Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;
Let me find thy light in my darkness,
thy life in my death,
thy joy in my sorrow,
thy grace in my sin,
thy riches in my poverty,
thy glory in my valley.

--The Valley of Vision

My palms were sweaty and my 4-year-old heart was beating rapidly. Sitting in a circle with my preschool class, I began to squirm; the stakes were high. It was almost my turn. In an effort to teach us the twenty-third Psalm, my sweet teacher was handing out one giant jelly bean per child if and only if said child could recite the very first part of the first verse of Psalm 23: 

“The LORD is my shepherd.”

As the chubby-cheeked boy with that morning’s breakfast still smeared across his face did his part and received his sugary reward, I knew it was finally my turn. I remember thinking something along the lines of, “I can do this. It’s only five words. But what if I mess up, like that other kid?” I opened my mouth and in a shaky voice repeated the same line that my brave classmates had before me:

“The-LORD-is-my-shep-herd.”

Upon completing my mission, a shiny purple jelly bean the size of a grape was placed in my moist palm. Nailed it. The word of God is sweeter than honey, indeed—and the twenty-third Psalm tasted like grape candy.

*

My preschool teacher knew what she was doing, because that Psalm has stayed imprinted on my heart word-for-word for as long as I can remember. I repeat it to myself when anxiety keeps me awake at night; I recite it when I am about to get my blood drawn (very scary), or when I’m driving in terrifying weather conditions. I’ve whispered it when my heart is breaking. Oh, how often my fearful heart has needed the assurance that God is, indeed, my shepherd.

These days, verse four has been repeating like an anthem in my mind:

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.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will not fear.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

The shadow of death.

My grandpa is dying. Not in the slow, sure way that we all move closer to our end with each day that passes—no, this is the “we don’t know how much time we have left with him” way. It hurts. It hurts because I love him deeply and cannot imagine my life without his smile, his stories, the way he walks up to you, places his hand on your back, and asks “How are you, honey?” in the sweetest way that makes you want to cry. I want to cry. The only image that brings me any comfort is the picture that flashed into my mind one morning upon waking from a night clouded with tears:

Jesus and my grandpa are walking down a long, shadowy tunnel. As they walk together slowly, Jesus places his hand on my grandpa’s back, right between his shoulder blades. It is a tender gesture—patient, kind, and protective. At the very end of the tunnel, there is golden light flooding through the archway, but they are not there yet. They are somewhere between death and life.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.

I shared that image with my spiritual director yesterday as we were processing my grief over letting go of my grandpa. After listening for a while she said, “Maybe that image is for you, too.” And she’s right.

I have needed Jesus to shepherd me through dark valleys more times than I can count, and I need him now. The beautiful thing is that Jesus has love enough, space enough, strength and patience enough to shepherd both me and my grandpa through this season. Even more wondrous is the reality that both of our journeys through the valley of the shadow of death will end in life—his in heaven; mine, in the life I still have on earth.

At the end of the psalm, David speaks with assurance about the presence of God both in life on earth and in heaven:

Surely your goodness and unfailing love will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
(vs. 6)

Life and then more life: this is our end.

Someday, earth and heaven will be one. For now, we remember that our journeys through the valley of the shadow of death are not permanent; the key word in Psalm 23:4 is through. Suffering and death are not the end. But when we do find ourselves in that dark valley, we can trust that God is with us, faithful to guide us like the kind shepherd that he is.

Wherever you are on your journey, may you receive this prayer from The Valley of Vision as a blessing for your path:

Lord, High and Holy, Meek and Lowly,

Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,
where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights;
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradox
that the way down is the way up,
that to be low is to be high,
that the broken heart is the healed heart,
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
that to have nothing is to possess all,
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
that to give is to receive,
that the valley is the place of vision.

Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells,
and the deeper the wells the brighter thy stars shine;

Let me find thy light in my darkness,
thy life in my death,
thy joy in my sorrow,
thy grace in my sin,
thy riches in my poverty,
thy glory in my valley.

Amen.