On the floor of Yosemite valley I have felt as though I'm gazing at glimpses of heaven's throne room -- its majesty far too lovely to even begin to describe.
One of my favorite things about Maui are the incredible valleys, leading to the name "The Valley Isle". The depth and length of these valleys are breathtaking but what captivates me most of all is how lush and fertile they are -- the vegetation is growing straight out of volcanic debris. Beauty from ashes.
All these valleys were carved, shaped and molded over time.
The valley I am walking through right now does not seem beautiful, lush or heavenly. In fact, I don't see glimpses of snow caped mountain tops, waterfalls cascading over cliffs or tropical paradise on the other side at all. And one of the most painful parts is that I have been here before. This exact pain is all too familiar. My feet are shuffling through and covered by the same dirt on this valley floor once again.
All I know is that I can't run through this valley, (as much as I am aching to do so), or even speed walk as I love to do. I must linger enough to process the deep pain and loss of my precious baby.
To rush through this deep valley too quickly could result in missing out on properly walking through (not over) the obstacles and grief before me. Also, I believe that God has blessings to surprise me with too as I am forced to look up and focus on Him.
Instead, I am here, in the valley, taking a moment to sit down. Catching my breath for my journey. Looking at my surroundings and seeing them as what they are. Ugly. Dead. Horribly painful beyond words.
The verdant meadows laden with beautiful wild flowers will come. The breathtaking mountain tops that break through and soar above all clouds are around another bend. I take great comfort knowing that I do not have to live or tread in this valley forever.
There is a time for everything. I would much rather be celebrating than grieving; breathing a deep relaxing sigh than trying to catch my breath from a good cry.
Giving thanks is not natural right now and goes against every grain in my body. Yet, when I do, I am somehow lifted a little and reminded of all I do have that is beautiful and good.
Here's a timely clip from my devotional book this week, Jesus Calling by Sarah Young:
"Thankfulness takes the sting out of adversity. That's why I have instructed you to give thanks for everything. There is an element of mystery in this transaction: You give me your thanks (regardless of your feelings), and I give you Joy (regardless of your circumstances). This is a spiritual act of obedience -- at times, blind obedience...those who obey Me in this way are invariably blessed, even though difficulties may remain."
So, Lord, as Your little girl, I am clinging to Your mighty hand. Abba Father, I need You to guide me through this deep and painful valley. Help me not to miss anything you have put here before me. Give me strength. Please carry me when my weary and broken body can't get up and walk anymore on my own. Quoting your Scriptures, "I will offer to You the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and will call upon the name of the Lord." ~ Psalm 116:1 For as You know, even speaking words of thanks is a huge sacrifice. I just don't want to thank You right now. But as You have shown me, even in the "bad timing of it all" in this week of Thanksgiving, You can bring reminders of all you have given us, and I thank You.
1 comment:
beautifully written dear friend. You are in my prayers as you dwell in this valley.
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