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Valley of the Shadow of Death... |
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Written by Gabe Knipp
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Tuesday, 22 January 2008 |
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Note: This journal is part of a larger work, selections of which I'll post from time to time... Psalm XXIII
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still
waters.
He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Even 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 overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
1.20.2008
I’m down in Colorado Springs. My wife Brooke and sister Janae are watching a movie, Dad and Mom are asleep. Dad started his chemo on Friday. Today, Sunday, he threw up twice and kept nodding off while we watched football. I feel confident that the chemotherapy is effective; I feel confident it will -- and is -- affecting his tumor. He looks, however, like he has aged five years over the last few weeks since I’ve seen him.
I need this psalm, and I need it to be more real than I can make it on a late Sunday night. For me, this psalm is real on an intellectual level: I can assent to the fact that God is good, that his love follows me in the form of goodness and mercy. But I can’t feel this in a down-at-the-bottom-of-my-gut type of way. Don’t misunderstand me, because I am at peace. The peace that the psalmist writes about, though, seems an entirely different type of peace. I can imagine walking through the valley of the shadow of death -- if there is such a valley -- and being sustained. I can’t imagine walking through such a place and fearing no evil. I must admit that when my dad has cancer I fear evil, when I’m told my job is going to end I fear evil, even when Brooke comes home much later than she says she will I begin to think there was a car accident or that something is terribly wrong. These are everyday realities that I face, not shadow-of-death realities that the psalmist faced.
But maybe my everyday realities are as thick and harrowing as they come. I can’t say for sure, as I’ve never been in a war zone, I’ve never been mugged or had my house robbed. Actually, I’ve never even broken a bone. My life has been comfort and safety.
But that doesn’t mean that a new understanding of mortality in a father -- and thus in myself, as well -- is not valley-of-the-shadow-of-death material. My greatest fears -- and I think I’m quite common in this area -- come with the sudden realization that life is not at all in my control. I realize this with the tumor that has grown in my father’s belly, and if it could grow in his belly it could grow in mine. I could realize this living in a war-torn area, or growing up in a ghetto and continually feeling my lack of power and control, or getting in a car accident. I am not in control. Not at all. And this is scary.
I read this psalm because I need it. I need the mental assent that there is a God, and that he is for me. And hopefully, when these realizations about my lack of control continue to come, when the valleys-in-the-shadow-of-death come, I will at least begin to stop fearing evil. First in my brain. Then, much, much later: in my soul.
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