Only when you are in a cave and they turn off the lights do you finally grasp how dark true darkness really is.  We experienced such a lights-out encounter touring the Cave of the Mounds.

When some workers mining for lead set off a dynamite charge back in 1939, they unknowingly ripped a hole into the Wisconsin wonder known today as the Cave of the Mounds.

The “roof” of the cave at any given point along the tour route is between 30 and 60 feet below grass level.  So temperature year round is a constant 50 degrees.   Unlike most caves, this one had no natural above ground entrance (until the miners blasted their own version of a doorway).  Because of this, Cave of the Mounds has no bats, no vermin, no wildlife of any kind. 

Whether you like caves or loathe them, they surely offer an altogether different perspective on geology, history, and even theology.  For me, the “teachable moment” came when staring at stalagmites and stalactites I decided to check the cell phone to see if by any chance I had any coverage. None.  Nada. A red “X” glowed where “bars” normally lit up.

Because (perhaps like you) I have a bit of imagination, I began running scenarios through my mind that are typical for cave visitors:

• What happens if there's a power failure down here?
• What happens if the guide's walkie talkie fails?
• What happens if...(in a cave, an active imagination is not your best friend).

Then another thought captured me (forgive me if this strikes you as corny).  Lack of cell phone coverage aside, I was no further away from connecting with the God of the universe down in that mine than up on a mountain.  The poet David agreed:

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you.”  (Psalm 139:11-12).

Next time you’re in a cave—literal or emotional—there's a light you can count on.