Tom! Don’t you worry.”
And we were there.
Tom’s morning ritual always consisted of a Sinclair visit. He had an arrangement with the gas station attendant. The attendant (I never learned his name, but he looked like a Mike) prepped donuts first thing in the morning. If Tom showed up around 6, he would get the warmest, freshest donuts for his Lamar Valley breakfast. Mike was running behind that morning, so we lingered between aisles as he worked. Tom leaned on the counter and chatted with Mike like old friends. When he was finished, Tom bought us all breakfast. He wouldn’t hear any protests, so we left with several sticky cinnamon twists and a breakfast sandwich for Ru. Sitting in the half-dark of the Sinclair parking lot, we scarfed down our food. We kept our window rolled down so we could talk to Tom too. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a better cinnamon twist.
When we had licked our fingers free of cinnamon glaze, Tom led us into Lamar Valley.
We landed with a flock of lanky tripods perched on an overlook near Slough Creek. Various clusters of coat-swaddled wildlife watchers peered through spotting scopes. Their regiments covered an assortment of small hills. If you didn’t know better, you would think we were keeping watch for an alien invasion.
Their location depended on the animals they intended to see. Tom was uninterested in wolves, so we stayed near the road to scan the valley for bears. It was chilly that morning. We had anticipated the cool air with thick clothing, but the breeze shaking my tripod still demanded acknowledgment. The cold wind made looking through the scope difficult. The enjoyment of the search made us persist. Tyler, Ru, and I had all grown up hunting deer. Looking over Lamar Valley, we found ourselves settling back into a hunter’s wait. It was comfortable. Unlike deer hunting, there was no fear of being overheard by wildlife that was nearly a mile away. Enjoying this, we chatted to pass the time.
“Remember that passage in the Bible where Elisha summons those bears to eat the bratty kids? The ones that make fun of his bald head?”
This was a topic Ru and I had often joked about over the years. There was something about the morbid escalation of force that provided endless, if dark, entertainment.
”Oh yeah! Don’t you wish you could summon a bear now?”
The absurd idea made us laugh, although the idea of summoning a bear to appear in front of our spotting scope was certainly alluring. I crossed my arms across my body, trying to ward off the tendrils of cold wind creeping under my coat. Smoke drifted from the half-burned cigarette in Tom’s fingers. He was leaning against his battered car, gaze thoughtful as he looked over the valley. Without preamble, his gruff voice filled the silence.
“You know, there are two people in the Bible who are said to have never tasted death. Do you know who they are?”
With Elisha on our minds, the first answer was easy. “Oh yeah, it was Elijah! Taken away in the chariot of fire.”
Tom nodded, then pressed, “Do you know who the second one was?”
I didn’t, but Ru’s gears were turning.
“I just read that passage not too long ago,” she murmured to herself. Thoughtfully, she placed her binoculars on the ground and unzipped her trusty camo backpack. I knew what she was after. Sure enough, she withdrew her green paperback Bible and began flipping through its thin pages. Tom watched her with interest. After a few moments, she had located the verse and read it aloud.
“By faith Enoch was taken from this life, so that he did not experience death. He could not be found, because God had taken him away.”
This started a lively conversation amongst us. What would it be like to be taken away? Do you suppose he just disappeared? Did his family know he had been taken? We continued in this vein for quite a while. Our spotting scope shivered in the brisk wind. A herd of bison crept along the faraway hills. The vast cathedral of the Wyoming sky stretched over our heads. The scenery was as magnificent as any manmade temple. It was Sunday morning, and we were at church.
We eventually saw a bear. We saw two, actually. Ru, ever watchful through her small binoculars, was the first to spot them. A mother black bear and her cub briefly made an appearance on a ridge about a mile and a half away. After the bear disappeared, we wandered up to the flock of spotting scopes on a slope behind us. There, a cluster of people were waiting for wolves. Slough Creek is a den site for the Junction Butte wolf pack, so it’s a common area for both wolves and watchers to congregate. After a bit of time, Ru’s eagle eyes spotted our first wolf. And then a second wolf. And then a whole pack. It was remarkable! Two black wolves tumbled and wrestled like brothers. A charcoal grey wolf watched, ears alert, while a pale wolf perched languidly atop a hill. They eventually trotted off together, tails wagging. I felt like we were in a National Geographic documentary. Our smiles couldn’t be wider.
