Two of Japan's myriad tunnelsI know something about tunnels. I’m no engineer, nor have I ever joined a construction crew in boring through a mountainside to create a water supply or electricity path or a transportation route. (Each of the world’s 67 longest tunnels was created for one of those reasons.) But I live in Japan. Enough said.
Here one learns as if by osmosis many lessons in geography. Among others: a part of the Pacific Ring of Fire, Japan experiences frequent—if not daily—earthquakes, and volcanoes are to be watched and studied intently because some mountain somewhere is always threatening to blow (nearly four-fifths of Japan is mountain-covered); in this nation of 3,000-plus islands, bridges are vital connectors (actual land space is only 15 percent of its total territory; the remaining 85 percent is in the ocean); with 127 .7 million people, Japan is one of the most densely populated countries in the world (something like half the population of the United States lives in land space roughly the size of California).
And one learns about tunnels since it is difficult to go many places without passing through at least one. Most commonly, we drive under Tokyo Bay via tunnel on our way to the airport. We also make regular trips to Kobe, about 275 miles away. These are characterized by three different kinds of scenery: alongside the ocean, through the mountains, or in tunnels deep within the mountains.
Should you choose to travel by rail, the tunnels you will pass through are even more impressive. In fact, the longest railway tunnel in world is the 33.5-mile Seikan Tunnel, connecting Japan’s two largest islands, Honshu and Hokkaido. Additionally, 12 of its railway tunnels are included among the world’s 67 longest, each at least 8 miles in length. (Seikan Tunnel is the world’s fifth longest tunnel and its longest undersea passageway.)
But perhaps you don’t care at all about tunnels. Frankly, even with tunnels a routine part of life in Japan, I didn’t think much about them, either—although I must admit that I was quite impressed in 1995 when, with toppled bridges, crushed buildings, and all the other destruction of the 7.2 magnitude Kobe earthquake, no area tunnels sustained damage.
But my ho-hum attitude about tunnels has been challenged by a vision—a vision I believe was sent from God. It was back in March during the two weeks of waiting between first hearing of the possibility of cancer and having the doctor’s suspicion confirmed. Of course, we prayed earnestly that no cancer would be found. Yet one evening, even as I prayed, I felt the Lord preparing me for the news no one wants to hear. It was a surprisingly comforting message, considering that I longed to hear the words, “It’s not cancer.” As God revealed his plan to me, I envisioned a tunnel—a very long tunnel. Explicitly I knew that, while God can and does heal any way he chooses, my path to healing and wholeness was not going to be a quick flight across that tree-covered mountain range. Instead, God was going to take me through the mountains.
Momentarily, I found myself in a tunnel, one defying description because it was too dark to see anything around me. Although I should have been frightened—at least confused—by all the unknown in which I was standing, I was strangely at peace in that unfamiliar place. Realizing I was not alone, I had no reason to fear. While I couldn’t see Him, I knew He was there and that we were walking together, hand-in-hand. At times, I would stumble as we moved along the long pathway that rose and then dipped without warning, but that would only cause me to grip His hand more securely. And when I suddenly squeezed tightly, He always squeezed back reassuringly, reminding me silently that although I didn’t know the road ahead, He did; I would be fine as long as I trusted him.
He also pointed out the light at the extreme far end of the tunnel. If I kept my hand in his and my eyes on the light in the distance, we would pass safely through this never-before-traveled passageway through the mountain called cancer. Although I sensed that the road ahead would be long and difficult, I felt confident and assured about what was to come.
“I suspect your cancer has returned,” the doctor told me in early September. Admittedly, upon hearing his words, my shoulders slumped and my head fell forward into my hands, as if the news was simply too heavy a burden to bear. But it was only a fleeting response. Almost as quickly as the weariness set in, it was gone as I remembered the tunnel and Jesus’ comforting presence and peace. Yes, I was still in the tunnel, and actually, the light ahead didn’t seem any closer than it had in March. But my hand was still in His as we continued through the tunnel together.
While I wasn’t with the disciples when Jesus, in his last days on earth, comforted these closest followers and tried to prepare them for his return to heaven, it seems I’ve also heard his encouraging words: “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). In fact, I hear them often in this tunnel, and I know without doubt that all is well.
