Claustrophobic

Up past Cunningham Island on the western bank of the Warioto (Cumberland River) stands a rock bluff, home to one of Tennessee’s vast cave systems. The many crags and man sized holes in the stone walls act as windows into an underground world of vast unknown, but there are two larger caves worthy of special note. At the water’s edge lies the first. For years we have passed by this cave on our way to and from the duck bottoms. Going upriver you can glance over the starboard side of your vessel and see the green river water lap up into the opening of the mouth, forming a calm eddy of sorts. The more welcoming view of this cave is presented on your way back down river though. As you pass Barton’s Creek and round the bend towards Cairo you’ll better appreciate how wide and welcoming it really is. When the river reaches full pool, a jon boat in shallow water drive can idle right inside with ease. 

Once inside you will find a rather large room about twenty five or thirty feet wide with about the same depth. A low ceiling of roughly seven or eight feet hovers just overhead. The floor is mostly gravel and rock and typically under a foot or so of water. A spring trickles from a back hallway which meanders its way down small clefts of rock stairs until finally meeting the river’s current below. 

The second noteworthy cave is found high up above the first, near the top of the bluff. This one is much larger, but is more difficult to access and unless you are searching for it you will most likely overlook it from the river below. Towering about seventy five feet above the surface of the river it provides those willing to make the climb a fantastic view of the shining water below. It’s a steep ascent to the top, but worth the effort.

The dust floor of this vast opening in the bluff lays beneath a high ceiling filled with stalactites. Its vastness extends deep in the bluff and one can traverse the rocks and ditches within for hours if they so desire.

It always felt like a great adventure to explore these caves and daydream about those who admired them long before myself. We would pull our boats inside the lower cave and walk around the big room. Dad would relay stories of his grandfather who worked on the river, describing how the old moonshiners would make and cache their liquor here. The clear cool spring made for good quality shine and the cave made for a good place to hide it.

Standing at the water's edge while peering out into the river made it quite easy to imagine the old towboats tying up near the bank to swap a couple bucks for a jug of alcohol. It is a mystical place, hidden in the wide open. 

While the allure to cave exploration might seem thrilling to some, I know it tightens the chest of others. My excitement towards these adventures always seemed to dwindle the deeper I went into the cavernous underworld. As the ceilings lowered and the hallways narrowed my mind shifted from playful daydreams to dreadful worries of getting trapped or lost within. Images of rocks falling and blocking the entrance flooded my mind. Thoughts of being swallowed by the earth, with no escape and no hope loomed close at hand.

Unbothered by my anxious worries, my dad and brother used to test themselves and crawl until the cave floor met the ceiling. My lungs quiver just thinking about being placed in such a space. My old acquaintance, claustrophobia, met me in those dark damp corridors and prohibited me from exploring much further than the entrance. Quickly, the light hearted mystery of ancient tunnels lost its appeal. 

I have always been claustrophobic, afraid of being trapped, stuck, unable to breathe. As a kid, my siblings and friends at school knew this and would torment me because of it. Many times I would be ambushed by a blanket over the head followed by tight bear hugs that wrestled me to the floor. Squirming and struggling to catch a breath I would shout out for help. It sounds silly, but my fear of being trapped would take over any reasonable or logical thought. Heights do not bother me, nor do snakes or spiders, but being trapped in a tight space for extended periods of time terrifies me. 

As a young hunter being forced to wear oversized hand-me-downs was a challenge because of the unwanted restriction. Sitting in the back seat of an extended cab truck and being sandwiched between adults and their shooting holes in a duck blind posed the same issue. I felt trapped, unable to escape. Sometimes that feeling will come on while trying to escape from some dense thicket in the woods. Urban thickets, otherwise known as crowds, also bring me great stress and a feeling of being smothered. 

I don’t know if phobias can be hereditary, but this fear came from somewhere. I do remember instances at our family deer camp where my grandfather would visit the old outhouse and leave the door open for all to see. I’d ask my dad why he never shut the door and he’d always reply, “He gets claustrophobic in there.” Maybe that’s where my own fear originates, the genes of an old deer hunter unwilling to shut the door of his back hollow outhouse. 

For the most part, this fear does not affect my day to day life, however there are instances where it causes issues, or at least discomforts. A recent flight for a work trip summoned my old claustrophobic tendencies. I boarded one of the smaller commercial planes I have ever seen with seventy of my closest strangers. I am less than six feet tall and had to stoop quite low to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling within the plane. I could have stretched my arms and touched either side of the inner walls. While boarding, I physically felt my body rejecting the steps towards my seat in the back. With my head spinning, heart beating, and lungs frantically trying to avoid hyperventilating I found my seat and closed my eyes. Ninety minutes never felt so long. 

Not to over spiritualize a physical reaction to tight spaces, I have tried to examine what it is that causes this type of fear to spark inside me. After some pondering, I think I have built a strong argument for why I am claustrophobic and what it means for me as a Christian. Here is what I believe to be true: at the core of my claustrophobia lies a desire to be in control. I long to have the ability to make decisions and escape them when necessary. My claustrophobia is more than a fear of tight spaces. It is a fleeting craving for power and sovereignty, neither of which was meant for me to have. It is a war of faith, a lie of the enemy. 

You have no sovereignty in the back seat of an extended cab. You have no sovereignty in an oversized coat. You have no sovereignty while lost in some thicket. You have no sovereignty in 18D on American Airlines. You have no sovereignty in a crowd of thousands. And you have no sovereignty, while trapped in the back of some underground cave. That’s what really bothers me, not being able to have my way and define what ought to happen. For me there is no worse feeling than being hemmed in, physically, mentally, or spiritually. 

The good news of Jesus Christ offers all those, like myself, who are claustrophobic much hope. In Christ our soul lives in wide open spaces. Time and time again He gives me fresh air to breathe. He loosens the tightness in my chest. He steadies my disoriented mind. He gives my feet firm footing amidst the hazards of the warfare around me. He holds back the crushing weight of this world, so I can live in the cool shadow of His wing. He is sovereign, so I don’t have to be. I trust him. 

So if you find yourself in some dark cave, fretful regarding how to escape, pray to the God who is able to save and He will roll away the stones that hem you in. 

No height, nor depth, nor claustrophobic worry can keep you from the love and freedom found in Christ.

Call out to Him today!