Glimpsing Denali

Last weekend, my family and I made the long drive home from Denali National Park. As anyone who’s traveled that stretch of road knows, it can be quiet and winding, stretching out like a ribbon through the heart of Alaska’s wilderness. The trip had been good—restful, full of laughter and snacks, and the kind of long conversations that only happen when you're off the grid. But the moment that stayed with me most wasn’t part of the itinerary. It was something we didn’t plan for and certainly didn’t expect.

On that drive back home to Palmer, we caught a glimpse of Denali.

If you’ve lived in Alaska for any length of time, you know how rare that can be. The mountain is so massive and so tall, it makes its own weather. Most days, it’s shrouded in clouds, hidden from view. But on this particular evening, as we wound our way through the trees and hills, the clouds parted just enough for us to see it—Denali, in all its glory.

We didn’t have a full, clear view. That’s part of what made it so meaningful. For almost an hour, we saw the mountain in glimpses. A sudden break in the trees, a patch of open sky, and there it was—snowy and still, distant yet undeniable. Each time, we gasped a little. Each time, it felt like a gift.

There’s something about seeing Denali that always fills me with awe. I’ve seen it dozens of times now, but each time feels sacred. And maybe it’s because I know it isn’t something I can make happen. I can’t control the clouds or clear the sky. I can’t guarantee the right angle or perfect timing. I can only look up and hope.

That drive, with the mountain rising and falling from view, reminded me of the way I sometimes experience God. There are seasons in life when His presence feels immediate and unmistakable—when the spiritual sky is clear, and I can see His hand in everything. But there are also times when God feels obscured. When life is dense with trees, heavy with clouds, and all I get are brief glimpses of divine reassurance.

Still, even those glimpses are enough.

As we drove, I reflected on a verse from The Book of Mormon: "Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth"(Mosiah 4:9).

I am mindful that even when I can’t see the whole picture, even when I don’t understand the full path ahead, God is still God. He created the mountain. He created me. And He sees what I cannot. His wisdom and power are greater than my circumstances, and His timing is often different from mine—but always right.

That’s what stirred me as we watched Denali fade in and out of view. It wasn’t just the beauty of the mountain—it was the way I felt seen in that moment, as if God was saying, “I’m here. I’m still watching. Keep going.”

We didn’t stop the car. We didn’t need to. Just being able to witness that silent majesty, even through branches and clouds, was enough to lift my heart. It reminded me of the bigger story being written—one where God is not only Creator, but Companion. Not just powerful, but present.

I know many of us are navigating difficult seasons—uncertainty, grief, transitions, questions without easy answers. Maybe we feel like we’re driving through spiritual fog, unsure of what lies ahead. But if we look up, if we stay present, we might catch a glimpse of something bigger. A reminder that we’re not alone. A glimpse of the God who created all things and still watches over His children.

That one-hour stretch of road felt holy to me. Not because I had a grand revelation, but because I was reminded that the God who made Denali—immovable, majestic, awe-inspiring—is also the God who walks with me, sees me, and speaks in subtle, sacred ways.

If you find yourself in a season where God seems hidden, where life feels clouded, don’t lose heart. Keep your eyes open. Look between the trees. You never know when He’ll give you just enough of a glimpse to remind you: He is still there. He always has been.

And just like Denali, He’s bigger than we can imagine—always worth looking for, and always worth trusting.

Sally Kohlhase lives in Palmer and enjoys running marathons, reading the classics, and spending time in nature. She is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.