The Paralyzing Fear of the Unknown
What are you most afraid of right now? If you feel anxious, it is probably about something unknown in your future. My most terrifying experience was when I could not see or hear anything but had to move forward anyway. I felt sure I would die that day.
In 2016 my son Derek and I traveled to Honduras on a mission trip to volunteer with an outstanding ministry called Sparrow Missions. Derek was 17, and we had each been on separate mission trips to Honduras. During the week-long excursion, we worked with people crippled by poverty, gang violence, and addiction. The trip was challenging in many ways, but ironically, the terrifying incident occurred on our day off.
In the middle of our workweek, the staff of Sparrow Missions took the team of American volunteers and Honduran translators to Pulha Falls (full name Pulhapanzak Waterfall) in San Buenaventura. The falls are in an easily-accessible park with picnic areas and recreational options. Derek and I had a great time riding zip lines that traveled over the river and finally over the falls. When the Sparrow Missions staff offered the option of hiking to a cave behind the waterfall, Derek and I enthusiastically accepted.
If you have never traveled outside the US, you are probably oblivious to the relatively risk-free nature of our American habitat. Our culture has removed as many dangers as humanly possible to avoid litigation. For example, most of the playground equipment I enjoyed as a child is now extinct. Every time I travel abroad, I see situations I would never see in my native country because someone would get sued. Aware of this, I should be more aware of my mortality when I travel.
Derek and I joined the small group of risk-takers eager to hike behind the waterfall. The tour guide advised us to leave our phones and glasses behind since we would be getting “wet.” At the time, I was blissfully unaware of his understatement.
After we hiked for about 15 minutes, we stopped at a ledge. Our tour guide asked us to remove our shoes and leave them behind since we would be diving off a steep cliff into a pool of water that hid any indication of its depth. Derek and I exchanged shocked glances.
I removed my shoes and socks, feeling every sharp crevice of the rocks beneath my tender feet. Before I could ask any questions about the water’s depth, the tour guide dove in. I did my best to hide my fear from my son, and after encouraging Derek to move forward, I dove. After adjusting to the cold water shock, Derek and I swam to the far edge of the pool, following the tour guide.
We were now at the bottom of the waterfall, at its far edge. As I looked up, I felt dwarfed by its size and intimidated by the roar of the water. The tour guide showed us a cable bolted to the rock about every five feet and explained that we would have to hold tightly to the cable as we climbed up through the falls. This news terrified me, and if turning around seemed reasonable, I would have done it.
As I ascended into the waterfall, the roar of the water sounded like I was sticking my head into a jet engine. I could see nothing because of the water constantly pounding my face. The only senses I had were the feel of the slippery cable in my tight grip and the pain caused by the rocks under the tender soles of my feet. The ledge I climbed was narrow and slippery, and I was not sure I could hold on much longer. I had no idea how long I would have to climb through the water to reach the cave, but it took much longer than I had anticipated. I felt sure I would lose my grip, fall off the ledge and dash my skull on rocks far below.
In addition to fearing for my life, I feared for the life of my beloved son. He was just ahead of me, and I thought I would be able to watch him; however, being temporarily blind and deaf prevented me from knowing his condition. I found out later that he also was terrified of dying at that time. I lost all sense of time and prayed more fervently than I had ever prayed before. This was the only time in my life I remember experiencing true terror.
I was shaking when I finally emerged from the torrent of water into the cave behind the falls. I found Derek quickly. Everyone in our group seemed shaken, and a couple of women were crying. The tour guide then did something that shocked both Derek and me: he jumped out of the cave into the water below. It turns out we were not as high up as I had thought. He paddled around in the water for a bit, then scrambled back onto the rock ledge where we were standing.
When Derek and I debriefed afterward, we realized we had identical reactions to the situation. Seeing the ease with which the tour guide jumped in and climbed out of the water made us realize that we were never in significant danger. We both felt relieved and foolish for being so terrified. If either had lost grip of the cable bolted to the rock side, we would have fallen into the water not far below and then climbed out. We face more risks driving on the highway.
Hiking and swimming back to the ledge where our shoes were did not raise my adrenaline. What had caused my terror in the waterfall was not knowing what was ahead or below and not knowing how long I would have to endure the pummel of the falls. Not knowing. Even now I feel anxious about certain things ahead of me because they are shrouded in the unknown.
Do you remember what you worried about 10, 20, or 30 years ago? Chances are, the anticipated issues that caused your anxiety then never came to fruition. Fear can be a useful emotion — it keeps us from taking unnecessary risks. But many times, we are paralyzed by an irrational fear of the unknown.
“Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?” — Matthew 6:27 NLT
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 4:6–7 NLT
