In the spring of 1985, as I stood on the edge of graduating from Rhodes College with a degree in physics, my life looked neatly charted on paper — equations mastered, exams finished, a summer youth ministry role waiting back home in northwest Tennessee. Yet beneath the clarity of formulas and future plans, there was a quiet openness about what might come next. When A Christian Ministry in the National Parks came recruiting during my senior year, something in me leaned in with curiosity.

I still remember a phone call with Warren Ost, who had founded the ministry in Yellowstone in the 1950s. That conversation felt less like a job interview and more like an invitation — into adventure, into responsibility, into a wider world of faith. I had grown up in a deeply involved, non-denominational Christian family, so ministry itself wasn’t unfamiliar. But stepping into ACMNP felt different. It felt expansive. I didn’t know exactly what to expect; I only knew it seemed like a faithful step forward into adulthood.

From October 1985 to May 1986, I served first in Zion National Park and then, during the winter season, in Death Valley National Monument, as it was called at the time. In Zion, I worked full-time in maintenance for the park concessionaire while organizing and leading an interdenominational Protestant worship service each Sunday. In Death Valley, I worked as a stock clerk at the Stovepipe Wells General Store, carrying the ACMNP ministry largely on my own in a small desert community. There were no detailed manuals — just the call to be salt and light in everyday conversations and relationships.  

That season became, in many ways, a literal and spiritual desert experience. I made life-shaping decisions about marriage and graduate school, and I began to see how ministry happens not only in pulpits, but in gift shops, dorm hallways, and careful conversations across differences. Some of our closest friends today are ACMNP alums who have gone on to serve Christ overseas for decades. Looking back, those months in the parks quietly shaped the trajectory of my life in ways I could never have imagined at 22 years old. 

Bryan H., Zion & Death Valley National Park, 1985–1986