I walk THROUGH the Valley

The LORD is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

Yea, 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 runs over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD
Forever.

Yea, 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. These word have been echoing in my head all day long. I was praying for my mom this morning, and this is the verse I heard, and it filled me with hope, because the emphasis was distinctly on the word "through".
It's funny, so often this lovely Psalm so full of promise and reassurance is read at funerals, when in fact every word calls out to the living. It is in this life, here & now He longs to feed us and shelter us.

I can not help but smile with delight when I imagine the banquet table He will lay before me in the presence of those who wish me ill. (OK, I'll admit it's a little vindictive of me, considering, but nonetheless, isn't that the promise?) Truth be told once I had an image of a glorious party with my enemies left out in the cold, noses pressed against the glass, watching with regret & longing, but, just now, as I was writing my parenthetical statement the picture shifted, and I saw my enemies forgiven and included in the celebration. Wow, now there's a picture!

Accompanying the verse I heard in my prayer time this morning was the most tender and beautiful picture. I was praying for my mom, whose cancer treatments began today. What I saw, as I asked for her to be comforted, encouraged and strengthened, was Jesus, holding her in His arms as she sat through the treatment, much as we as mothers have cradled our own sick and frightened children. I remember hold Emily when she cut her forehead open so the doctor could stitch her. She was hurting and scared and my embrace had to be gentle enough to comfort her and strong enough to hold her still. She knew she was safe and held her gaze, promising it would all be OK. The scale is immensely different, the picture is the same.
How often have I let myself fall into those everlasting arms for support and comfort? Too often to count.

What do you see when you picture the 23 Psalm?