Taking the Express Elevator to the Upper Room

I prefer to pray during a calm moment or in a quiet place—when the soft first light at dawn filters through the window behind me or in a darkened room in the evening with just candle flickering. It is during peaceful times like these when I can, without distractions, release the tensions of the moment and open to the wisdom of God within.

But waiting for perfect conditions for prayer is not always possible. Particularly in moments of chaos, urgency, or danger, there’s not time to breathe, consciously open the heart, and slowly ascend to the upper room, that place where the apostles prayed and that has come to symbolize the highest communion with Spirit.

I have learned that sometimes there’s no choice but to board the express elevator to that upper room and prepare to pray in place, trusting that God is always present in every situation.

For the Elephants

A few years ago I was part of a volunteer group in a small village in Thailand. We were there as part of a sustainable tourism effort meant to support the local community in their effort to maintain their beloved elephants, many of whom had been in their families for decades. I learned that elephants had long been used in the logging industry until the decimation of much of Thailand’s forest led to a ban. An elephant eats 200 to 300 pounds of food a day, and many locals who couldn’t afford to feed them felt forced to farm them out to the tourist trade. It’s a cruel life for an elephant, performing and being ridden by people. Our group was there to encourage more humane tourism. With machetes, we cut bamboo branches for the animals to eat. Elephants also need to wash themselves. The mahouts—people who are trained to manage these giant creatures—would bring them to a central meeting point a few times a week, and we would all walk the elephants in a line to the river to bathe.

Instead of crying out to God for help, I did something else. Almost without being conscious of it and without even seconds to prepare, I took the express elevator to that prayerful state where I am open and receptive to the omniscience of God.

Elephants are social creatures. When they were brought back to the village after years laboring in tourism, the mahouts told us many joyfully recognized their old friends, even after 20 years apart. That explained the excitement of one young elephant when he spotted a friend—another young elephant—sauntering toward our group one morning as we gathered for the river walk. I was standing beside the calf as he began to playfully stamp his feet, swaying slightly in anticipation. He knocked me down. The next thing I remember is being on my back and looking up at the folds of his wrinkled belly.

His thick legs were moving up and down like pistons on both sides of me. Just beyond I could see a blur of massive elephant legs piledriving the ground. This elephant was relatively small, but even at 5 or 6 years old, he probably weighed close to a ton. Elephants are the largest land animals. I knew being trampled would be certain death, particularly if he were to crush my head or torso. It felt as though I was stuck in a forest of moving trees. It seemed inevitable that at any second I would be fatally crushed.

Trapped

I was trapped, and my first reaction was resignation. I thought, This is it. This is where this journey on earth ends for me. What an odd way to go. I remember learning safety and survival rules as a kid, such as how to escape a house fire or to stay in place if lost in the woods. There was no instruction on what to do if you found yourself underneath an elephant.

Within those brief moments something shifted inside me, and, rather than panic, I felt indescribable peace. Instead of crying out to God for help, I did something else. Almost without being conscious of it and without even seconds to prepare, I took the express elevator to that prayerful state where I am open and receptive to the omniscience of God. I believe I was guided to remain still and calm when the more normal reaction would be to panic and try to scramble out of harm’s way. Instead, I didn’t move a muscle. The elephant’s feet were so close that if I had moved, it would have increased the odds that I would be crushed. The mahout grabbed my legs and dragged me across the gravel to safety. Standing there, shaken, blood trickling down my legs, it felt surreal that I survived. I had summoned my power of faith and trusted the mind of God within to guide me to remain still.

Always with and Within Us

Life inevitably brings for all of us moments of crisis, danger, or disaster, when in an instant we must decide how to respond, often with no clear information. There is no time to retreat to the chapel or engage in any of the usual preliminaries of entering into prayer. But we don’t always need to. God is always with and within us. We cannot be separate from God’s love and wisdom. We need only to open our hearts and listen.

I bandaged my cuts and rejoined the group on the trail. I didn’t allow what had happened to diminish my connection to these soulful creatures. I was handed the reins of the gentle Nong Mai, the largest elephant in the herd and, at 40, one of the elders. Together with her mahout, we walked to the riverbank where the elephants—friends and family all—happily splashed and bathed in the morning sun. When they were done, several lifted their trunks in unison and loudly trumpeted their pleasure. It sent a shiver up my spine—not out of fear but of shared joy and gratitude for the power of prayer.