Santa of the Slickrock

I stayed in Sandy, Utah, which was more snowy than what its name suggested. The next morning I cut my way through the Wasatch as the sun rose, and emerged in Helper to grab brunch at a local hole-in-the-wall. While in this town under the ramparts of the mountains I came across the following sign:

I love this, yet at the same time I feel I ought to point out that art itself is not the solution to reality, but that it points in His direction. Of course, feeling like I’m supposed to say that is itself problematic and smacks of a certain kind of insecure obligation that convinces no one and only puts people off. But maybe it’s useful to foreground this and be transparent about it, because I wonder if others feel similarly awkward-but-obligated about their seriously held religious beliefs.

Later that day I made it to Arches, after a long drive under a dry fog. I only have a photo of Delicate Arch (which you might know from the Utah license plate) from the distant lower viewpoint. I hiked up to the upper view, but was stymied by the icy, vertiginous ledge that was the only access point. I had just assumed that since so many tourists were making it up, including ones who were clearly inexperienced hikers and ones with small children, that it must be safe. On seeing the path, I realized that in point of fact we had very different ideas of ‘safe.’

Just as I was about to turn around and return to my car, something caught my eye, coming around the corner of the ledge.

It was a veritable Christmas miracle: the Santa of the Slickrock!