Valley of Deep Darkness

I'm sitting at my laptop just now, scrolling through social media, catching up on emails while I wait for my lunch to heat.  New Zealand pops up on the feed, so I Google because I've been disconnected this morning and apparently missed something big.  And suddenly the sun dims a bit as images of confusion and grief and chaos come up on the screen, and I sit.  Just sit.  Motionless.  A billion thoughts and none at all run through my mind simultaneously.  I want to rewind time, please, although I'm not sure where I would stop.  How about this morning, as I sat in a circle with saints twice my age and sang "'tis so sweet to trust in Jesus ... how I've proved Him o'er and o'er."  Yes, I'll go back and linger there a while.  Appreciating the moments as I should have this morning.  And I will bask in the warmth of grandma hugs and time-tested hymns sung by those who have journeyed long enough to have proven the words.  Any thought beyond those walls will be of the daffodils peeking out of the soil and the scent of spring on the breeze.  Because gut honest, the world outside those walls disappoints me.  Scares me.  Horrifies me.  This is what I have to give my children?  This is what I am launching them into?  Let me gather my babies and run far away to a world where people are kind and loving and honest and humble. 

A quote by one of my heroes comes to mind.  Corrie ten Boom said, "When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don't throw away your ticket and jump off.  You sit still and trust the engineer."

And then the irony hits me ... that this very morning in that circle of saints, we looked at the faith of Moses, how he persevered because "he saw Him who is invisible."  And we studied the Valley of Deep Darkness (Ps 23:4) and David's reminder that our Shepherd doesn't abandon us in the valley.  Instead, He leads us through and is glorified by our trust in Him through the confusion, the grief, the chaos.

My phone buzzes and I glance down, notice the verse of the day:  "When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul."  (Ps 94:19)  And I smile at God's timing as the microwave announces lunch is ready. 

Perspective

"I want a window with a view," I whined to my husband as I stared at a windowless wall of my house.  On the other side of that wall, I knew was a glorious sunrise.  It wasn't my finest moment.  I could have moved my lazy self to a different room to watch the day awake.  But my chair was cozy and it was easier to wish for what wasn't.  Later (and after I had come to my senses!), I gazed out the window at the lightening sky and was reminded how foundational perspective is.  See, from that window, I could either focus on the houses and traffic outside, or I could look beyond to the majestic fir trees on the backdrop of a warm morning sky with its gradient of soft yellows and blues.  What would I choose?

The other day I pulled into the parking lot of a nature park.  I had packed my breakfast and was going spend my few spare minutes allowing my soul to refill before the day crowded in, even if it meant doing so from the front seat of my minivan.  My gaze took in the towering trees, the falling leaves indicating winter was on its way, the flitting birds, the outhouse.  Yes, outhouse.  And the matter of perspective came crashing in once again.  There, with a bowl of oatmeal on my lap, I realized that I had a choice.  I could set my vision in one direction and see beauty and glory and God's handiwork.  Or I could turn the other direction and see the toilet.  My circumstances didn't change.  Either way, I was seated in the same position, same minivan, same oatmeal, same to-do list.  The only thing that changed my view was my direction of focus.

What will you focus on today?  I recommend the trees, not the toilet!