Despite the Valley of the Shadow of Death
Peyton Garland is an author and coffee shop hopper who loves connecting people to grace bigger than expected. Follow her on Instagram @peytonmgarland and check out her latest book, Tired, Hungry, & Kinda Faithful, to discover how you can love God and like Him too.
“You could go on disability,” my husband pressed. His words were soft, steady, yet everything gut-wrenching. Pride tugged at the walls of my throat, humility challenging me to swallow the undeniable truth:
My mental diagnosis was more than a few words scratched on a prescription order. It was, and remains, a debilitating, diabolical drudgery that crept into the crannies of my brain and the cracks in my heart. My capacity to function, let alone enjoy breathing, as any other healthy woman was now impossible.
However, I wouldn’t dare go on disability—no, good girls, bold girls, tough girls, fight the demons away without taking a break or raising a white flag. Such are the women God welcomes to His round table of prestige, nobility, and worthiness, no?
Yet, girls like us don’t fight the enemy; unknowingly, we fight the chinks in our own armor. We turn on our souls. We use titles, trophies, and perfection as our greatest weapons against our humanity, uselessly struggling with ourselves “as one who beats the air” (1 Corinthians 9:26).
In a fallen world, we aren’t shielded from our failures and inabilities, but the corrupted art of assuming we can conquer impossible standards unscathed is a lifeless shot at, well, living.
In this present season of roller-coaster health, I scrounge for whole, vital pieces of my heart that breathe despite Intrusive Thought Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
While I know God is good, that existence, finite and eternal, hinges on Christ’s loveliness, one gnawing question often brings me to my knees, not in awe but fear: Does God deem me good, sufficient, or worthy enough for Him to stay?
Am I salvageable? Useful? Forever welcome at His table? Does the slightest effort I produce showcase Christ’s light though my mind lives in the valley of the shadows?
A burning bush lends no hint; an angel never offers a haiku of clues.
Rather, the holy grail is uncovered as I refuse to surrender my need for answers. By this relentless pursuit of God’s character, I discover the image of His longsuffering, His faithfulness. It’s as though God says:
If you haven’t left Me, did it ever cross your mind that there’s no way I’m leaving you? (Remember, darling, I carry the weight of this relationship. And I not only carry it well, but I carry it perfectly.) You’ve chased after me, even at your worst moments. What more have I ever wanted of My own?
In short, God reveals that grace and perfection can’t coexist. He longs for us to surrender the latter so He can extend the first.
To be good enough to earn God’s steadfastness, I must surrender my efforts at being good enough. I must confess perfection is unattainable, accessing God's favor by being human, enduring an incurable, enfeebling disorder.
In 2 Corinthians 12:6-8, Paul has discovered the same humbling, near-numbing truth. He writes, “Even if I should choose to boast, I would not be a fool... in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.”
Paul chooses humility willingly, and in admitting his humanity, he hears the voice of God:
“But [Christ] said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
God offers us His power in exchange for our tainted plights. He loves us with such a deep understanding that the pathway to His presence requires nothing more than our shortcomings.
Granted, I don’t suggest that you ignore refinement, progress, and healing. Stay forever true to a heart of repentance.
However, on the journey to discovering Christ has dignified your being, remember His presence is loudest and most honored to walk alongside your darkest days.
“Yea; though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me...” (Psalm 23:4).
Perhaps you battle perfectionism, a physical disability, severed relationships, a mental disorder—anything tragic a sinful world might launch—yet, one cosmic burst of truth remains forever kindled:
Despite the critics, the doctors, the doubters, one's perception of their darkest season, God’s own are promised a cup that runneth over (Psalm 23:5).
I’m not sure what such a cup will look like, feel like, or offer, but as I bask in the faithful sunrise, notice the relief found in therapy, and take in the miracle of a tiny white pill that offers my brain rest, creation whispers to me of its Creator:
Hope is here.
