The Spiritual Lesson at Devil’s Lake

Devil’s Lake, Wisconsin

By Kirsten Nicole

October 15, 2025

My sister held out her hand to me, one foot propped against a jagged, steepled boulder and one on a flatter one, sandwiched between two more jutting rocks. I carefully nestled one foot in the small indentation on the edge of the rock before her and grabbed her hand with my left. I used my body weight to swing my right leg and land my right foot swiftly, half bent, in the crevice of two other rocks. She steadied me, and I searched for the next right spot to hope out of the way of my cousin behind me.

The rocks were all gray, though that was just about all they had in common in appearance and patches of rocks looked as if they would start a giant rockslide down the hill if you stepped in just the right—or wrong—place. Not a pleasant thought as we continued to climb. My view as we climbed was limited primarily to my black and white tennis shoes and the fissures between the rocks, some ten feet deep.

But the process was fun. No two steps or positions or teensy bit of progress was the same. Every challenge was new, though each rock seemed very familiar. Whitened, moss shadows were stamped into many of them, and some thin, yellow pine needles and small dried pinecones had settled in the cracks and many flat places where we sought to set our toes as we pushed up to the next surface. Our tennis-shoes and boots often swiped away those loose pine needles to keep from slipping from our precarious perches. The climb was exciting, a touch dangerous, productive, and tiring. 

For the first time, we stopped to rest, turning our backs to the arduous climb and the thousands of rocks scattering the steep hillside to the view behind us.

My breath caught. Below us, surrounded by tall, thin evergreens sprinkled with patches of autumn reds and oranges was a shimmering lake looking like rippled glass. One single kayak floated along the lake, but the kayakers weren’t aggressive in their activity, so the only thing that disturbed the water’s surface was the lightest of chilled breezes. Our rock-littered hillside led down to the treeline, protecting the lake, which round around another small mountain and out of sight. The sky was painted with various gray and white clouds against a pale, blue fall sky. My brother’s theory was that God had put Bob Ross on the job of painting it that day from heaven. To the right, between a line of orange trees ran the train tracks which pointed straight into the horizon. 

This. This was a much nicer view than my tennis shoes had been for the last half hour. The climb had been a fun adventure of its own, but I hadn’t been able to enjoy the view as I took each, next right step to continue the climb. We had to intentionally stop and rest, to enjoy the fruit of our labor, before turning back to the challenge and climbing higher…where…if possible, the view only became more stunningly beautiful. The climbing was fun and challenging and meaningful, but it took time and pause to look around and really appreciate the journey, the bigger picture, the surroundings. I couldn’t do that while I was climbing, but I could do it while I was resting. The rest was for enjoying the beauty of all the work I’d done and to prepare for the work I was to do.

And I think I can relate to that… :)

How are you seeking intentional, God-honoring rest?