LOST: God Please Save Me!

The high peaks of the Uinta Mountains stretched endlessly before me, their snow-capped ridges glistening under the cold morning light. This was no ordinary expedition. It would be a test of my courage, my skill, and, unbeknownst to me, my very soul.

I had spent years running—running from the very faith that once anchored me, convinced I could conquer life’s mountains without it. My life had been one of highs and lows, of success and arrogance. At the peak of my professional life, I had built an empire: a thriving healthcare business in Utah that employed 750 people. I was proud, financially secure, and utterly convinced that I owed my success to no one but myself.

But pride has a way of clouding the heart. I distanced myself from God, dismissing prayer, shunning church, and chasing a life of self-reliance. Faith and trust were for the weak, I thought. Anxiety and independence became my uneasy companions as I plunged headfirst into life, leaving behind the iron rod that had once guided me.

Yet, this hunting trip was one adventure I always longed for: the legendary elk hunt deep in the Uinta’s. My brothers—Jeff, Phillip, Bryce, and Scott—had been my lifelong comrades, bound not just by blood but by a shared hunger for daring exploits. But this hunt was their sacred tradition, an untamed quest far from any semblance of civilization. Navigating the unmarked trails required an innate sense of direction, one I sorely lacked. I always got lost.

Then came my chance. A handheld GPS device landed in my hands like an invitation to a dream. For months, I trained with it, mastering the art of setting waypoints and retracing my steps. Armed with this newfound tool, I was finally ready to join my brothers.

The trek to the campsite was grueling, the air crisp and biting as we navigated the dense forest. The towering timber seemed alive, whispering secrets of the wild. My brothers moved with an ease born of years in the mountains, their confidence a stark contrast to my own nervous excitement. But when we reached the camp—a haven in the wilderness with a roaring fire and shared laughter—I felt, for the first time in years, a sense of belonging, and accomplishment.

Morning came early, with the sun still hiding behind the horizon. The snow that had fallen during the night blanketed the landscape in a dazzling white. It was breathtaking, a scene from a world untouched by man. Beautiful, and dangerous. We split up, each man venturing into the wilderness alone, agreeing to reunite at camp by nightfall.

The hunt began. The crunch of snow underfoot, the distant sound of branches snapping—I felt alive. Yet, as the hours stretched on, excitement gave way to unease. The elk eluded me, and when I checked my GPS to ensure I could find my way back to camp, my blood ran cold.

The device was malfunctioning. The waypoint I had carefully set at camp flickered in and out, the arrow pointing me in erratic directions. Panic set in as I tried to make sense of the senseless. The towering trees became a maze, every path leading to more confusion. I was utterly, hopelessly lost. How could this be?

The hours dragged by. The snow continued to fall, erasing any faint trace of my footsteps. Firing my rifle in distress brought no response. My brothers, I knew, were somewhere out there, searching for me. But the forest was vast, and I was only one man in an endless sea of white.

Night fell, and with it came the bone-deep chill of despair. Exhausted, frozen, and alone, I collapsed into the snow. For the first time in years, I cried—not out of frustration, but out of a deep, unshakable regret. I had done everything to save myself. From the preparation, to the practice, and even a renewed confidence to get me here. But it was all for not. I was receiving unexpected consequences, and had run out of “self-reliance” to resolve my problem.

The frozen air of darkness had seemed to creep into my soul. I was in trouble! I had been lost for hours, as I felt the time was far past midnight. The Shivering which once consumed my body, seems to go away. I was hypothermic…and… I was finished.

I rolled to my side to accept my fate, and noticed in the glow of the moonlight, the letters on my GPS seemed to whisper to me: “G.P.S.” But as I stared at them, a new meaning dawned: “God, Please Save.” But it was I who chose to venture through my life on my own. “God, Please Save”. The Wisper became an invitation, that I was ready to accept. But would God even hear me? I’m certain that He knew that it was a situation that I had brought upon myself. How could I be so foolish?

I rolled to my knees, the snow biting through my clothes, and began to plead with God. My raw emotions seemed to dictate the content of the prayer. I WAS SORRY! I confessed my arrogance, my foolishness, my pride. I told God I was sorry and begged for His guidance. Each word would take me closer to Him, for I once knew Him well. Time slowed down, and I began to feel the hope in reuniting with my loving Heavenly Father.

And then it came—a warmth spread through my frozen body, and I was up on my feet, walking. Driven by an invisible force, each footstep that I took was with confidence in a direction that was unknown. Straight ahead, through the dense timber and unyielding darkness, I moved with an assurance that was not my own. I walked this direction for about 45 minutes.

Then, like a beacon in the night, I saw it—a campfire flickering through the trees. Could that be? A fire! I stumbled forward, my legs trembling with exhaustion, until I fell into the arms of my brother Jeff.

“Where have you BEEN?!” he shouted, half-relieved, half-furious. The others soon returned; their own search efforts having taken them miles away. We reunited with hugs and laughter, but my heart was elsewhere.

That night, I found more than just my way back to camp. I found my way back to God.

The experience humbled me in ways nothing else could. It reminded me of the simple truth I had once forgotten: that no amount of worldly success, no tool or technology, could ever replace the guidance and love of my Heavenly Father.

Due to the dense cloud cover of that day and night, and extremely dense timber, the GPS was not able to connect with the satellites above, making the device useless. Its direction was littered with false readings, mixed in with some truth, but without the logic to know the difference.

Today, my relationship with God is stronger than ever. I recognize His presence in all of the aspects of my life. He will always be the beacon of light that I will choose to follow. Life still has its challenges, but I no longer face them alone. God forgave my arrogance, yet He provided a way for me to learn this concept “on my own” so to speak. He is waiting for you to come to Him as well.

In the wilderness of life, it’s not the GPS or the compass that will truly guide you home—it’s the faith to ask, “God, Please Save.”

 

You can read more of River Wilde’s writings a www.riverwilde.blog