Finding God in a Dakotas Road Trip

“…the universe was formed
at God’s command….”
Hebrews 11:3

On a recent road trip through the Dakotas, I found myself unexpectedly overwhelmed—not just by the scale of the landscapes, but by a deep and lingering sense of the divine. I had come on a girls’ trip, expecting fun and maybe a few good photos. What I found instead was something more lasting: a powerful affirmation of God’s presence woven into the very fabric of nature.

Our first major stop was Theodore Roosevelt National Park, just outside of Medora, North Dakota. The landscape here is unlike anything I’ve ever seen—vast, wind-swept grasslands interrupted by strange, jagged rock formations that seem almost alien. Roosevelt himself once described the scenery as “grimly beautiful,” and I couldn’t agree more. It’s a stark beauty, wild and raw, and somehow, that made it feel even more sacred. Bison lumbered across the plains, elk stood watchful on distant ridges, and pronghorn moved with grace through the grasses. Everywhere I turned, God’s creation amazed me.

And then there were the prairie dogs—dozens of them—popping in and out of their burrows with curious eyes and twitching noses. I laughed out loud at how cute they were, secretly imagining what it might be like to sneak one home. (Don’t worry—I didn’t. And besides, we were warned that some of them still carry the plague!)

In South Dakota, the wonders continued. Custer State Park left me speechless more than once. We drove winding roads that twisted through mountain tunnels, curved into tight S-turns, and opened up to wide vistas under cloudless blue skies.

“You have clothed the mountains with earth;
they are built on Your foundation.”
(Psalm 104:5)

The Needles Highway was a highlight—this stunning route cuts through pine and spruce forests, golden meadows, and dramatic granite spires that really do look like needles piercing the horizon. It’s almost impossible to believe that a man on foot and horseback—Governor Peter Norbeck—mapped out the entire course. It felt like he’d been guided by something greater, a sacred sense of vision that now blesses every traveler who takes the journey.

Even the wildlife encounters bordered on the spiritual. At Bear Country, just outside of Custer, I watched a dozen black bear cubs wrestling, splashing, and climbing trees. Though they were in captivity, there was still something deeply stirring about watching these creatures so full of energy and joy. It was as if God was reminding me to pay attention to the small, playful moments, too.

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We ended our journey at Badlands National Park, where time itself is carved into the earth. The rugged formations and colorful layers of sediment tell stories of ancient seas, long-lost species, and the persistence of life. Today, bison, prairie dogs, and the rare black-footed ferret make this their home. Watching them, even from a car window, I felt humbled by the scope of creation.

“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is Your Name in all the earth!
You have set Your glory above the heavens!”(Psalm 8:1)

In all of these places—through wind and stone, fur and fossil—I felt something holy. Nature, in its grandeur and detail, testifies to a God who is both powerful and intimately present. For me, the Dakotas were not just a vacation–they were a cathedral without walls.

“Through Him all things were made; without Him
nothing was made that has been made.”
(John 1:3)

All photos are the author’s own.

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