As a young girl, I lived in a small town where sinkholes were common. There was some empty land not far behind my house where there were several large sinkholes. My sisters and I walked out to the land one day, even though we’d been told to stay away from the area. I suppose we wanted to explore and see the holes in the earth for ourselves. They were massive to my small eyes, and I imagined the earth crumbling beneath my feet.
In the same town, a store closed down because someone discovered that the parking lot was on top of a sinkhole. There were cracks in the lot, and the ground beneath could collapse at any given time. The signs were visible, and for safety reasons, people should stay away.
Last year, a sleeping, Florida man was killed when the ground underneath his home opened up and swallowed his house.
I was never too interested in science during my school years, therefore, I didn’t learn much so I had to do a little research to find out what causes sinkholes. I learned that acidic rainwater seeps down through the earth’s surface and eats away at the rock beneath, forming cracks and voids. Then, the loose rocks above begin to slip into the cracks. Eventually, as the holes grow, the surface will just collapse. I found this layman’s explanation from Jon Henley: when there’s not enough solid stuff left underneath to support what is left of the loose stuff above, the whole lot collapses.
I thought Henley’s explanation was a great way to define what’s been happening to my faith.
My spiritual foundation was made up of an angry God who needed to be pleased. I liken the acidic rainwater that eats away at the foundation to the spiritual abuse and manipulation that kept me obedient to overbearing religion and ridiculous rules. Over time, the holes in my foundation appeared. The signs were visible, and church authorities decided I wasn’t safe enough for church members to be around. Eventually, the “loose stuff above,” made up of prayer, Bible reading, Bible studies, church attendance, and a dozen other efforts to appease God, slipped into the cracks. The foundation had to started crumble. I’ve piled grace, love, and faith on top of that failing foundation in a desperate attempt to ignore the holes, but I feel the implosion is near.
I’m asking the questions Christians aren’t supposed to ask — the questions that move a step past doubt into disbelief. I’m exploring the holes and pondering what’s next. What happens when all you’re left with is a gaping hole? Will I remain in the ruins of faith? Or will it be time to rebuild, and if so, what will I choose as my foundation?
