The Unlikely Messenger: A Slice of Life with Debra Brown
In 1997, my husband Allen, our young daughter Meredith, and I traded our usual summer beach vacation for a Memorial Day getaway to a ski resort in the Utah mountains. It had been a challenging year, and we needed a change of scenery.
I’d envisioned hiking, shopping, and cool mountain air, not snow.
But frigid air welcomed us, and snow blanketed the ground.
We hadn’t packed for it, so we bought coats, gloves, and scarves and laughed it off, making the best of our summer-turned-winter vacation.
Park City had received a lot of attention leading up to the 2002 Winter Games. Its artistic energy and outdoor activities appealed to us.
Boutique shopping, art galleries, walking trails, highs in the 70s, and low humidity seemed perfect.
Despite the weather, we explored the Olympic Village and witnessed the preparations, including the newly opened bobsled track. The snow made it real.
After looking at tourist brochures, I suggested we tour a silver mine.
“It will be fun and educational,” I said. “We can learn about the 19th-century mining heritage.”
I hadn’t counted on the tour guide handing out yellow raincoats and helmets as we prepared to visit the old mining structures and tunnels.
He said, “Let’s watch a safety video before we go deeper into the earth than the Empire State Building.”
I raised my eyebrows. Allen shrugged. Meredith clapped her hands.
Moments later, we stepped into a “man cage.” We crowded closer, body to body, until the last person fit inside the open-mesh steel elevator.
“We’ll drop fast,” he said, grinning. “Like a rollercoaster.”
No kidding.
We plunged into pitch-black darkness and felt the damp chill as the cage lowered 1,500 feet in what felt like seconds. Water poured down around us as the cage rattled in the old mine shaft, plummeting.
My heart raced.
We couldn’t turn back now.
At the bottom, water continued to stream down the rock walls. We boarded a small open-air train and moved deeper into the mine, where darkness swallowed everything but a pinpoint of light ahead.
The cold, damp air surrounded us, while the walls closed in. Every sound echoed. It smelled musty, with a faint sulfur note.
We learned about gas fumes that could look like ghosts.
“And then there’s the Tommyknockers,” the guide said. “They’re mythical bearded gnome-like creatures that miners believed lived in the mine. They’re both mischievous pranksters, stealing tools and blowing out lanterns, and helpful spirits that warned the miners of impending structural failure and cave-ins by knocking on the walls.”
He continued, “Miners often left bread to stay on the good side of the Tommyknockers.”
“Where are those leftover rolls from breakfast when we need them?” I whispered to Allen.
For an hour and a half, we walked where others had worked, risked their lives, and endured.
I kept Meredith close.
And I listened for a knocking on the walls. I felt trapped deep underground, with no easy way out.
Then I felt a small hand slip into mine.
“Mommy, when do we go back up?” Meredith whispered.
“Soon,” I said, squeezing her hand.
But as the word left my mouth, I realized I wasn’t just answering her. I wanted the same thing.
Darkness happens in mines and in life.
We’re going about our day, doing the next right thing, when suddenly we find ourselves in a place we didn’t expect to be.
A diagnosis.
A betrayal or loss.
A season that feels darker than it should.
We find ourselves down under. We’re deeper than we thought, colder than we expected, and it’s harder to climb out than we’d like.
In that moment, deep in the mine, it hit me: we went down fast, but we had no plans to stay at the bottom. We had a way to reach the surface.
God doesn’t always keep us from the descent. But He never leaves us in the dark.
He is present even in the deepest places, guiding, protecting, and preparing the way back up.
And when we reach the surface again?
We breathe differently.
We see differently.
We appreciate our blessings.
Our eyes adjust, and we’re grateful for things we once took for granted, like fresh air, solid ground, and the simple gift of light.
When we returned to the surface, I didn’t care about the mountain view, the cold, or the snow on the ground. I felt pure joy in the understanding that light always finds a way, even in the darkest places.
I stepped out, took a deep breath of fresh air, and kissed the ground.
The Lord brought me up out of the pit, out of the miry clay; He set my feet upon a rock and gave me a firm place to stand” – Psalm 40:2 (NIV).
Debra Brown’s motto is “Be the Spark.” She has a passion for family, her 3 cats, flowers, pretty food, and health & wellness. Debra is an author, UGA honors graduate/The Citadel MBA.