Valley of the Shadow

Last week, I sat with the other members of my church's worship planning team as we brainstormed ways to present Scripture relating to Jesus as the Messiah. We came up with putting people in the screen room of the sanctuary, so they'd be located behind the screen but in front of the projector--silhouetted. Next--who would read? A variety of people were suggested, and one was Mrs. J.--my 90+ year-old friend. Someone pondered the visual presented by her ever-present walker, and I volunteered to be her extra support. Whether we went with an Old Testament feel or a modern approach, a person would fit in better than a three-wheeled cart.

Sunday morning, I led Mrs. J. through the darkened hallway that went to the screen room. The path was narrow, so we had to ditch her cart. She couldn't see well and crept along hesitantly; I wondered why she wasn't more trusting of my ability to see.

I told my mother about that experience today and was struck by the vivid spiritual parallel as I spoke. Why didn't Mrs. J. trust me? I could see!

What have I been wrestling with lately? Not seeing the way, knowing I can't feel my way along...

Do you suppose, just maybe, that God feels the same way I did in that darkened hallway?

It's dark--but I can see. You're fine. If you stumble, I'll catch you. I know the way.