Just a few weeks before I was supposed to begin my summer serving with ACMNP in Rocky Mountain National Park, I dislocated my knee and tore my MPFL. I remember thinking, “If I don’t need surgery, I’m still going.”

Three days before I was supposed to leave, I had an MRI. My doctor determined I wouldn’t need surgery, but I would need extensive physical therapy. I told myself, “That’s doable.” 

Soon after, I found myself hobbling through the Detroit airport with a large brace on my leg, heading to Colorado. As the plane took off, I looked down at my stiff leg sticking out into the aisle and wondered what I had gotten myself into. 

Recovery was slow. I swam most mornings before work to strengthen my knee, attended physical therapy, and did my exercises multiple times a day. Eventually, I could manage short, easy hikes. 

My plans for a summer full of backpacking and long mountain adventures had changed, but God used that change to slow me down. Instead of focusing on the trails, I had more time to get to know the incredible people around me. My coworkers came from all over the world, and the friendships we built became one of the greatest parts of the summer. 

Still, I longed to get deeper into the mountains. 

One afternoon at work, a few coworkers invited me to hike Twin Sisters for sunrise the next morning. I hesitated but finally said, “I’m in—but I’ll probably be slow.” 

They didn’t mind at all. They promised to stay with me every step of the way. 

At 3 a.m. the next morning, we stood at the trailhead and began the climb. About a mile in, I started to question whether this had been the best decision. As we navigated rocks and fallen trees, I quietly began praying that I would find a sturdy walking stick to help stabilize my weak leg—especially for the hike down. 

The higher we climbed, the fewer trees there were, and I knew my chances of finding a stick were disappearing. 

When we reached the summit, my worries faded for a moment. The view was breathtaking. The mountain peaks stretched into the distance, glowing red in the first light of sunrise. We sat on the boulders, resting and soaking in the beauty around us. 

Eventually, I decided to start heading down early, knowing I would move slower than the others. One friend came with me in case I needed help. 

Descending the boulder field was slow and difficult. Often, I had to sit down and scoot along the rocks because I knew my knee wouldn’t hold if I jumped or stepped wrong. I kept praying that I would find a walking stick to help me the rest of the way down. 

About ten minutes into our descent, we saw a woman in a bright red jacket hiking up the trail toward us. As she got closer, I noticed she carried a beautiful walking stick. I remember thinking, “God, it would be great if I could find something like that.” 

My friend and I stepped aside to let her pass. As I turned to keep walking, she suddenly grabbed my arm and turned me toward her. 

Without hesitation, she placed the walking stick in my hand and said, 

“Here, this is for you. I was sent here to give you this stick.” 

Stunned, I barely managed to say thank you before she continued up the trail. 

The stick was beautiful—hand-carved with seven notches near the bottom. 

A few minutes later, the rest of our group caught up with us. When I told them about the woman in the red jacket, they looked confused. They hadn’t seen anyone else on the trail, even though we were still above the tree line, where it would have been nearly impossible to miss someone. 

In that moment, whether she was an angel or simply a stranger, I knew God had heard my prayers and answered them in the most unexpected way. 

None of my coworkers were Christians, but that moment opened the door for meaningful conversations about my faith as we made our way down the mountain. 

Almost ten years later, I still have that walking stick. It sits in our home as a reminder that God hears our prayers—even the small ones. 

Lauren S., Rocky Mountain National Park, 2016