Tucked away up in the far, far northwest corner of the state of Montana, Glacier National Park is a dazzling jewel. With its rugged, snow-capped mountains, jade green glacier-fed lakes and its bulging encyclopedia of wildlife, this park stands alone in the National Park compendium.

It was a bit risky coming up here this late in the season, but our gamble has paid off. Everywhere we look our eyes are greeted with a golden jackpot of glimmering aspen leaves and breathtaking views. Joan and I have bruised arms from repeatedly pinching each other to make sure we are not dreaming.

Over and above the abundant natural beauty, however, (which, to be honest, we fully expected to see) this trip has also rewarded us with a wellspring of human magnificence. 

Take Doug and Carl,* for example. We bumped into them last night when we wandered down to the southern shore of Lake McDonald to watch the sunset. Ooooing and Ahhhing over the changing colors of the mountainsides and lenticular clouds overhead, we asked this pair of elderly gentlemen (yes… they were just about exactly our age) if they would take a photo of us against the magnificent backdrop of the Little Matterhorn and the lake. 

They very politely obliged, and we returned the favor for them. 

“Where are you guys from?” we asked them.

“Indiana,” Doug replied. “And you?”

“We’re from Fort Collins, Colorado,” Joan said. 

And then, after a few minutes of idle chit-chat, leaning on the railing of the cabin’s front deck, their story began spilling out. 

As it turned out, Doug and Carl were on a combination E-bike/car tour of the west. They had been gone about three weeks already and were headed next to Yellowstone National Park. 

My initial assumption was that they were a cute, older, gay couple who enjoyed traveling together. But then Doug set me straight (pardon the pun); “For about 40 years our families took vacations together.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “That was back when our wives were alive,” he added wistfully. “But then they both died within a year of each other a couple of years back. So, after sitting around and moping for a while, Carl and I decided we would continue the tradition.”

Carl smiled and then quietly added, “It’s been great,” a barely noticeable tear trickling out of the corner of his eye.

The next morning, we headed out for a drive on the “Going to the Sun” Road. This is a beautiful winding road with lots of pull-outs and trail heads along the way. It cuts diagonally across the park from West Glacier to East Glacier and is about 50 miles long. At one particularly stunning viewpoint we parked on the shoulder of the road and got out for some touristy gawking.

Just beyond where we parked, a man was climbing back up the embankment from the shore of Lake McDonald. It is a steep climb, so when he reached the top I called out and congratulated him. “You made it!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” the man said with a distinctive middle Eastern accent. “For a minute though I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

Joan – who is always fascinated by accents – turned to the man and said, “I love your accent! May I ask where you are from originally?”

Yuli* told us he is from Israel and is traveling through the western U.S. with his Polish friend Jakub*. On their trip, Yuli and Jakub have visited Yellowstone and are now headed toward the Pacific Northwest after thoroughly exploring Glacier. 

With only minimal encouragement from us, Yuli started talking about the current situation in Israel. He talked about his deep sorrow for his country, the wars on both northern and southern borders, and the hostages still being held by Hamas. The more he talked, the more evident his pain became.

“I am worried that soon there will no longer be an Israel,” Yuli mourned. “Everyone is leaving. Bebe (Netanyahu) doesn’t seem to care about average Israeli citizens anymore. He is only interested in waging war,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

And then he added, “All I want is peace. To be able to live in my own country and let my neighbors live in theirs.”

His candor and obvious passion took me completely off guard. As I struggled with how to respond to him, Joan piped up and said, “Well, I pray you are able to find some measure of peace here on this trip.” In reply, Yuli flung his arms wide and looked around, as if to say, “Look at where we are! What could be more peaceful than THIS!”

In a moment of ecstatic wonder, the Psalmist declared, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are humans that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?” (Psalm 8:3-4, NRSVU). 

When I stand in the middle of a place like Glacier National Park, I can only utter a solemn “AMEN, brother.” But then when I stop and think of the richness and depth of people like Doug and Carl and Yuli and Jakub and Joan and Adam and Graham and Tom and Silas and Andy and you and you and you and YOU I am compelled to stop and add, “Thank you, God, for the rich variety of beauty you have created.”

Abundant blessings;

• Not their real names