View from the Valley

“But as for me I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me. Though I have fallen I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.” Micah 7:7-8

We will know greater joy because we have known greater grief. The bright mountain of joy is much higher when overlooking the dark valley of death, grief, and sorrow. 

I’m in that dark valley, clambering my way up the jagged cliffs. It’s daunting. Yet as daunting as it may be to look up and see just how high the mountaintop is from where I currently cling, it is also reassuring because the brightness beyond this dark valley is indeed visible.

I want to be there now and out of this scary valley with its shadows and treacherous paths. But I cannot will myself, nor wish myself into the brightness of joy. I think my heart so shadowed with dark sorrow would be blinded by such sudden brightness. I think I need the climb. I need the callouses developed by the cuts and bruises: by the pain. 

I trust his Holy Spirit will produce in me what is needed for ascending the heights one painful step at a time. I trust his Holy Spirit will gradually, tenderly produce glimmers and rays of joy in exactly the shade my heart can handle on this climb. Enough to keep hope alive. Yet not so much to send me reeling backward seeking shadows. He’s been faithful thus far.  

I think in the same way dawn slowly creeps in until eventually the darkness is overcome I will one day find myself upon this mountain again- heart adjusted to the brightness. The fullness of joy. 

The fruit of the climb is a blessing, but what sustains me is his presence in the climb.  I do not, will not, cannot scale the mountain with any strength of my own.

This valley of grief and darkness will not suddenly be filled in or cease to exist. It will always be here: this side of heaven anyway. Yet I trust one day I will view it from higher heights. 

And that is enough. Today is not that day. Next week, next year will also likely not be that day. Today my palms are sweaty, knuckles bleeding as I hug a cliff of darkness in the valley of death, grief, and sorrow with an upturned face.