For the past three years,  my husband, Joe, and I have spent a week in late summer or early fall hiking the Rocky Mountains. From Canada to Wyoming, we’ve relished the crisp mountain air, the quaking leaves of yellow aspens, and the towering grandeur of snow-capped peaks. We’ve sensed God’s voice in powerful, thundering waterfalls and graceful, melodic cascades. We’ve seen his creativity in the mighty bull moose who blocked our trail, the herd of  bighorn sheep sizing us up, and the massive bison who didn’t give us a passing glance. God overwhelmed our senses with his presence. When one hike didn’t go as planned, he also reminded us he is everywhere, even in the remote, no-cell-signal locations of the world.

I had dreamed of hiking the Plain the Six Glaciers trail in Alberta, Canada for over a year. The name captured my imagination: a nine-mile hike that began on the shores of an extraordinary turquoise lake, then progressed to cascading waterfalls, six glaciers, and a historic tea house.

Equipped with two backpacks, two-and-a-half liters of water, two cans of bear spray, and four hiking poles, my husband and I set foot on the Plain of Six Glaciers trail on a mild late-August afternoon.

For the first two miles we strolled the shoreline of Lake Louise, a richly hued glacial lake flanked by mountains peaks. Our view stretched to Mount Victoria at the far end, its prominent glacier glistening in the sunlight. We hiked past a large delta created by sediment from glacial meltwater. Beside a towering wall of rock, we stopped to admire climbers hanging perilously from ropes high above us.

Soon, the trail transitioned to a forested climb where the sound of rushing water caused us to veer off-trail to investigate. Beyond a narrow stand of conifers, we discovered turbulent cascades of meltwater racing to the lake now below us. When we joined the trail again, we pulled out our hiking poles and began a steady incline.

God Is Ever-Present

I kept my eyes on the trail, positioning my hiking poles to navigate around boulders large and small. The steep trail took my breath away, but I pressed forward, knowing spectacular views and a Swiss chalet-styled teahouse awaited.

Two-and-a-half miles into the hike, a major tree root blocked the trail. Because of the incline, I’d have to hoist myself over it. I planted my hiking poles above the wide root. With every bit of energy I could muster, I pushed myself up with my left leg. Suddenly, my knee buckled, and my right shin came down full force on a sharp nub of root.

Blood spurted violently, hitting my face and Joe’s backpack. A pool of blood formed on the ground. I rolled over and grabbed my leg. A deep hole the width of a quarter glared at me.

My mind jumped to worst-case scenarios : Am I going to bleed out on this remote mountain path? Will the smell of my blood attract bears?

While I sat stunned on the root ledge, Joe sorted through both backpacks for something to stop the bleeding. Inside my backpack was a single tissue. He handed it to me, and I pushed it into the hole. It turned red and disappeared.

I kept pressure on the open wound with my hand while kicking dirt over the blood puddle with my foot. Minutes felt like hours. Joe considered using his shirt as a tourniquet when a family of hikers from China—a father, mother, and their two teenage sons—appeared on the trail.

As they approached, Joe called out, “My wife’s had an accident. Would you have something I could use to wrap her leg? A belt? Or strap?”

While they searched, I eyed the green bandana the woman wore around her neck, one that smartly coordinated with her hiking apparel. Before I dared to ask if she would part with it, she untied the knot and extended the bandana to me.

“Here. For you. You take.”

I gasped. “Thank you, thank you.” I folded the bandana several times before tying it around my shin. It fit snug, providing pressure to the tissue-filled wound. Within minutes, the bleeding slowed, then stopped. I stood up and moved around. No blood soaked through the bandana.

Our Plans are Not God’s Plans

Joe and I weighed our options. We could descend the trail and reach our lodge in three miles. Or we could continue the climb and reach the tea house in just over a mile. I liked the second option better. Besides, I reasoned, there must be a helicopter that brings supplies and workers to and from the teahouse. Perhaps the pilot would transport us down the mountain.

“We go. Get help,” the father said. His family forged ahead.

Joe and I followed, but at a slower pace. Soon, the trail emerged from the tree line into an exposed rocky landscape. Behind us, Lake Louise shone like a beautiful, shrinking jewel. Before us, the trail edged a vast glacial moraine with rocky ledges and multiple switchbacks.

Pain pierced my shin, but thoughts of reaching the tea house and riding back in a helicopter motivated me forward. Every twenty feet, I’d check the bandana for breakthrough bleeding. The outside fabric remained dry. Thank you, Lord.

With a half mile remaining, a staff member from the tea house intercepted us. After a brief exam, she determined she could offer better first aid once we arrived. I asked her if we could return to town on the helicopter. She laughed.

“Helicopter? I wish. We hike all our supplies in and our trash out.”

Our jaws dropped. Even without a compromising leg injury, this was no easy hike—nearly four miles, with three quarters of it over steep, rocky terrain.

I couldn’t help but wonder, How am I going to descend this mountain?

We Can Trust God’s Provision

Joe and I arrived at the teahouse where the attendant guided me to a chair on the deck, while pulling up another chair to elevate my leg. She opened a first aid kit and located a large trauma bandage. Carefully untying the bandana and inspecting the wound, she confirmed what we already suspected: further treatment would be needed at a hospital ER. Next, she cleaned around the edges of the wound, taped the thick trauma bandage around my lower leg, and double secured it with the bandana.

While I waited for pain medication to take effect, a server brought us cups of herbal tea, scones with strawberry jam, and slices of their signature chocolate cake. I relaxed and took in my surroundings while visiting with the teahouse staff and the family who had helped us on the trail.

We learned that the Plain of Six Glaciers teahouse was built in 1927 by the Canadian Pacific Railway and preserved in its original form. With no electricity, the staff prepared food on propane stoves. Rustic and charming, the teahouse contributed to the magic of the mountainous setting. Twice our conversations were interrupted by the distinct low-pitch rumble of an avalanche of ice breaking away from a nearby glacier.

My spirit soared even as my leg throbbed. God was ever-present—in the awe-inspiring terrain, in the response of people providentially on our trail, and in a heaven-sent green bandana.

After an hour’s rest, Joe and I began the descent back to civilization. The bandage and medication allowed me to move with more ease than I expected. I was able to appreciate the stunning and changing landscape as Lake Louise became a larger and larger emerald in the distance.

Once we arrived at the lodge, Joe retrieved our rental car and we headed to the nearest emergency room, an hour away. A physician proficient in treating hiking and skiing injuries spent the next two hours removing dirt from the wound (after six injections of local anesthesia) and applying internal and external stitches. The sharp projection from the root had penetrated close to the bone but hadn’t punctured a major blood vessel or nerve. I returned to the hotel well wrapped, well medicated, and on the path to healing. And very grateful.

God Redeems the Mess

Forever I will keep and treasure the green bandana that stopped the flow of blood after my sudden and repulsive hiking accident. Indeed, it was a divine piece of cloth that enabled me to reach the teahouse and get the first aid I needed to descend the mountain and travel to a distant emergency room.

The green bandana reminds me of God’s providential timing, the generosity of a Chinese woman, and the kindness of strangers. As a result, I left the Plain of Six Glaciers teahouse with more than a nostalgic experience. The green bandana and my prominent scar testify to God’s awareness and presence—anywhere and everywhere.

Your Turn

Have you experienced God as omnipresent (ever-present) and omniscient (all-knowing)? I’d love to hear your story. Please share with me by clicking this link .

Additional Reading

God is Without Limits by Dr. Bill Mounce K

The 3 P’s of God’s Presence by Mike Livingstone

GODISNOWHERE? by Cheryl Liberatore