I love to scuba dive. And when I was with my family and a group of friends in the Cayman Islands a few years back, we were diving with a very experienced guide.

One day we went on a dive that wasn't very deep for that area—our maximum descent would be about 80 feet. We were going to be diving around a huge coral head—that's a big colony of coral. This one was about 100 feet across and was shaped kind of like a giant mushroom.

The guide told me about a place underneath the coral where there was a small opening—you could swim a little way underneath the coral and then come up through what is called a chimney—it's just like a cave but it goes straight up.

When we got to that spot with our friends, the guide pointed at me and then pointed at the hole underneath the coral and indicated, "Go on!" That was actually not too good advice. If you're a scuba diver, you know you never dive where people can't see you or where you will be alone.

But I went into this cave anyway. It started to get dark, and I turned on my light. About 25 feet in, I saw a chimney. But I thought, "That can't be it. Maybe I have to go farther."

So I kept going, and the cave's ceiling got closer and closer to the cave's floor, to the point where it was only about a foot or so high. And I still didn't get it—the first chimney I saw had been the right one! So I tried to squeeze through that little opening because I thought the cave would widen out when I got beyond this narrow part.

All of a sudden I got stuck. The tank on my back was wedged in a little hole in the ceiling. I couldn't even get my hands up to my face. And I needed to get my hands up to my face because my mask had been pushed off my face and was filled with water. I still had my mouth on my breathing device, my regulator, so I was breathing. But I wasn't super happy.

Although it looked like I was in bad danger—no one knew where I was in that cave, and I was stuck—I didn't feel afraid. And I do know what it feels like to be afraid. But in this case I wasn't afraid because the whole day I had been enjoying God's creation around me, and I felt close to God. I've turned to God before when I've been in danger and received help. So I knew I could turn to God confidently right then.

The way I was thinking really illustrated a similar situation described in Science and Health, where Mary Baker Eddy wrote, "Understanding the control which Love held over all, Daniel felt safe in the lions' den, and Paul proved the viper to be harmless" (p. 514). I felt that same way. I felt completely safe. I felt very close to God. And that meant I didn't have to panic and struggle.

I remember being able to work my hand up to the place where I could put my mask back on. There's a way you can clear your mask, even though you're under water. And I did that.

The next thing I did was to work my other hand back until I was able to grab the back of my tank, pull it down, and get myself out of that hole.

By the time I turned around, I couldn't see at all because there was muddy sand on the bottom of the cave, and the water was stirred up so it looked like pure soup. But I felt my way out. It started to get lighter, and I saw the first chimney. I went right out the top. And no one knew any differently. They didn't know what had gone on underneath that big coral head.

I met up with my friends, and we all finished and had a good dive together.

But that dive taught me a couple of things: 1) Even though I know a person is experienced, like our guide was, I should still think for myself. 2) But even if I do make a mistake—even if it's a stupid mistake—that does not keep me from feeling the love and control of God around me. No matter what situation I find myself in, I know that divine Love—God—is the only power and is completely surrounding me.