The Valley

The Valley

When the Shadows Seem Long

"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow

of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me"

Psalm 23:4

      The 23rd Psalm is one of the most powerful in the Word.  It's probably one of the first passages that we set to memory.  We love the personal nature of the Psalm.  David, the King, reflects on his days as a shepherd.  He writes these powerful words from the sheep's perspective of the shepherd.  The first three verses are so beautifully written.  They present a peaceful image of still waters, green pastures, and a restored soul.  One might look at the first three verses and come to the conclusion that there is never a moment of stress or worry for the sheep.  But then, at breakneck speed, David leaves the green pastures for the valley of the shadow of death.  I often ask why David would go from one extreme to another.  He goes from a place of tranquil peace to a place of suffering and agony.  But this place of agony is where each of us will end up from time to time.

     There are days when the valley feels endless. The shadows seem to stretch on with no light in sight.  I remember well the initial days of grief.  It like like a fog encompassed me, choking out all light and joy. I still wake up, and the silence of the house reminds me of who is missing, but not just who is missing, but what's missing. The chair across the table sits empty, and every routine moment echoes with absence. On those days, it feels as though the shadow of grief is longer than the path itself.  One thing I never though about when I examined the 23rd Psalm was the sheep looking backward and seeing what was behind him or her.  He could look back and see the green pastures; he remembered the still waters.  He yearned for them.  In this land of tears and ashes, he couldn't help but miss what was, what used to be.  I've done this countless times in my grief journey.

     David once wrote, “Even 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 23:4). I used to read that verse as a promise for the dying—but now, I see it as a promise for the living, for those of us left behind in the valley.  It's amazing how life experience helps us understand his passage better.  I served as a pastor for thirteen years.  I shared this passage with my congregation.  But this passage pierces my heart because the valley isn't just a place that I read about and preach about, it's a place where I reside.  You get more accurate information from a resident of a town than a visitor, and the same can be said about those suffering through grief.  We are in a place we didn't choose to enter, and we are all too familiar with this valley.

     The looming shadows can frighten you.  They scare with what could be, what might be.  They cloud our ability to see God and how to live in the present moment.  The existence of shadows doesn't mean God is gone, though it might feel that way at times. Shadows exist because there is light—light that may be hidden from view but is still shining behind what I see. When grief stretches long, when sorrow lingers, I have to remind myself: the shadows are temporary, but God’s presence is permanent.  Read that again and let it sink in.

     The valley is not the destination—it’s the passage, it is a conduit. The Shepherd does not abandon me in the darkness; He walks beside me, sometimes carrying me when I don’t have the strength to take another step. The staff that once guided sheep on rocky paths now steadies my trembling soul.  I find it unique that in the first three verses, David writes about God, and then in verse four, he says God, you are with me.  Notice he didn't write, God, you are with me, but instead, you (God) are with me.  David isn't talking about God in verse four; HE IS TALKING TO GOD.  It is often in the valley where our fellowship gets very real with God. We come to realize that He is there in the valley with us, refusing to let us go.  The valley can feel like the loneliest place on earth, but the company of one (God) is more than we could ever ask.

     Even here, even when the shadows feel suffocating, He whispers, “You are not alone.”

     So, I hold on. I breathe in the quiet, in the only place where silence has an echo. I lean into the presence of the Shepherd who knows both my tears and my tomorrows. And I trust that though the valley feels long, there is a mountain on the other side where shadows give way to light.

Reflection:

     1. Memorize Psalm 23:4

     2. How does your grief journey feel like a 

          valley?

     3. How has God met you in this valley?