The Last Enemy

Teach Us to Number Our Days That We Might Gain Hearts of Wisdom

July 2025

From the Black Hills of South Dakota, we continued northwest toward Yellowstone passing through one of the most breathtaking landscapes I’ve ever seen. It felt other-worldly. As if we had passed through the wardrobe and found ourselves in a faraway island country. It was stunning.
We had driven all day and were looking forward to reaching camp. But with two hours still to go, our journey through Yellowstone was brought to an unexpected halt. A massive bison stood in our lane just a few cars ahead. The long pause tested waning patience but had also awoken wonder. What an incredible creature.
When he had finally made up his mind to move, he led the procession a few hundred feet in a determinedly slow plod before making his exit and granting us access to accustomed speeds.

During our stay, we experienced the unique phenomena of the “Fountain Paint Pots” and the spectacular geysers (including “Old Faithful”) and enjoyed a restorative two days at camp (mountain air really does make for the best sleep). It amazes me how little I have really experienced or even knew existed in this country before our trip—and how much still I have yet to experience.

After our stay in Montana, we set off south for Provo, Utah.

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Day 9: July 4, 2025

Knowing a long day on the road lay ahead, the boys and I quickly settled into our travel routines. An hour later, the traffic on Idaho 20 slowed to a dead stop with no indication why. After twenty to thirty minutes of no movement, we guessed there must have been an accident ahead and, as if in confirmation, a police car screamed by with lights and sirens. Then a second one. Then an ambulance.
This felt serious. I felt a need to pray, and Rich led us in prayer for all involved.

Like people often do in these circumstances, men, women, even teenagers began leaving their vehicles to make their way toward the accident. I understand the nature of human curiosity and the belief that gaining information somehow provides power over feelings of helplessness, but there are some images I just do not want seared into my memory—and a terrible accident is one of them. Soon enough, they returned (rather quickly) to their cars and trucks, and we noticed one by one vehicles ahead getting turned around and heading north in the emergency lane.
A firefighter eventually made his way to us and explained our need to turn around. They were making room for a helicopter.

We passed semi-trucks and RVs much larger than ours and knew they’d have to sit where they were as there was not enough room for anything that big to turn around. We pulled over in an abandoned parking lot to figure out what to do next.
Unfortunately, Idaho 20 was the only major roadway running north and south for hundreds of miles. It was time for lunch, so we made quick sandwiches in the camper and then crossed the highway to a little gas station/gift shop to use the bathroom. We were in a little town called “Last Chance” and my bladder heard the message loud and clear!

On our way in, Rich overheard one of the store clerks explaining to a group of waylaid travelers directions to ATV trails that run behind and parallel to Idaho 20. They were all standing around him in a semi-circle looking down at a map while he pointed out where to find the road and where it should spit them out on the other side of the accident. The business was so serious he could have been leading a military campaign. Though he didn’t hear all the details, Rich believed he had heard enough, so we set out in search of the back roads.

We noticed a few vehicles ahead turning off the highway and proceeded to do likewise. We hadn’t expected to go “off roading” that day—not while towing a rented camper at any rate!—but there we were, in the woods of Idaho kicking up enough dirt to render sight useless. When the road forked, we weren’t sure which road the others had taken. We had to guess. With minimal cell service and Google Maps giving us up for lost in the wilderness, we drove on, and on, and on seemingly in circles, but in reality, further north. Not another soul, or Idaho 20, in sight.

Rich decided to pull over—if you can call it that, the roads were so narrow—to talk to a small group of people we eventually passed who were chatting near their ATV. Very soon after, Rich got back into the truck a little panicked as the local man told him there weren’t any roads “up here” that led to Route 20, and in fact, he said, we’d probably wind up back in Yellowstone if we kept going. We needed to turn around.
But how? For not only were the roads narrow, but we then found ourselves driving between a high wall of dirt on our left and a valley on our right.

After driving onward a few more miles (and agreeing that finding ourselves back in Yellowstone might not be so bad after all) the road widened enough to safely (though not easily—picture many little K-turns) get turned around. We then retraced our steps (thank God for Rich’s sense of direction) finding ourselves nearly where we first started when we noticed vehicles in the near distance! Soon after catching up to the other cars, we began passing vehicles coming from the opposite direction.
If the roads hadn’t felt impossibly narrow before, they certainly did then. Fifteen minutes of white-knuckling, teeth clenching driving later the trees cleared enough that we could see Idaho 20—still closed and backed up even after the hour of off-roading adventure. And just as the store clerk promised, the back road spit us out precisely where he said it would on the opposite side of the accident.

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Once settled into our hotel room in Provo much later, Rich learned the road had been closed for six hours. The accident had involved a semi and was fatal. It happened just five minutes ahead of us.

I watched a few stray fireworks from the window and said a silent prayer for the family whose lives were changed that day. I’ve been there—and it is a shock that rocks you to the very core of your being.

