You Can See God for Miles
Good Son-Day morning!!
Psalm 95:7 - Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.
You will find the “Good News” here.
5280 High
You Can See God for Miles
Last week, Jo and I flew to Denver to watch Darlene snag her master’s degree in Psychology, an event important enough to justify a whirlwind trip and, of course, another travel blog entry. Conveniently, Denver had been sitting on my bucket list anyway, so really, the stars aligned.
We were only in town for two days, which is exactly the type of trip Jo and I love—blink-and-you’re-back-home style.
We caught a redeye into Denver on Thursday, landing just at midnight. The flight itself was quick—barely two hours—which is about the maximum amount of time my patience allows for airborne humanity.
I had researched Denver’s public transit, but it did not agree with our itinerary in any meaningful way. So, I surrendered and rented a car for a day. Thankfully, the price didn’t single‑handedly tank my retirement plan, just $79. We grabbed the car around 1 PM and cruised across the plains for about 45 minutes to reach our hotel, the Comfort Suites in Aurora.
The moment we got to our room, we collapsed. We had to be up at 6:30 AM to drive to Loveland, about 60 miles north, to meet Darlene at Blue Arena.
The neighborhood around the hotel offered only a scattering of streetlights, so the darkness kept its secrets tucked away. Night pressed against the windows, making everything beyond them blend into one big shrug of a view.
But at 7 AM, when the sun finally stretched itself awake, we pulled open the drapes.
The room faced west and, much to our delight, the Rockies sauntered into view as though they’d been waiting all night for their grand entrance. They stood there like majestic guests who make the whole room feel classier just by showing up.
I must say, I’m getting better at selecting hotels that offer two crucial amenities: an airport shuttle and free breakfast. We loaded up on essential breakfast vittles (I never pass up free scrambled eggs) and started the hour‑and‑ten‑minute drive along I‑70, then I‑25, right in the thick of rush hour.
Still, we welcomed the drive. It took us straight through the core of Denver and then beyond.
Our first observation: Denver is not nestled in the middle of the Rockies. Yes, it’s a mile high (5,280 feet), but about 95% of the city sits firmly on the high plains, leaning casually at the foot of the mountains. Jo and I decided this made us “High Plains Drifters"; we felt pretty cool about it.
Second observation: Colorado has a whole lot of land that looks like it’s patiently waiting for someone to come along with a grand idea. Mile after mile of open plains, arid, browb sun‑washed grass stretching out in every direction. Not a tree in sight, just pure, unfiltered horizon.
And honestly? The sheer vastness of it all was every bit as breathtaking as the snow‑capped mountains flexing in the distance. It’s the kind of landscape that makes you feel small in the most grounding way. Another artistic masterpiece painted by God, using nothing but space, silence, and sky.
Oddly enough, during our entire round trip to Loveland and back, we spotted exactly one Walmart, one Target, and not a single supermarket. Where do Denverites get their groceries? Do they even eat?
One thing became clear: in this city, you definitely need a car if you plan on acquiring any staples that aren’t air or sunshine.
Blue Arena in Loveland sits in the middle of a sprawling parking lot—so huge that finding a spot was easier than finding a Denver grocery store. I noticed a few posters with QR codes, but Jo and I were already heading toward the entrance. Still, something kept tugging at me, like a tiny voice whispering, “Hey… you’re missing something expensive.”
We casually chatted with another ceremony-goer, who offhandedly mentioned she had paid for parking. That was all it took, I pulled an Olympic‑level about‑face and hustled back to the QR poster. I scanned it, pulled up the site, and paid the parking fee like my financial future depended on it.
Good thing I did. Not ninety seconds later, two tow trucks began circling the lot like vultures who had skipped breakfast scanning plates, hunting for unpaid fees, and hauling cars during the graduation ceremony.
This was not subtle.
This was not kind.
This was a full-blown shakedown..
The towing fee alone was over $200, plus another $100 in “service” charges. What a racket. Honestly, the degrees weren’t the only things getting taken that morning.
It’s noonish now, I have to get the car back by 8 PM. We had very little time left to tour Denver. Jo and I, at the pleading of my graduate sister, we spent a little with the other family members who also attended the ceremony.
After connecting my family, I whisked Jo away to downtown Denver. My pre-trip research on Denver did not provide much information on “must-see” attractions other than the Denver Zoo. I did not travel 698 miles to observe some critter behind plexiglass.
