I'm in a valley. I can't see the end.

A valley you can't see the end of feels like somewhere you'll be left. But David wrote this as a hunted man — not from safety, and not after rescue. The dark part was never the whole of it, and he was never in it by himself. Neither are you.

The conversation

The child: “Daddy God, I'm in a valley. I can't see the end.”

God: “David wrote Psalm 23 hunted. Not from a mountaintop.”

The child: “But I do want. I want this to be over.”

God: “Not wanting isn't not aching. It means you won't lack.”

God: “He makes you lie down. Sometimes rest has to be given.”

The child: “And the valley? That's where I am.”

God: “You walk through it. Not into it. Through.”

God: “It's the shadow of death. Not death itself.”

The child: “You're not just watching from up there?”

God: “I'm in it. Beside you. The whole way.”

The child: “You set a table here? In the middle of this?”

God: “Your cup runs over in the valley.”

God: “Goodness and mercy are already behind you.”

The child: “Then I'll keep walking. Through, not into.”

God: “And not a step of it alone.”

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Psalm 23:4, KJV

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