Surfacing for Air: What Whales Taught Me About Faith

By Camille Mc Millan Rambharat
Recently, during a family get-together, one of our adult children recalled a memory from a trip many years ago—when we were living in Trinidad and travelled to Toronto to visit family. During that vacation, we took a week-long excursion to Marineland in Niagara Falls, where we saw beluga whales and dolphins perform in a live show.

The memory of those majestic animals leaping and splashing brought smiles and laughter as we reminisced—along with a healthy dose of childhood ‘trauma’, courtesy their dad. Before we left for the trip, my husband gave each child a little backpack, lovingly packed with a reused frozen water bottle, two hotdogs, and one chosen snack. It was his practical way of keeping us fed and organised—and it worked. Since we were in Toronto for a whole month, sightseeing almost every day, we ate a lot of hotdogs. To this day, we’re all slightly triggered whenever we see one. It’s now a running family joke—one that makes us groan with laughter.

That day at Marineland was magical. The joy on our children’s faces as they watched the whales was unforgettable—one of those rare, sacred family moments where wonder, love, and laughter all came together.

That conversation got me thinking about whales. Why do they have to come up for air when other sea creatures can stay underwater? That curiosity led me to discover something called the ‘Whale Theory’.

Whales live in the ocean, but they aren’t made to stay submerged forever. They are mammals, after all. They must rise to the surface to breathe, or they will drown in the very place they call home.

Isn’t that how life can feel sometimes? We go through seasons where we’re functioning—maybe even smiling—but we’re doing so in environments that aren’t feeding our spirit. Like whales, we may look like we belong, but beneath the surface, we’re gasping for air. We’ve adapted to survive in systems, spaces, and situations that don’t reflect who we are or what we truly need.

Faith is our lifeline. We are not meant to stay submerged and drown in stress, silence, or spiritual weariness. We are created for more than just survival. We are called to rise—to pause, to pray, to breathe in God’s presence and reconnect with His purpose for our lives.

Scripture reminds us in Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.” That stillness is our surfacing moment. That breath is our prayer. That pause is our healing.

Even Jesus, in the fullness of His divinity, took time to withdraw—to be alone with the Father, to rest, and to pray. He showed us the value of stepping away from the crowds to breathe.

So, if life is feeling heavy—if the waters are rising and you feel like you’re running out of air—know this:

You were not made to stay submerged.

Your breath is sacred.

Your rest is holy.

Your surfacing is not weakness—it’s wisdom.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you” Isaiah 43:2.

“They are not of the world, even as I am not of it,” John 17:16.

Like the whales we watched that day in Niagara Falls—backpacks, hotdogs, and all—may you always know when it’s time to come up. To breathe. To rise.

And remember: you may live in this world—but you don’t belong to it