We think we know what faith means when we’re in the meadow–warm sun; clean water; green grass. Trust seems easy in those level places.
But that’s not always where we get to walk.
Some days we stand on the edge of the valley, looking down into darkness. The valley of the shadow of death. It’s a strange word in Hebrew–a compound word formed by “shadow” and “death.” Sometimes it’s used to describe the realm of the dead (Job 10:22). It describes that place of fear where the threat is real. It’s the place where you can’t see the next step; the place where you’re not sure what lurks in the shadows. It’s a place of want: green grass doesn’t grow in the darkness. Standing there on the edge of the valley, you can feel the weight of doubt on your shoulders.
What lies in your valley? Is it truly the valley of death, with tests and needles and waiting rooms and a thousand unknowns lining the path ahead?
Or perhaps you face the valley of the unknown. You shuffle your feet slowly, not sure if the next step is leading you out or hurtling you over a cliff. Darkness blocks your vision, and you fear what you can’t see.
Maybe you walk the valley of depression. You know the light is there–you’ve felt it before and you know others see it. But the sun’s warmth feels like a distant memory and you’re not sure you believe you’ll ever see it again.
You stand looking down into the darkness as the sun slips below the horizon, and the enemy’s taunts ring in your ears. The Shepherd? He can’t protect you here. He’s gone. You’ve wandered outside his reach. Listen to that howling. The wolves are circling, little sheep. Be afraid. This valley belongs to me.
That’s when faith becomes a declaration. It’s not a bedtime prayer or a children’s sermon–it’s a shout of defiance. It’s Gandalf in the cavern’s of Moriah, shouting “You will not pass!” It’s David standing before Goliath, sling in hand. It’s Esther with her hand on the throne-room door. It’s Peter standing before the council vowing to obey God rather than men.Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will not be afraid for you are with me.
You are with me. I will not be afraid. At first it’s a whisper, then a plea. But your voice gets stronger. It becomes a chant, a cheer, a shout, a roar. A declaration. You say it as you walk, believing without seeing. And though the darkness surrounds you, your declaration becomes truth. You walk through the valley and you are not afraid, because the Shepherd is with you.
And that’s when your realize he was there all along.
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