a memory from lalibela

"When you get to the end of all the light you know and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly.”
― Edward Teller

i was thinking about this quote about light and darkness and faith. the darkness of the unknown.  that is one of the greatest darknesses- one of the things we fear most.  

two years ago today, i was in ethiopia with one of my best friends and favorite people of all time.  we were there to adopt her son.  while there we traveled to lalibela a beautiful old town full of ancient churches that were dug out of the earth.  they were carved down from the top, into the ground. and they are connected through passage ways.  the last two churches are connected by a long and very dark tunnel.  lisa and i had taken a tour, and been guided through the churches- at the second to last one- we were told that we should enter this small dark tunnel and walk slowly through it until we emerged into the light of the last church.  it was supposed to symbolize the rebirth we have in jesus, or death and coming into the light of heaven.  

i have had the light go out, i've stood before the unknown, i've had times of blindly walking on solid ground, and times when i've been able to fly.  and never have i been more thankful for that provided ground or the gift of temporary wings. but in that moment of actually walking into a pitch black hole, into the unknown of total darkness, and having to feel my way along dirt walls- i was terrified- i couldn't do it.  i backed out and walked in the light. 

this really bothered me.  i wondered about my faith.  i wondered what i was so afraid of, and why i couldn't participate in the metaphor of this experience.  i imagined the feeling of exiting the tunnel- of running to the sunlight- but it wasn't enough for me to enter that dark place and engage in that walk.  

perhaps that level of faith, knowing that i can trust that my foot will not slip into oblivion, comes only "at the end of all the light you know".  we are only taught to fly when there are no other options, when it is absolutely needed. 

at the time i was in the middle of a very hard season with zoe. i was broken down and exhausted. i was not about to willfully enter something else unknown. i'd had enough of the darkness and i had a choice.  i didn't need to walk only by faith- there was another path above ground- that was the one i took. 
 
our days are full of the unknown, so how do i live in my days?

i want to live them all in faith.  i want to walk through my days with one foot in front of the other trusting there will always be ground before me, with my arms outstretched in case i will need to fly. 

and if i ever return to that town in the hills, full of carved sanctuaries and catacombs, i hope i will chose to enter the story- to go willingly into the darkness, so i can be reminded and appreciate the full welcome beauty of the light.