We decided to view following sites:
Mile High Stadium - Denver Broncos (football)
Coors Field - Colorado Rockies (baseball)
Ball Arena - Denver Nuggets (basketball)
State Capitol
Union Station - a downtown transit hub and major cultural and tourist destination.
The surprise MVP of our Denver adventure wasn’t a museum, a landmark, or even a trendy downtown hotspot, it was Mile High Stadium. And not just the stadium itself, but the parking lot. Yes, you read that right. The parking lot was doing the most.
Scattered around were all sorts of unexpected gems, including a miniature replica of the stadium that you can actually sit in. It’s like someone said, “What if we made a tiny Mile High for people who want to feel tall?” and honestly, I respect the vision.
Everywhere you turn, there are plaques honoring Broncos legends from years past, basically a walkable scrapbook for anyone who’s ever yelled at a TV during football season. It was quirky, fun, and way more entertaining than we expected a parking lot to be.
After soaking up all the Bronco pigskin heroics we could handle, we wandered into downtown Denver to check out their version of “Union Station.” We were hoping for the same wow factor you get in Kansas City, Washington, D.C., or even Saint Paul’s grand old depot.
The outside definitely teased us with promise, historic architecture, great signage, the whole vibe. But once we stepped inside… well, it felt less like a grand rail hub and more like we’d accidentally walked into a compact mall food court. Cute, sure. Inspiring, not so much.
We grabbed a bite at the Terminal Bar and Grill, a spot serving what they proudly call American brasserie fare. And yes, brasserie is one of those French words that instantly makes everything sound fancier, even if you’re basically eating comfort food with better lighting.
We both went for the fish and chips, crispy, golden, and genuinely delicious. But if we’re being honest with our taste buds, they didn’t quite reach the legendary heights of the fish and chips we devoured in Seattle. Those set a bar that Denver’s version politely waved at from a distance.
The time to return the rental car was growing nigh. We departed downtown Denver to find a gas station near the car rental return site. I found a gas station that fit the bill. I gassed up, but discovered I had a flat tire. What an annoyance! I called road assistance two times. The service never answered and did not show up. I was running out of patience because it was 6 PM and the car had to be returned by 8 PM.
I was determined to capitalize on the roadside assistance service I purchased with rental. I waited to no avail. Still no response by 6:45.
A tiny voice inside me, “Stop being stubborn and just change the tire yourself.”
So I did.
And let me tell you, I changed that tire in Indy‑500 pit‑crew record time. We’re talking a blistering ten minutes.
But whatever. I got the job done and returned the rental car with minutes to spare, feeling like a DIY legend.
Good thing I didn’t wait around, because roadside assistance finally called me back when I was already safely home in Minnesota. Yes, Minnesota. As in, several states away from the tire that needed assistance.
Sometimes God doesn’t always shout, He whispers. And in my case, that whisper sounded a lot like, “Stop being stubborn and just change the tire already.”
So I did. And honestly, it turned into a full‑on mustard‑seed‑faith moment. One tiny act of obedience, one surprisingly fast tire change, and suddenly I’m out here clocking Indy‑500 pit‑crew times,.
It reminded me of Isaiah 30:21:
Your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’
God promises guidance, but He doesn’t promise He’ll argue with us about it. Sometimes the blessing is on the other side of “Just do it.”
Had I dug in my heels, I would’ve been late returning the car and probably inventing new words out of frustration. Instead, the car went back on time, my dignity stayed intact, and reimbursement is now happily on its way.
Moral of the story?
When God whispers, don’t overthink it. Don’t negotiate. Don’t stall.
Just walk in it, even if that walk involves a jack, a lug wrench, and a tire you didn’t plan on changing.
Hallelujah! Sing a New Song to GOD. Sing HIS praise in the assembly of godly people. Psalm 149:1.
"The Master's Hand", 2023, Freddy Washington and Tasha Page-Lockhart
Some songs don’t just play; they reach in, grab something deep, and refuse to let go. “The Master’s Hand” is one of those rare tracks that, from the very first listen, feels like it’s stitching something back together inside you.
Freddy Washington brings that smooth, steady soulfulness he’s known for, and Tasha Page‑Lockhart? She doesn’t just sing, she testifies. Together, they create a sound that feels like standing in the middle of a storm and suddenly realizing the sun is breaking through.
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