The Cave is Airless

by Rebecca Marie

Photo by Kym VdP

                                                    What if they’re upset?

                                                  starts the slow descent 

                                               into the cave. What if

                                            they’re mad at me? 

                                          I squelch into dirt. What if 

                                      they hate me? I sink deeper    

                                    and deeper into the earth. 

                                   I’m stuck. 

                                 Limestone

                              slowly collapses

                                around me

                                       I’m stagnating.

                                    Fear of man is turning inwards,      

                                            spiralling, making everyone

                                                    happy to feel safe, but

                                                          the cave is airless. 

                                              No one hears my terrified, 

                                              beating heart in the dark.

A flicker of fluttering light

            filters into the cave.

         God whispers, I do not fear 

                            man. I take a step 

                         upwards. God murmurs, 

                              I do not fear your opinion. 

                                      I hear birds. God says, 

                                               Fear of man is a snare.

 I step upwards. I see 

     the mouth of the cave, 

    dappled light on karri branches. 

              God says, my opinion of you

                   is the one that matters. 

                       The cave mouth opens wide

                     and high into white limestone walls.

                        Wildflowers, delicate ferns, and hives

                                               of bees tending the quiet. 

             A tiny wooden staircase plots a path 

       to the top. God says, only my mercy matters. 

   I step onto the staircase, into fresh air and freedom.

If you enjoyed this, sign up to get honest essays, poetry, and chatty podcast episodes from Christian women in Western Australia in your inbox on Wednesdays 👇🏻

Rebecca Marie - Founder of Stories I’d Tell You at Dinner

Rebecca is married to Zac and they have three boys. She became a Christian at 18 years old after someone read the gospel of Luke with her. She spends her days teaching women the Bible, coordinating an evangelistic Playgroup, and writing. She is a regular contributor to Part Time Poets and The Gospel Coalition Australia. Her spiritual gift is losing things. You can find more at The Sunday Morning Snuggle.