Helping you find hope in hard times
I once travelled across the Sinai desert and as my camel veered into a wadi sheltered from the wind the silence hit me, surreal and total. I could hear the noise of my thumb and forefinger as I rubbed them together, clearly! There was no chance of a snake sneaking up on me.
It’s a crunching gear-change, but a good place to ask, have you ever noticed how quiet the world becomes in the Psalm 23 ‘valley of life?’ Not the noise of traffic or voices or the endless whirl of media distraction, but that inner stillness that settles eventually when the gadgets are turned off, when unsocial media comfort has packed up and left, and all you’re left with is the echo of your own questions. That’s the thing about valleys – they rarely shout. They whisper. And often, they whisper fear, anxiety and apprehension.
You are probably so familiar with Ps 23 that you might benefit today from me showing you what might be the elephant in the room, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…” Not because the valley isn’t dark. Not because you’re strong enough to make it through on your own. Not because evil isn’t real. But because of one profoundly steady truth: you are not alone. The Shepherd is near.
Now, that’s easy to quote. It’s been printed on enough tea towels and sympathy cards to make it feel like a spiritual slogan. But when the valley is your lived reality – when you’re walking with a limp and your prayers feel like unanswered voicemails you need more than a verse. You need a Shepherd. You need to know, not in theory but way deep, in the marrow of your bones, that the darkness doesn’t get the last word. Never does. Never will.
Here’s what’s easy to miss; shadows only exist because there is light, and without light, there’s no shadow, just total darkness. If figuratively speaking you’re seeing or experiencing ‘shadows’, no matter how ominous or grey they may seem, it means light is still present. Somewhere behind you, beside you, above you – the light of God’s presence is breaking in. Things might not always go the way we want, but, all things work together for our God. We might not understand how, but God’s grace, kindness and will for us is always for us.
David never wrote, “Though I live in the valley.” He said, “Though I walk through.” The valley isn’t a destination. It’s not a place to settle or build theology around or start defining God by your experience of silence. It’s a passage. It’s a ‘through’ place, yet many of us are tempted to pitch tents in the shadows, convincing ourselves that God has left the building because we can’t trace His hand. But faith, real faith, learns to walk through what it doesn’t yet understand.
It’s in the walking, not the understanding, where the Shepherd, your Shepherd, does His finest work.
He doesn’t promise to make the valley disappear. He promises to be with us in it. There’s a difference. We keep looking for escape; He keeps offering presence. We demand clarity; He offers Himself. We want answers; He gives us His rod and staff as comforts we didn’t know we needed, until fear started clutching at our heels like some childhood monster that lives under our bed…
The psalmist doesn’t flinch from naming the shadow of death. He doesn’t soften the threat. But he refuses to let it define his confidence. So should you. “You are with me.” That’s the turning point. It always is. The Shepherd doesn’t promise a detour around the valley via the M6 or the M1; He leads us right through the middle of it. And He does so not from a distance, not barking orders from the hills, but with us. Right there. Sometimes silent, yes. But never absent. With us.
You don’t have to feel the Shepherd to follow Him. You just need to trust that if there’s a shadow, there’s light. And if there’s light, He’s near. And never forget the way things were always meant to be, and will be eternally – that command of God; “Let there be light.”
So keep walking. Don’t camp in the confusion. Don’t knit a theology out of the fog and mist. And don’t let the shadow convince you that it’s the source of truth. The valley is not the end. There’s a table on the other side. There’s oil, there’s a cup overflowing, there’s goodness and mercy that don’t just follow you – they chase you, catch and overtake you.
Jesus, our formidable, great shepherd always leads through. He hasn’t stopped now.