Our documentary experiences continued into the afternoon. We rented a side-by-side out of Cooke City to go explore the mountainous backcountry trails. Following Tom’s advice, we borrowed some bear spray to take with us. Later, he told us a story that made us glad we listened. He said he had a buddy who took a side-by-side up into the Cooke City mountains. While he was rambling around the trails, a big grizzly emerged out of the brush. It didn’t take a liking to the loud manmade contraption, so the bear started chasing it down the trail! Just like anyone would, Tom’s buddy floored it. Rule #1 broken. Never run from a grizzly. The grizzly, now chasing its perceived prey, pursued the side-by-side for miles. The trails up in those mountains are rough. The rocks make the trails better for adventure, not speed. Unsurprisingly, the side-by-side broke an axle on the harsh terrain. Ordinarily, the side-by-sides are rigged so that they automatically stop when something gets broken. This feature is intended to avoid further damage. By some miracle, Tom’s buddy didn’t get stopped. He escaped the bear and fled all the way back into town before he realized how damaged the machine was. It could have been a lot worse than a broken axle. Tom’s buddy was lucky.
I was glad Tom waited until our safe return to tell us that story!
We didn’t see any bears up in the mountains, but we certainly weren’t deprived of nature! We climbed a pile of shale to spy on a herd of bighorn sheep. Ru found a set of wolf tracks when we disembarked to have a snowball fight. A small mule deer buck anxiously waited for us to drive past him at a trail junction. A hunting fox flicked his ears in annoyance as our engine rumbled by. We even saw a big bull moose. He didn’t pay us much mind. He was too busy flirting with an attractive cow moose instead. It was a fantastic ride. It was a chance for us to separate ourselves from the tourists and enjoy the scenery in its purest form. I think it was one of our favorite elements of the trip.
We made our way back to the lodge just as the daylight turned grey on the mountains. Tom had a campfire crackling out front. We were tired and muddy (thanks Ru), but we sat around the fire to spend time with our friend.
I was still thinking about our Lamar Valley church service from that morning. When the stars emerged from the dark Montana sky, I found a question lingering in my mind.
“Tom, where do you see God the most out here?”
My question stemmed from home. Our hometown is medium-sized, but it has enough hustle and bustle to provide ample distraction from holiness. Driving down the interstate is always a test of Christian patience. A busy work schedule often releases anxieties I forget to lay at the cross. At home, I see God the most in simplicity. I see Him in the veins of a maple leaf, in a soft snowfall, in the cozy blessing of an evening at home. But out here, surrounded by beauty and miracles at every turn, where does Tom see God? I wanted to know.
Tom was quiet for a long moment.
“In the dark,” he finally said.
I let my gaze fall up to the inky velvet studded with diamonds. Plenty of people could see God’s handiwork in the vastness of the sky. But that’s not what Tom meant.
“I like to get up early in the morning to have my quiet time with God.” Tom’s voice dropped to a rasp, a worshipful whisper. “You know, when everything is still and silent. Before the world wakes up.”
I let my ears forget the happy crackle of the campfire. My gaze drifted along the dark outlines of the mountains, barely visible in the night. I pictured the same scene devoid of noise. No cars, no faraway laughter, no birds, no campfire. Just darkness and silence.
Tom continued, “That’s when I see God the most. Because when I close my eyes to pray, it’s dark. I sit there in the dark, and I talk to God about everything. When I’m finally done and I lift my head, sometimes there’s a strip of light that paints itself across the horizon. Then I know it’s God. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘Don’t worry, Tom. I’m here.’
I’m here.”
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