SignPost Monday of Holy Week—In the Big Horns

Psalm 36:5-11

During August of 1978, Daryl and I went backpacking in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming. We took a leisurely drive in his Toyota pickup, stopping in Hardin, Montana, where we visited Little Big Horn and walked the site of Custer’s Last Stand. We saw where the Native Americans camped, and stood where Custer was supposed to have died. We listened to the Native American version of the battle, and we walked through the cemetery where the 7^th Cavalry soldiers are buried.

Later, we drove down through part of the reservation lands witnessing the impoverished circumstances of families living in small homes and trailers along the road. We drove past Sheridan and on to Buffalo. In Buffalo we stopped for breakfast and then headed up to the ranger station to post our route and intended time of return.

Up into the mountains Daryl and I and his Elkhound Cy walked with our packs. About three miles in, we stopped for our first camp. We pitched our tent on the shore of a mountain lake and went swimming before supper. Almost hypothermic from the water temperature, we sat around a fire to warm, ate our supper and watched the sunset. In the mountains that only takes a few minutes, but as the light dwindled and the color faded, an eagle flew between us and the light. In silhouette we watched it fly to it’s roost.

Daryl said, “Now there’s a picture only God could make. You couldn’t paint that, and if you waited with a movie camera for another twenty years it wouldn’t happen. We’ve got ten miles to walk tomorrow, so we better get to bed.” As the stars started to light up the sky, we covered the fire and crawled into the tent and our sleeping bags.

Prayer

Lord, even at the end of our day you surprise us with wonders that appear for a moment and are preserved only in memory. Remember us in your kingdom. Amen