Presence in the Valley

There are times of stress in life, where life simply happens. Things are unorganized, days are messy, tasks are forgotten, car keys are misplaced, windows are left down and it rains. You spill your coffee on your white shirt, you’re stuck in traffic and late for work. That’s life. 

Then there are times of stress in life, where you feel like you are under attack. And yes let’s be direct and honest here – I am talking about the attack of the enemy, the devil. There are some things which just come straight from the pits of hell, and there is no other satisfying explanation.

I saw this at work in my life last week. On Sunday, I began to finally feel like I had perhaps survived the attack and would indeed carry on to reflect upon it. Like someone emerging from a week spent underground, I am still blinking at the light of day while the mind-fog clears. Sometimes I can’t even perceive what is going on until it is over and normalcy has returned.

The devil is no gentleman, he attacks us when we are weakest.

My week started with a phone call from a dear friend. She has a terminal illness and had to be taken to the emergency room. She spent most of the week there, where they told her she is bleeding internally, her sickness is progressively worsening, and sorry but we don’t know what else to tell you really. I sat with her and she tried to be strong so that I wouldn’t be sad, but in the end we both cried because there’s not much else to do than alternate praying with crying.

Her daughter stayed with us while her mom was in the hospital, because they don’t have any family here. This proved as a blessing because she helped to entertain my little ones when I was exhausted and finding it really difficult to give them the love they need. The sounds of playing with playdoh provided a delightful background noise to my desperately needed devotions.

My allergies kicked in when the heater turned on this week (because I am allergic to dust – how stupid is that?). So I was plugged and congested with watery eyes and head pressure and that feeling like I’m underwater and can’t hear what is going on around me.

Knowing my only safeguard left was the peace of my own home and marriage, the attack also came here. My husband and I got into several entirely pointless arguments which went nowhere and accomplished nothing. I reverted to my teenage self and did some stomping and door-slamming. I said more apologies than usual this week, and did some good old-fashioned feeling bad for myself, alternated only with beating myself with the you’re-a-failure stick.

My one year-old presented a reaction to a vaccine shot, and was madder than a bull for most of the week. His ear-splitting screams were enough to make my heart race and my hands clammy. My two year-old is now old enough to recognize when mommy is stressed, and clings to me like he knows I might run into the woods and never return. (His assessment is not far from the truth).

A friend calls, but I know I can’t answer because she is that one friend who will see right through my professional put-together voice and know that I am a mess. When I don’t answer she leaves me a text reminding me that she is thinking of me and do I need anything. I burst into tears immediately, grateful to be thought of. I know I can ask for help, but sometimes in survival mode you just can’t see beyond your immediate situation, nor lift one more finger of effort to even think about it or ask for it. It is good that this week does not represent a typical week for me. A typical week for me does not feel like incessant nails on a chalkboard.

Oasis in the desert, one of my assignments for school is to practice meditating on Psalm 23, and reflect on what it means to me. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul.” v1-3

I ended each day this week by flopping down on my bed with my Bible in front of me and pouring out my tears of exhaustion and grief to God. He makes me rest, he knows I am weary and he gives me quiet through it all. He provides everything I need, I am humbled by phone calls from people who love me and care about me and are praying for me and my sick friend. Grace comes in so many forms. Kind words and tears are shared and I am not in want of anything at all, not anything.

Through the heaviness of grief, homework gets done, dinner gets cooked, babies get fed. I am anxious and jumpy and I need more sleep. Somehow I am able to prepare a sermon for our healing service, God is present, more tears and grief are shared under the Cross of Christ. I once again can’t believe how truly blessed I am to be a child of God. I wish my friend was there to know all about this goodness but she is at home and she is sick and dying perhaps (I am in denial).

 The valley of the shadow of death makes everything a little foggy, but God is present and meets all of my needs and uses me in my weakness for His glory, “for his name’s sake” (v3). The devil may attack my weakness, but God uses my weakness for himself. It’s as if He whispers lay down Amy, be weak, be loved, and let me be God. Nothing like the Word to change my perspective!

I am reminded again of my favorite quote from Corrie Ten Boom: “God’s light shines the brightest in the dark.” There is no presence like the presence of God with me in the valleys.

 Oh Lord, thank you for being so good to me. Thank you for providing for every need, in every way. Thank you for your Word and your truth and your presence. Thank you for making your presence known in times of suffering. In Jesus name, Amen.