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This wasn’t the only news of death we received in the course of our trip. For on our way from Provo to Moab the very next day, I read news of devastating floods in Texas that took many lives—including so many children at Camp Mystic.

My heart and mind were heavy with grief, and I felt a deep longing to be in God’s comforting presence. Sunday morning, we made our way to Community Church of Moab and were warmly received by His saints. We felt refreshed by the reading of Scripture, Christ-centered liturgy, and singing God glorifying songs of praise.

It wasn’t until near the end of our trip, however, that I was able to reflect on what it meant to my spirit to be with God’s people—even ones I knew not at all—in the dark valley of that time.

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Day 19: Monday, July 14

I read a news article that the day after we saw the Grand Canyon on July 7 (with scorching hot temps reaching above 100 degrees), a 67-year-old Texas man succumbed to heat stroke while attempting to reach the Colorado River. It appears he had planned to stay at Phantom Ranch, a popular camping site at the bottom of the canyon. The National Park Service had warned visitors that temperatures below the rim could reach between 110 and 120 degrees that day in the shade. Park rangers were later alerted to an unresponsive man on the South Kaibab Trail just before noon. Passing hikers gave him CPR and then arriving medical personnel attempted to resuscitate him, to no avail.

I remember all the signs posted everywhere about the dangerous risks of hiking the canyon: “Know Your Limits!” “What Goes Down, Must Come Up” “Don’t Hike Alone!” The sad truth is people don’t know their limits, or they believe they are stronger than they actually are. I don’t like to acknowledge my limits—it makes me feel weak. It’s not only the young who believe themselves invincible. I remember a week this past June before my birthday—it was hot! Sunny and in the 90s and I’m out there determined to finish the mulching—despite feeling a bit weak and dizzy at times. I ended up with heat exhaustion which left me with energy-sapping fatigue for a week. I worried I would never recover my strength. Our human bodies are so frail, but many of us don’t want to accept just how frail they really are.

Later that same day, I read that one of my favorite pastors, John MacArthur had passed into glory. He had lived a long, fruitful life of devoted love and obedience to Christ, but his body was still subject to the curse of death ushered in by Adam’s disobedience.

Our lives are but a breath. Yes, even when days feel long and unending. In the spring of our youth, we feel tempted to believe we’ll never taste death. But the truth is, it will happen, and not a single one of us knows when or how.

“Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.” Psalm 90:12 NLT

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This trip was our attempt to escape the usual and ordinary, and in many ways we did just that. It was a wonderful, eye-opening, “once in a lifetime” trip, but as I reflect on those days I understand there are some parts of life from which we cannot escape—no matter how many miles we climb into the mountains. The shadow of death remains the unwelcome companion on life’s journey.

As I write this, I am still reeling from the heart wrenching events that took place this week in America. I have spent many mornings sitting quietly, reading the psalms, talking to God. In my grief, I pleaded for Him to return because I don’t want to be in this world anymore. It’s too cruel, too painful. I felt afraid. I felt angry. I felt defeated.

It’s in those dark times when we’re tempted to despair, when it feels as though evil is winning, when life feels unstable and out of control, that we must run to Him who makes our footing secure. In the whelming flood of grief, it’s tempting to grab hold of anything that gives us a sense of control and power—however fleeting. To acknowledge God as Sovereign means releasing any notions that we are. So, I’ve been asking God to remind my heart of who He is and what He promises to those who love Him.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid? When evil men advance…when my enemies attack…my heart will not fear.” (Ps 27:1-3)

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” (Ps 23:4)

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.” (Ps 46:1-2)

“The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know Your name will trust in You, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You.” (Ps 9:9-10)

The courageous faith shared by the psalmists buoys my downcast soul. Their triumphant declarations of trust chase fear away and lend strength to my heart. They raise my lowered gaze and point me to my High Tower. And I hope they encourage you too.

We are called to wait on the Lord. And waiting is hard. When the Israelites stared death in the face, Moses stirred them to trust in God: “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today…The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” (Exodus 14:13-14)

And David exhorts us in the same way: “Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” (Ps 27:14)

One thing we wait for is the day when, at last, death is destroyed. “Sit at my right hand,” Yahweh said to His Anointed One, “until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.” (Ps 110:1) Paul helps us understand who these enemies are more fully in his letter to the Corinthians: “After that the end will come, when he will turn the Kingdom over to God the Father, having destroyed every ruler and authority and power. For Christ must reign until he humbles all his enemies beneath his feet. And the last enemy to be destroyed is death.” (1 Cor 15:24-26 NLT)

It doesn’t change the tragic circumstances that have taken place in recent times, but these truths create solid ground on which I can rest my grieving heart. To know in my bones that in all circumstances the Lord is Good and that right now He is working to redeem it all for those who love Him gives me a peace that quiets my disturbed soul.

“But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear Him,
on those whose hope is in His unfailing love,
to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine.

We wait in hope for the Lord; He is our help and our shield.
In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in His holy name.
May Your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord,
even as we put our hope in You.”

Psalm 33:18-22

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