Caves and Communion with God

If you were to come into my house right now, you would be greeted by a massive wall of blankets and sheets draped over various pieces of furniture to form a cozy hideaway for my youngest daughter, Kacey. For some reason, she has always been attracted to such cave-like spaces. At various times over the years, she has taken up residence in the space between her bed and the wall, large boxes that have been left following deliveries, and even her lower bunk bed, which is enshrined in blankets.

Within these hideaways sit a vast array of stuffed animals to keep her company. She is my animal lover. In fact, some of her time hidden away is spent planning her alpaca farm and animal sanctuary she has talked about for years—and she’s only 10. I can see a lot of St. Francis in her.

A Self-Imposed Break

Often when I see her climb into one of her cave-like dwellings, I think of St. Francis and his retreats to the caves atop Assisi’s Mt. Subasio. Francis used to retreat up the mountain with his brothers when the world down in the city became too much for him and he became overwhelmed and began to lose focus. The mountain was his place to recharge and reconnect with his vision and purpose.

When I was in Assisi a few years ago, I remember similarly being drawn to this place, even more so than to some of the more well-known spots from Francis’ life. I could see myself being very easily attracted to the quiet nooks amid the rocks and trees. Maybe that’s where Kacey gets it. Here at home—4,756 miles away from Assisi—some days I can see myself climbing into one of Kacey’s forts and hiding out— away from the world.

The Healing Force Nature

I thought about this again recently when our family took a trip to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It was a short trip planned to replace the larger vacation we had scheduled for this summer

and to provide a change of scenery. We found a cabin and hunkered down. It came at a perfect time.

Just two weeks before the trip, my dad passed away following a brief illness. Because of COVID, our family’s interactions with him were limited to the last two days of his life. His death, the funeral, the packing up of his room and possessions all seemed to come at me—and my sisters—fast and furious.

I was also facing the reality of no longer having either of my parents here with me. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. But then I went to the mountains. Like St. Francis, I stepped away and hit the pause button on everyday life. It was a much-needed retreat that allowed me to hide away for a little while from the harsh realities that awaited me back home. I was able to sit with my feelings and begin to process and reset my bearings. I like to think that’s how St. Francis felt about his time up on Mt. Subasio.

In the book Francis: The Journey and the Dream, Murray Bodo, OFM, wrote of Francis’ time on the mountain praying to God, “He was always aware that he would have to return to the workaday world below, but it was possible to do so with joy, knowing that the mountain would not move, that the mountain would be there waiting, drawing him back.”

I can relate to that. And I know that if I need to get away someplace closer, there’s a cave right here in my living room that’s calling my name.

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"Watch, then, praying at all times, that you may be accounted worthy to escape all these things that are to be, and to stand before the Son of Man." —St. Francis of Assisi

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