I’ve walked the darkest valley, from a hospital room to a silence that felt endless. Here’s what Psalm 23:4 taught me about a God who stays close in the dark.

Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me. — Psalm 23:4

So far on this journey through Psalm 23, I’ve witnessed God’s goodness in the bountiful meadows and tasted the cool water of his provision. It’s not hard to see God at work in times of plenty. Or to thank him when prayers are answered. But what about the times when his voice is silent and the darkness falls?

More Than a Shadow

In the hospital room with my dad as he took his final breath, death became more than a shadow. The once strong hands wilted as life left him. The darkness of his loss surrounded me. In those moments when my worst fears came true, the pain was blinding. I questioned God and groped for his presence that seemed to have disappeared.

David walked those same paths of darkness when he wrote Psalm 23:4. He lived under the shadow of death, constantly threatened by his enemies with no relief in sight. He survived on borrowed bread and made his home in caves. To make matters worse, David felt alone — deserted by God. Day after day, he begged for answers. Night after night, he wept and pleaded for God to answer his prayers. But silence echoed in the void. He poured out his heart in Psalm 22.

“My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? Why are you so far away when I groan for help? Every day I call to you, my God, but you do not answer. Every night I lift my voice, but I find no relief.” — Psalm 22:1-2

I’ve been there too. In the overwhelming darkness that suffocates. Crying out to God for explanations. Hungering for a word of comfort or reprieve from the heartache. And hearing nothing.

Not the Gift, but the Giver

But I’m not alone. David recognized it, and so do I. God is close beside me.

I can’t explain it. I can’t understand it or see it. But I’ve felt him in the darkness. He is the calm that feels like a warm blanket when I’m shivering. He’s the gentle falling snow that covers the hard places and makes even the ugliest terrain a picture of beauty and peace. That’s what it means that God is with me. Not just because he gives, but because he is there in the taking away. So it’s not the gift but the Giver I seek.

When I don’t even realize how close to the edge I’ve come, I feel the tender nudge of his staff drawing me close. And when hidden enemies are near, I can feel the wind of his rod whipping into action to defend me. So even when I can’t see him, I know he’s there. And there’s an unexplainable peace that comes in knowing I’m not alone in this dark valley. There’s hope that this path will only last for a season. I don’t have to live in this valley of death.

A Prayer for the Valley

O Giver,

How I thank you for all the beautiful gifts you give. The peace. The joy. The provision. But I also thank you that in these hard places — in the heartache that seems to go on forever, in the tearing and the loss — you are also there. Your presence never leaves me. And for that I am thankful. You care for me in every way. In the giving and in the taking away. In the living and in the dying. So instead of asking, “Why?” may I be bold enough to walk the hard path you’ve chosen for me. To follow the Christ path of suffering. To discover that even in the darkness, you are the Light of the World.

Next week we'll dive into the reward for walking through the valley and what's waiting on the other side.

If you're walking a dark valley right now, tell me in the comments. I'd be honored to pray for you.

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