A Walk Out of Darkness

By Michelle Wilson

God offers help even when we sometimes can’t see it.

Ape Cave main entrance. The author and her group began their hike at a smaller entrance 1.5 miles away and ended their journey here.

At the foot of Mount Saint Helens lies the Ape Cave—the third longest underground lava tube in the United States and the destination of one of our ward Young Women activities last year.

Accompanied by our bishop, one of his counselors, and my husband, we chatted and laughed and hiked the mile-and-a-half-long (2.4 km) trail under a canopy of towering evergreen trees before climbing down the humble, three-foot hole entrance into the cave and a different world.

As our eyes adjusted to the dark, we saw a carpet of uneven hardened lava, water dripping from the ceiling, boulders piled in our way, and a dark abyss beyond. Donning our headlamps and shining our flashlights, we headed into the pitch-black cave, helping each other over boulder piles and through tight spaces.

About halfway through the hike, the sole of my hiking shoe wedged into a dip on the floor. I lost my balance and fell hard.

The “pop” in my ankle told me something was very wrong. As my husband helped me stand, pain shot through my ankle and leg, sending me back to the ground. The bishop had a bandage, so my husband wrapped my already swelling ankle and gave me some ibuprofen. After a few moments, I tried to walk. Searing, hot pain lit up my ankle and leg.

I knew I was in a tough situation. I had to get out of that cave. Due to the rocky underground terrain, being carried out was not an option. The only way to get out was to walk the three-quarters of a mile (1.2 km) out.

Not wanting to hold the others back, and knowing I was in good hands, my husband and I sent the others ahead. With only the light from our two headlamps to illuminate the way, I clung to the handle of my husband’s backpack, pulling on it with each painful step.

I prayed silently, “Please help me do this. Help me get out of this cave.”

The answer I received was unexpected: God would help me, even though in that moment I wouldn’t be able to see or feel it.

My husband did all he could to help me, pulling me up the steep parts and guiding me up and down the boulder hills on our way.

After an hour, I finally let tears fall as I climbed the largest boulder pile—60 feet long and 15 feet high. I was exhausted, in pain, hopeless. Was there an end to this cave? Could I make it out?

Still, I kept going.

Some 30 minutes later, the first glimpse of sunlight streamed through the lower exit—90 minutes after my fall.

Joyous tears fell this time.

A few days later, my doctor showed me the X-ray. I had broken my leg. Thankfully, the break was nondisplaced, meaning the three-inch fracture running down my leg hadn’t moved the bone out of alignment. A displaced fracture would have meant surgery and a longer recovery.

When I told him I had hiked .75 miles (1.2 km) out of an underground lava tube on my broken leg, he was in awe. “I can’t believe that,” he said. “It’s a miracle it didn’t become displaced.”

Here is when God whispered, “That was how I helped you.”

I’m sure God gave me strength to keep going in the cave. I know He gave me my husband to help me through. But I had no idea that in my greatest moments of pain, He was literally holding my leg together.

I wondered how many times in my life He has reached through the heavens and held my heart, my mind, my soul together when I was struggling. Hundreds? Maybe thousands? I don’t know.

But what I do know is that God is always aware of me and is active in my life—and yours. This breathes deeper meaning into His words: “I will go before you and be your rearward; and I will be in your midst, and you shall not be confounded” (Doctrine and Covenants 49:27).

Much of our journey will be like a lovely hike under the protection of towering trees, laughing with those we love. But sometimes our journey takes us into the pain cave, literally. And the only way out is to walk through the pain.

Though we may hurt, though we may not see an end, and though we may not even see Him in the cave, I have learned He is always there, holding us in ways we can feel and in ways we can’t. And taking it step-by-step is how we will make it to the glorious end.

The author lives in Washington.