Valley

Lord, You are my shepherd; I lack nothing and also my tears flood the canyon of my keyboard and my laptop will soon frizzle to a black screen from water damage. I wonder how much I can sustain and when You will repair the blank nothingness of my heart and horizon.

These waters are not quiet.

Even though You make me lie down and lead me and guide me, still I find myself walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the valley of deepest dark that seems very much absent of shepherds. How did I get here? I was so sure I was following along so carefully—wasn’t Your leadership so clear? Did I miss a signpost somewhere? What about all my prayers, Lord? It is a long, silent walk and my heart keens, bereft, in the vacuum of my interior: the sound doesn’t carry as my thoughts slice themselves to ribbons.

I have to choose not to fear because I am, in fact, afraid—very afraid of this task You have set of walking blindfolded into a new unknown, one different than the electric unknown I’d lately anticipated with so much tender hope. This valley is steep and black and my senses—of You, of myself, of direction—have slunk like foxes away into the shadows. My friends have scattered and my only companion is Disorientation. I say with Jesus in the Garden, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow.” You are with me? I could fall upward into space and tumble through the galaxy indefinitely.

The enemy is very much at work. I see his fingerprints—or are those Yours? Would You allow such a thing? It can’t be because of the ways I sometimes fail or the parts of me in need of healing. You’re not punitive and Your love not contingent. You prepare a table in the presence of my enemies—why? So that they know that You know they’re there and at work and that You, bold as brass, will bless as You choose, ultimately, unhindered. You have chosen me and when I fail, I know that they know that You are aware of my sin and yet, here You are, still preparing a feast and promises, even when obscured by the mystery of Your sovereignty and its intersection with free will. Your promise, Lord, is that she who sows in tears will return with songs of joy and right now, Lord, my cup overflows with seeds for sowing.

Is goodness pursuing me? Is love pursuing me? I have questions, Lord.

Amen.