The Valley

I was recently helping my son practice his Awana verses and when I turned the page to start his newest one, my chest tightened and my breath caught for a moment.

Staring back at me from the page was Psalm 23. This passage brings me both immense comfort and PTSD all at the same time.

I know it sounds odd considering that the verse is a beautiful promise of God’s presence. But it also transports me back to a scary hospital room and memories I will never be able to erase.

When reading this verse in the past, I always found it to be a beautiful metaphor. I never grasped the depth of evil awaiting in the shadow of death. Or how desperately I needed God’s presence to surround me, guide me, comfort me and restore me.

After Mason’s first hospital transfer, I was asked to sit outside the ICU while they did procedures that I had only heard about in dramatic story lines for tv shows. Just 24 hours earlier I had been listening to my son’s laughter and now, after an appendectomy and sepsis, I was sitting in a strange hospital waiting room which had to have been a closet in a previous floor plan, shivering because of a broken air conditioning and waiting in the quiet.

I knew things were serious of course. You don’t intubate a completely healthy little boy. But at the same time, dramatic things don’t ever happen to my family so it just was not really sinking in. As the night wore on and the eery silence began to be replaced by the sounds of running feet, the hospital wing which had felt abandoned suddenly began to come to life with an atmosphere of urgency. My heart began to beat a little faster and my prayers became more desperate.

When I was finally allowed back in that small Pediatric ICU, the transformation of the entire room was shocking to me. It had turned into a battlefield and in the middle lay the biggest casualty of all. My little boy.

When one particularly amazing nurse cleared a pathway through machines and medical debris, I was by his side, holding his hand, touching his face. The desperation in that moment cannot be expressed in words. It is still such a surreal reality… who ever expects to be by their child’s bedside, watching them die?

In the midst of that desperation, there wasn’t a lot of thought. Not much processing going on. I can’t fully express what was going through my mind. All I know is I was facing a desperate situation I could not have ever foreseen and certainly could not control. And when I opened my mouth, God’s word starting pouring out of it.

I leaned close to Mason’s ear and started praying,

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. 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. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

I memorized Psalm 23 as a young girl. I have read it many times over the years. But it wasn’t my memory that brought this out of my mouth in the middle of the night in that hospital room. It was the power of God working and fighting on my behalf, bringing his spoken word to a horrific war.

His truth was working in the midst of fear and terror and confusion and even when I was operating in shock. Other verses came to me in those final hours that spoke so deeply to my heart and no doubt fought fiercely against the evil assaulting me. There was a battle raging when my son was taken from this earth and although the casualty of his loss is still too tremendous to bear, the victory belonged to the Lord.

Death didn’t win.

I will see Mason again.

And so many other victories were claimed as well… small ones and big ones. When God fought through the evil in that valley he helped me see eternity that morning. He gave me a peace beyond comprehension. He prevented my pain from allowing bitterness and anger and desperation to consume me.

He met my needs, the ones I wasn’t even capable of realizing I had. And he met my family’s needs. When I read how God prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies, I instantly think of all the people that descended upon us to love us. Who served meals to my family and friends, who ran our errands and cleaned our house, who thought through precious details for my sons service so we could experience beauty in the pain, who gave so much of their time and energy and resources. God prepared a beautiful table for my family while we were surrounded by the dark enemy of despair.

There is so much truth and goodness in this passage that I had never anticipated I would actually have to live out. I never foresaw that the valley would be so dark and the death would not be my own. I never understood the depth of evil until it attempted to pounce upon what was most sacred to me. I had no idea how ferocious the enemy feels when he comes for your child.

When I replay those hospital scenes in my mind I often watch myself and wonder, why was I not angry? Why was I not hysterical? Why was I not screaming at the doctors or collapsing on the floor?

Every day of my life a million different emotions course through my heart over losing Mason. And every day of my life, I have to take a lot of thoughts captive and constantly refocus on truth. And I often wonder why none of those thoughts and emotions drove my actions at the hospital.

I know I was in shock and it helped prevent the reality of this life-altering pain to catch up to me. But I know it was more than that. It is far more simple and yet far more complex.

I was in the valley of the shadow of death. And he was with me.

He was with me. He was guiding me. He was protecting me. He was fighting for me.

God was leading me through the valley of the shadow of death. Protecting me amidst my enemies. Guiding me in paths of righteousness for his glory. And even then, He had already started the process of restoring my soul. Pointing me in the direction of eternity and reminding me that ultimate healing will come and this horrific enemy of death is defeated forever.

And when I continue to daily immerse myself in his word and truth, I find that his goodness and mercy pursue me. They surround me and overwhelm me. He has granted me great peace that is not of this world and clarity of purpose… a goal of eternity.

My cup truly overflows. Quite possibly its because of this wretched valley that all of these things are true in my life. Had I never stepped foot in this darkness I would never have seen such glorious light. Not until such ominous enemies threatened to devour me did I see the beauty of God’s peace in the midst of them. It wasn’t until this evil became so tangible did I see the power and overwhelming grace of God’s comfort and restoration.

So when my son brings his Awana book to me, I’m reminded why memorizing scripture is one of the most important things he will ever do. And while I pray no child of mine ever has to face a valley as wretched as mine, I do know that this world is a battlefield and I pray that God’s truth would always fight for my kid’s hearts. That they would eagerly yield to his Spirit’s leading.

And when they face the darkest of moments, they would know his truth is real, his word is alive, and that the Almighty God is fighting for them.