“Mountaintops are for views and inspiration, but fruit is grown in the valleys,” wrote Billy Graham. Eighteen months ago, I found myself staring down into the dark unknown of my hardest valley. The circumstances surrounding my eighth pregnancy were unusual and had me on high alert. The delivery of our seventh baby, Gwendolyn, included complications. I had suffered a major postpartum hemorrhage, and medical statistics painted a bleak picture for a healthy delivery for number eight. But God had given us a sweet promise before we found out we were pregnant with this baby. He gave us the baby’s name—Asa, which is Hebrew and means “God is my healer.”
As we held to God’s promise of being my Healer, we began to walk forward in faith. Each day closer to Asa’s delivery, I had to make a fresh decision to trust God’s promise and surrender to His plan. At forty-one weeks and three days pregnant, things were not going as I had hoped, and doubt firmly rooted itself in my mind. I went to Wednesday night Bible study with my family—it’s what we would have done if we weren’t expecting a baby—and we began to read the familiar words of Psalm 23. The teacher began, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want . . .” The familiar words washed over me, and the Lord began to speak to my heart.
“Kristen, are you ready? We are going into the valley.”
No. Absolutely not. Valleys are hard and scary and uncomfortable. Gloom and sadness lurk in the valley. I can’t do it, Lord. It’s too hard. I won’t make it out the other side.
I dug in my heals and tried to will a different future for myself and my baby. As I sat wrestling with God, my pastor’s wife shared an observation from Psalm 23:4: So many times we tell the Lord no. We won’t go into the valley. But He still calls us to journey through the valley with Him. THROUGH. It means “to enter from one side and move out another side.” God was asking me to trust Him to walk with me through this valley. He was going to be with me every step, but I still had to walk through. This was the way we needed to walk to produce the fruit He wanted to see in me.
We went to the hospital to deliver Asa and my mind was reeling with the uncertainties of what was before us. While my delivery was smooth with very few complications, Asa began to display unusual symptoms as we tried to nurse those first few hours after his birth. Doctors investigated and quickly diagnosed him with a congenital condition called Pierre-Robin Sequence (“Pierre-RO-Bahn”). In this condition, babies have underdeveloped jaws and cleft palates. They are the cutest little guys with petite chins and large, chubby cheeks, but the condition is very dangerous. Oftentimes the babies stop breathing because they don’t have enough room in their little mouths. Their tongues can easily block their airway, especially as they relax to sleep. PRS babies also have a difficult time feeding. Without the soft tissue flap in the back of his mouth, Asa couldn’t suckle to nurse or take a bottle. We had to find a specialized feeding system so his little body could grow.
The next few days, weeks, and months were filled with visits to specialists, expensive testing, and endless conversations about treatment plans. We faced hard, life-threatening decisions about how we would handle Asa’s care. Even though I knew God had promised to be with us and had given us Asa’s name of healing, my body and mind struggled to find peace in this valley. The fear was crushing. The darkness was overwhelming. Could I trust God with my baby boy?
Even in my doubt and grief, God was there. I held Asa and rocked him back and forth in our well-loved, hand-me down rocker. Tears streamed down my face as the sunlight from my bedroom window washed over us. Even in the middle of the day, I felt covered up by heavy darkness, just like Job describes in Job 3:5. At those times, I was desperate to feels God’s presence, so I streamed worship music from my phone—songs like Natalie Grant’s “My Weapon” and Brandon Lake’s “Gratitude” became my cries in the dark as I willed my heart and mind to focus on the love and faithfulness of Jesus. Women from my church called to pray over me, and I clung to every word. Their calls and their prayers were my lifeline in those darkest moments when it was too hard to find words to pray myself. Their prayers reminded me of God’s truth that He is all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving, and all-wise. He had me right in the palm of His hand, carrying me close.
There wasn’t anything I could offer Him in that moment except my surrender, my broken worship, my cries for help. I poured out my hot anger in frustration and cried out for understanding. It was at these times I was so thankful to have Job’s cries written on the pages of my Bible. His cries gave me permission to be completely honest with God in the deepest parts of my valley. My intense feelings and my hardest questions were okay to voice in this safe, sacred space. He was there and He wasn’t going to let me go.
These past eighteen months have given me a new type of understanding of God’s faithfulness. The fruit of this valley is a deep KNOWING in the very core of my soul. It is etched in the fabric of my mind not to be quickly forgotten or dismissed. My God is faithful to lead me through even the darkest valley. He is constant even when I doubt and question Him. He holds me together when I am falling apart. He sends me comfort through the physical presence and reassurance of my church family. When I walk through the valley, I don’t do so in my own strength or understanding. I walk through and make it to the other side because I have a faithful shepherd who knows exactly what I need. He leads me through.
So, take heart, dear friend, if you are entering the valley because our God is always faithful to lead us THROUGH.
