Walking Through

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;

I have to confess of late I have found much of my prayer life more of a struggle than I like to admit. I find time for it daily, and I ponder many things as I go about the routine tasks of my day that leave my mind free for such pursuits, and yet the thing that lays heaviest on my heart becomes heavier and my petitions regarding this issue have begun to feel like "vain repetitions"

As I have noted before, my mother, my anchor for much of my life, is battling breast cancer for a second time. I have an amazing circle of friends who have been standing with me in prayer for her healing, and I believe we will see a miracle yet. Her second round of chemo hit her hard, but in the busyness of life I had not received this update. I was stunned to learn how ill she had become, since in the last conversation I had had with my stepfather I had been told she was sleeping a lot & not eating, but otherwise was fine.

Again I rallied the "troops", gave them an update and solicited their continued prayers. And then I let me beat myself up with guilt and regret and justification for not paying more attention. My sisters have been attendant, dealing with bills and laundry, cooking & cleaning, I have not. I am no Martha, I have always been a Mary, and I have remained away from the physical front lines of this battle, fighting instead on the spiritual one. As I write this it occurs to me the core of what has plagued me. The battle is wearisome, no more of less so than the other, but my sword & shield had grown heavy, until I recalled my compatriots of prayer. One reply to my emailed request was waiting in my inbox when I returned home from work, and I could hear my friend's voice offering comfort, reminding me I was not standing alone.

As I sat this morning Bible & journal open before me, seeking the "right" words, unable to write or to speak, across the vivid and cluttered landscape of my mind came the verse, and a newer vision of what I had first seen when I began praying for Mom's recovery.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me;

when we first received Mom's diagnosis it was this verse, Psalm 23:4, that stuck in my head as I began to pray. And the word that was underscored in it was THROUGH. Through, not in to, but through. Today, as Holy Spirit reminded me of that I could see a valley between to mountains, overhead the sky was bright, as befits a summer day, but the valley was deep, and the clouds that from the mountainside were so picturesque drifted over the sun and left the valley dark and shadowed, and stole away the sun's warmth. But as I watched the clouds continued to drift and the sun emerged again. The shadows in the valley became less ominous, and at the end of the valley I could see a lovely meadow, the stream had formed a small quiet pool, the grass was lush and green, and sunlight streamed through the remaining clouds.

In this fleeting moment my hope & strength were restored. I was ready to take up the battle again.

The 23 Psalm, so often reserved for funerals, is so much more aptly a song of promise for this life, feasting and celebrating in the face of our enemies, our needs, present and future met by a caring Shepherd. We all want to live on the mountain top, but it is in the valley that we really learn and grow.

I have a wonderful postscript to this particular blog. I called and spoke to my mom this evening and she sounded much better & seemed in good spirits. It is a long road ahead, for all of us, but most of all for her. As I was talking with her I kept thinking what an amazing response to prayer- I'm not sure when her turnaround began, but I know this morning I once again took a strong stand against the lies that fear & doubt & illness whisper in our years. With tears I pleaded for divine comfort and strength to be restored. And so here I say THANK YOU. Thank you to all of you who have stood with me in prayer, and thank you to the Good Shepherd, whose "rod and staff comfort me". Thank you.