Inside the Valley - Trusting God in Grief

There are moments of joy in the lives that we lead, and then there are moments of pain. 

Sometimes, you feel weightless. Like nothing has ever been easier than to trust God with everything, because you know how strong he is and how much he loves you. You feel like you have a song inside of you, and that nothing could ever cause that song to falter even for an instant. You're in David's green pastures of Psalm 23, and the still waters are sweet. 

But then the Psalm moves on to the next verse, and you have a taste of the valley of the shadow of death. 

What happens in times of grief? Of pain? Many of us are experiencing them right now, this very moment, and are probably feeling lost. Grief comes to everybody, no matter how sheltered your life may have been up to this moment—I'm speaking to myself right now, since just a couple years ago I'd never gone through a trial of the same degree that I've come to understand now, whether the understanding came through my own experience or through the experiences of loved ones. Nobody will live an untouched life, much as we'd like to. 

So, how do we walk through the valley? It's painful—painful to the degree that we feel that we just can't bear any more suffering, or we'll break. And it seems like no fellowship or well-meant word can ever heal the pain, so what's the point of trying?

In the midst of suffering, it can be hard to see anything outside of it. And I can't pretend to offer a magic word that'll fix all your pain; no human can do that. But God's Word is true, and it can be your rock—so here are some things I've learned and that I know to be true, because God has said them. 

 

The valley is impermanent.

"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."

- Psalm 23:4-5

It's telling to realize that, immediately after a verse regarding the greatest suffering that humans can endure in this life, the psalmist mentions another of God's roles: the provider. "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." A table! God sets a rich banquet for us, a veritable feast for his undeserving children—and he does so in the midst of suffering. In the midst of hardship. In the presence of my enemies, Lord, you anoint me with oil. 

This season of difficulty is not going to last forever. It's impermanent, and will be followed by rich blessings. Because the Lord is good. He will not prevent all trials from touching us, but he will prevent those trials from destroying us. 

The blessings may not come in this life. Oftentimes, they do, but I personally know several godly Christians who have struggled with unbelievable trials for the vast majority of their lives.

But you know what? The blessings are coming for them, too. If the end isn't in sight for you, remember that one day you'll be more joyful than you ever have known before, in the presence of your Lord and King. 

And that is a guarantee.

The valley is inconsequential.

First of all, let me say something that seems to contradict that heading: this grief does matter. 

Your problems are important to God. As we're his children, it makes perfect sense that he'd care about what's going on in our lives—what kind of a father ignores the grief of his child, after all? Not a good one. 

But in the long run, your trials won't decide the fate of eternity. Trials are a way God makes us grow, and though they're painful, they aren't the end. Compared to eternity, the pain of the moment is smaller than a single molecule, atom, or electron. And as Christians we need to live with that knowledge of heaven in mind. 

In her book This Changes Everything, Jaquelle Crowe (now Ferris) quotes Randy Alcorn's words about our focus: 

In light of eternity, this life is just a drop in a ginormous bucket. Randy Alcorn says it like this: Picture eternity as a line that stretches to infinity, and this life as a tiny dot at the beginning of the line. The smart person, he points out, doesn't live for the dot. He lives for the line. In other words, everything we do, how we spend today and tomorrow and every day until we die, should be lived with eternity in mind. 

You see? The pain we feel now will be inconsequential in just a few decades. God knows you, and he wants you to know that our story is not done. And when it is, we'll experience such an inconceivable joy that all the sufferings we experience now will seem tiny by comparison.

The valley is incorporeal.

Why does David say the "shadow of death"? 

I want to be careful about what I say here. I'm not trying to say that death doesn't ever touch Christians. But there has to be a reason that David uses the word shadow, doesn't there? 

Death does touch Christians. But not in the same way. Because Christians know that death has been destroyed. 

1 Corinthians 15:26 says, "The last enemy to be destroyed is death." And when death touched Jesus, it lost all its power. Christ has conquered death, and it will never bring any of God's people under its dominion ever again—because now, to die is gain. 

The valley is dark. The valley is despairing. The valley is difficult to escape. 

But the valley is only a shadow, and shadows are easily dispelled by the light. 

 

When you are in a season of trial, remember that God is there. He is permanent and long-lasting, and he's more stable than any solid rock that we can stand on—and, doesn't he love us? Oh, his love is shown in times of sorrow. I know that you will find him, and he will hold you fast.