| Valley of the Shadow of Death... |
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| Written by Gabe Knipp | |||
| Tuesday, 22 January 2008 04:27 | |||
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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 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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| Last Updated on Tuesday, 22 January 2008 16:45 |
