I love to hike! For reals. But over the past twenty so years, it is a hobby that my family has only engaged with me in because they love me, not hiking. They hate hiking almost as much as I love it. I was all alone until our oldest son introduced a new member to our family, one that loves to hike! Woohoo!
This past week we were on one such hike. Whether it was because everything was new to her or the fact that she's more than twenty years my junior, our adorable new pace car stepped up the game in both speed and excitement. Leaving us in the dust, Brian and I had little choice but to meander along at a slightly slower pace. We could hear the kids laughing and having a good time but we couldn't quite reach them. It was in our being slightly behind them that I began to ponder a few things.
I began to think about all of the hikes we have taken over the years. All of those hikes seemed to be though valleys. Sure we would transverse a mountaintop here or there but the real work was always done in the valleys.
When gma went Home, I remember sitting at her table one night with momma as we attempted to make sense of this new place, this new valley, we were in. It was then that my momma said something I had never stopped to analyze too deeply. "This is the valley of the shadow of death David was talking about in Psalm 23. It's not what we've always thought it was. The valley of the shadow of death is what is left for the living in the wake of a loved one's passing. This darkness can swallow us up if we're not careful. If our eyes drop their gaze from The One who is able to pull us through, sorrow will win."
Not doubt I'm living in the valley right now. A dark, deep valley. The deepest I've ever known. The sorrow, and at times outright despair, that I've tried to meander through seems to have no end. The waters threaten everyday to wash over me and the flames nip at my heels. I have but one place to turn for comfort - to The One who is able.
During times like these, people love to quote from that Psalm momma referred to but most stop with "You are with me". Perhaps it's because we don't understand the second half. Perhaps we don't want to admit the pain that comes with it.
In short, a shepherd's rod was used for discipline. It's not that he had evil sheep that were being punished for bad behavior all the time but rather he would use his rod to direct and discipline the sheep to go the way he knew they needed to go. Through long days and dark nights with his sheep in the valley, the shepherd developed their ability to hear and follow him so that when they moved on, the sheep would stay close and not wander away. But discipline is not easy and at times it's just painful.
His staff would bring protection to the otherwise defenseless and vulnerable sheep. He saw all of the threats looming on the horizon and would not be taken surprise by any of them. The sheep could see his staff and would associate it with their leader. The one who swore his life to protect and give them theirs.
And though I know there are different types of valleys - valleys with luscious pastures and life giving water to sparse, desert valleys full of endless days and scorching heat - I do understand that in every valley growth takes place. This is where the real work is done. After all, no one lives on mountaintops. How then am I growing? What am I learning in this valley?
He IS my Shepherd. He never promised me that I would be able to avoid this deep, dark valley. The shadow left by my Aunt Suzie going Home is one that will affect me for the rest of my life. I can not avoid or deny the sorrow my heart feels. All of the fears that come with thoughts of what our lives will look like without her are only met by His sovereign control of things I surely don't understand. Even in this place, He has NEVER left or forsaken me, though I still question His plan and have bouts of anger. He is here. He is disciplining me, continually preparing me, for what lies ahead so that I can live a life that honors Him like she did. He protects my heart with a measured sorrow, KNOWING I will see her again one day.
So I will put on my hiking boots, like she would say, and walk a little further gleaning encouragement from all those pace cars in my life who remind me to laugh once in a while, who pray for me, who love me in my meandering and continue to shout into this valley, "We're right here. And we're waiting to walk with you."
