Finding New Life in the Valley of Despair
He leads me along the right paths for His name’s sake.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil for you are with me.
Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
(Psalm 23:1, 3-4)
This is a difficult, painful time, there’s no doubt about it. In fact, on Sunday, the Surgeon General of the United States stated that “this is going to be the hardest and the saddest week of most Americans’ lives.” How’s that for a Palm Sunday message?!
That’s why we’ve spent this week slowly walking through verse 4 of Psalm 23: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” It does no good to deny the painfulness of this place we find ourselves in, but it’s important to remember that we don’t walk alone, and that our Shepherd has a reason for leading us through this treacherous terrain.
We tend to focus on the cost of walking through this dark valley: the scarcity, the fear of the unknown, the feeling of helplessness to get out of it, the boredom of sitting in our homes day after day. And yet, we’ve also experienced some unexpectedly sweet fruit along the way.
One of the ironies of the dark valleys is that they are often the most fruitful places. After all, it’s where the rain water flows through after a storm, so it provides rich foraging for the sheep. And in the same way, I cannot help but acknowledge that I’ve experienced some beautiful things come out of this painful path we’ve been walking.
- I’ve spent more quality time with my family in the last two weeks than I have in months. We’ve pulled out board games and baseball gloves for the first time in years.
- I’ve been able to take an active role in my children’s education. This has been incredibly challenging, and yet it’s also taught me so much about my sons’ personalities and work ethics. It’s also given me a newfound respect for homeschoolers who choose to do this every school year.
- I’ve seen some beautiful acts of generosity as neighbors get creative in loving one another from a safe distance. One woman in my church woke up to find a package of toilet paper and a one of paper towels on her doorstep. One of my neighbors keeps painting rocks and leaving them along the sidewalks with short messages on them like, “Smile,” “Just Breathe,” and “Be Kind.”
- Certain members of my household have learned to use less toilet paper. This may not seem like such a big deal, but it’s been a point of contention in my home for years.
- It’s forced me to rethink what it means to be a pastor. After all, before the coronavirus, the last time I’d blogged was 2017.
- This season of scarcity has given me a greater appreciation for things I’ve always taken for granted, like having plenty of toilet paper, or the ability to walk into a grocery store at any time of the day or night to get whatever I want.
- It has provided a daily reminder of my dependence upon God’s provision.
I will close with a poem that I wrote a decade ago, when I was trudging through another dark valley marred by the shadow of despair. Like now, it was a season that I couldn’t wait to get out of, and yet God used it to cultivate some beautiful fruit along the way.
Things I Left in the Valley of Despair
I walk along a painful path I never hoped to see,
A trail of tears and sorrow, paved with insecurity.
I long to run ahead, to leave this valley that I’m in,
To find a greener pasture and forget where I have been.
The place where I have come from is so very far away,
And I can’t see the end in sight, so in the valley I must stay.
Yet I suspect this wasteland is right where I need to be,
And all this pain is healing something deep-seated in me.
For as I turn and survey the broken path which I have trod,
I see a trail of cast-off armor strewn along the dusty sod.
Over there are the boots of busyness, now worn thin from overuse,
And the breastplate of indifference that helped me stay emotionally aloof.
There’s the shield of self-sufficiency, which I always hid behind,
And the helmet plumed with puffed-up pride, which always seemed to make me blind.
A part of me wants to double back, to collect the things I’ve left below,
Those vestiges of self-reliance that I forged so long ago;
Perhaps I thought they’d make me look like the man I hoped to be,
Or protect my heart from wounds that relationships inflict so naturally.
But all they did was weigh me down with loads of anxiousness,
Not to mention fear and shame, anger and distress.
It’s true that I’m more vulnerable without my armored shell,
And I’m tempted to collect the pieces from the places where they fell,
But I’ve resolved to let them stay along the path where they now lie,
And journey onward through this valley where my false-self came to die.
No comments:
Post a Comment