Beneath the Surface: Reflections from a Cavern

Have you ever had an experience where you didn't realize your heart was heavy until you realized you were finally and suddenly feeling free from burden? I had this realization during my trip to Carlsbad Caverns yesterday. Logically, I knew the past few weeks had been filled with a near-constant stream of stress, a tidal wave of emotions, and some painful decisions. Despite what I thought, I wasn't fully aware of how this was affecting my body, mind, and soul until I went below the surface (literally) and was able to let go of all this pressure.

At first, it was so exciting to see all these amazing rock formations that have taken thousands and thousands of years to develop, and I was filled with a surge of Look-How-Amazing-All-This-Nature-Is! energy that kept propelling me forward to see the sights. If you're ready for a real mental imagery treat, I truly felt like a puppy pulling on a leash and wanting to run up ahead. We can blame it on the caffeine rush and too little sleep the night before. After some time descending into the cave, though, I felt my hyperactive energy shifting into a state of quiet solitude and contemplation.

While the outer edges of the cavern trails were pretty crowded and filled with noisy visitors, the inner trails became much more sparsely populated. In a moment where we stopped to investigate some stalagmites more closely, I suddenly became aware of how silent it was. Gone were the sultry drips of water, the raucous teenagers, the desert winds, and the calls of the cave swallows. With the exception of my amazing friends/travel partners, there was no one in sight. And in my mind, all that was left for a few moments was a giant stillness. This mental emptying took me by surprise, and it was so beautiful. Usually, absence makes me think of missing something or someone. In this instance, though, the absolute stillness of the air and the absence of noise and thought meant freedom: freedom from distraction, freedom from stacked-up pressures, freedom from a need to take care of others, freedom from worry about the future. And you know what? When all that was gone, I didn't miss it.

I've been reflecting a lot on the idea of letting go of my need to have certainty and to have a plan. While I usually like having some kind of an outline for my life, I feel like I am continually on this journey of learning to be in free fall when life veers from the outline. As I write this, I can hear my mom's words of "There is a time and a place for everything" running through my head. There is a time for planning, and there is a time for trusting. There is a time for staying in the safety of what is known, and there is a time for venturing out into the depths of the unknown spaces of this world.

I found myself thinking of what these caverns must have been like for the early explorers, before there was a lighting system and paved trails and restrooms 79 stories below the earth. And then I start to wonder, what parts of my own heart have I not yet discovered? What depths of God's merciful and mysterious love have I not yet been able to experience? What wisdom have I not yet gained to understand His creation and His people - people with hardened hearts and broken hearts and hearts that are hungry for connection? As I ponder these things in my heart and make space for all the vast unknown, I am slowly and (sometimes) patiently learning to trust in a God who has laid down a trustworthy path for me serve others with deep and courageous love.