Camping

Prayers are answered in ways we don’t expect—in God’s time, not ours.

One summer weekend, I was invited to go camping in Jackson Hole. I wasn’t an experienced camper, but I thought it might be fun to try it. I bought a large tent, packed a cooler full of food, and set off early in the morning. As we drove through Wyoming, I played The Mission by Ennio Morricone, feeling completely overwhelmed by the breathtaking beauty of each hill and valley. After nearly six hours on the road, we arrived at our campsite near a large brook. This was my kind of camping—park the car, throw the cooler on the picnic table, and set up the tent between the table and the water. After a hearty meal, we cleaned up and swam in the coldest mountain water I’ve ever experienced. Later, we gathered around a warm campfire, chatting until it was time to sleep. With it being summer, I left the tent’s front flap and windows open, welcoming the cool, fresh air—a peaceful break from the hustle of city life.

Experienced campers will probably spot my rookie mistakes right away. Around 2 a.m., I was jolted awake by the sound of loud eating nearby. The ground trembled as something heavy walked close to the tent. It hit me—the food cooler was still on the picnic table, practically inviting any hungry creature for a midnight snack. As I sat up, I saw large shapes moving outside, the noises they made eating were sickening as if we would be next. I had recently seen the movie The Bear, so I knew what could happen if we tried to make a run for the car parked just past the picnic table. I sat there thinking, This can’t be how it ends. I pulled a knife from my backpack, determined not to go down without a fight. Thankfully, I was talked out of doing anything rash. Instead, I said a quick prayer and felt inspired to quietly cut out the back tent window screen and escape, using the large tent as a blind between us and the huge bear.

We silently tiptoed barefoot through the back forest, until we finally reached an old trailer home. I banged on the door, pleading for help, explaining that a bear was at our campsite. An elderly man cracked open the door, eyeing the two of us—shivering, one of us holding a knife. His wife called out, asking if their kids were alright. He reassured her, saying their kids were grown and didn’t live there anymore, and it was probably just some campers spooked by a moose. He explained that moose sometimes wander by to investigate, then shut the door. Relieved, we found our way back to the campsite taking the road. A stupid moose—not even a bear!

As we neared the campsite, it became clear that the old man was right. There, munching at the picnic table, were a mother moose and her calf. Cold and exhausted, I wasn’t about to let a couple of oversized deer ruin our trip. Determined to chase them off, I ran toward them, yelling and throwing rocks. Not the smartest move, because the mother moose immediately charged at me. I ran faster than I ever have, my feet barely touched the ground. After a ridiculous back-and-forth chase, I finally managed to scare them off. We moved the food cooler and earlier trash to the car, making sure nothing edible was left out. This time, I closed the tent’s flaps and windows, grateful that the night had ended safely

The next morning, I was awakened by my head being nudged through the tent. Sleepy, I slowly unzipped the flap just enough to see the mother moose standing inches from my face, staring me down. Was she back to settle the score from the night before? Her sheer size struck me—much larger than any deer or horse. Trying to stay calm, I said, “Shoo,” but she stepped towards me. Is this really how it ends? Without thinking, I raised my hands by my head and shouted, “Whoa!” The moose tilted her head, studied me, and then snorted. After a tense moment, I sat back down and she turned and trotted away.

Years later, while watching a nature show, I learned why my inspired reaction to raise my hands had worked. Female moose are highly protective of their calves and become aggressive if they feel threatened. By raising my open hands near my head, I had unknowingly mimicked the appearance of a dominant male moose with antlers. When I sat down, it signaled that I wasn’t a threat, and she backed off. I realized just how lucky we had been as several people are injured by moose each year. Without question, I felt divinely inspired and protected. Sometimes, prayers are answered in ways we don’t expect.

He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.

If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is “thank you” that would suffice.