When God Paints Alone: Little Soda Lake Revealed
Some landscapes demand a price before they reveal their beauty—and this one asked me to brave winter, pain, and fear just to see what God had been holding in the quiet.
The hike toward Little Soda Lake felt endless that morning, each step sinking into snow that swallowed my boots and tested muscles that don’t always cooperate—but that struggle is exactly what sharpens my gratitude when beauty finally appears. From a distance the lake looked normal, but as we moved closer, something extraordinary began to unfold: the water shifted into a deep crimson, glowing against the white silence like a secret God had been saving for the brave. The air smelled crisp and metallic, the kind of cold that bites your cheeks and makes every breath feel earned, and for a moment I simply stood there, letting the scene wash over me.
Conor distracting the children, keeping them safely back because we sensed didn't want them to drink the water. But nothing could prepare me for how surreal it felt to stand before that red water alone. It wasn’t just a lake; it was a moment suspended between fear and awe, the kind of moment that reminds you how alive you are. And then Lola padded quietly to my side, her warmth grounding me, as if she too understood we were standing before something sacred.
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