Valley Walking

The 23^rd Psalm has taught me much about my mortality. I say that, because of the cancer diagnosis I received years ago. It hinges on one verse…

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me...”

Psalm 23:4

This involves both the challenge of dealing with the uncertainty that comes with a cancer diagnosis, and with my relationship with The Almighty, my Creator and “Father of us all” (Ephesians 4:6).

Indeed, this is a most important stroll of my life and soul. There’s a lot to unpack here. I broke it down, bit by bit.

First…

“Yea...”

Right away, we are told where things stand.

There’s quite track record with this one tiny word. Later, in scripture, we get a definitive assessment of what it means. 2 Corinthians 1:20…

“For all the promises… in him are yea, and in him Amen....”

But for now, while I inhabited the 23^rd Psalm, I saw how decisive this Great Shepherd’s position was. Yes, not no. There was no “maybe,” no waffling.

Coming from a place of cancer, where very little, if anything, feels certain and clear cut, I needed to know that yes.

Next?

“…though I walk...”

Action oriented. There was movement. It has less to do with the actual physical act of walking, and more to do with forward motion of life experience. You and I can crawl, limp, use a prosthetic limb or a wheelchair; the impact is the same: we are going somewhere. We are not stagnant.

Furthermore, the verse is personal. It states “though I walk...” Each one of us makes the decision to move. It’s a deliberate decision.

Cancer, likewise, requires some movement, some decision. That varies, depending upon the person, yet, somehow, you and I, upon hearing the dreaded cancer news, must make some choice. That choice can even be inaction. I say that, because, inaction is a movement all its own…and it harkens back to the “walk” of Psalm 23:4.

Sometimes, there is little we can do to predict an outcome. It would be one thing if the famous verse stated, “though I control.” But it doesn’t say that, now, does it?

We are finite mortals who cannot control everything in our lives (I apologize to my fellow control freaks out there).

Walking- moving- is our imperfect contribution to anything in life. How will we move?

 “…through the valley...”

Next, we encounter the terrain of our life process.

We may have wonderful, triumphant mountaintop experiences; likewise, we also experience the valleys as well.

However, “experiencing” these valleys is different than remaining stuck, forever, in them. We need to take note of the word, “through.”

Meaning, transitory. Meaning, a real passing through the experience of it.

Cancer is a valley. And it can feel like an eternal experience, never-ending and hopeless.

But all things are subject to change.

 “…of the shadow...”

Many of us have heard the expression, “He’s afraid of his own shadow.” In the mental health field, the term, “Shadow Self” is often used to describe the darker, more complicated elements of our human nature. And yes, Christian or not, we possess those elements.

But the word, “shadow” also speaks to the hint of something. If we are dealing with a sunny day, we see our shadows. It’s attached to us and, depending on which way the sunlight is hitting us, it can go before us, attach to our sides or trail behind us. It is us, but it is not FULLY us. It does not have a three-dimensional structure. It’s an indicator of us, yet, it is not the entirety of who we are. There is more. Concentrate, then, on “the more.”

Cancer is also like that. Although, yes, it is something we are experiencing, however we experience it, it is not the entirety of us. We were individuals, spouses, parents, friends and children of The Most High lon-n-n-g before we were a “cancer patient.”

“…of death...”

Yes, mortality. When we receive news of a cancer diagnosis, you and I can often feel like we’re issued a death sentence. The day I got my diagnosis, I immediately flashed with images of my funeral.

But the more time that separates me from that diagnosis day, the more I have come to realize something important: I am still here. It doesn’t mean I’m invincible. After all, Hebrews 9:27 has something to say about that…

“And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.”

No one is getting out of here alive. However, we shouldn’t mistake that for the real fact that we are here today. Right now. And there’s a reason for that.

I don’t know if cancer will kill me. I could get hit by a bus; I could also have some wildly embarrassing death, possibly involving turnips. We’re not privy to the exact when, where and how of our individual and unique demise. And that’s probably because we’d be too caught up in trying to prevent and avoid it from happening (come on, you know you’d try to do something).

Death happens. But again, there’s more. There’s The Almighty, Who loves us.

 “… I...”

Well, here we are again. The “I” in the individual, personal experience. Often, we get so bombarded with shame and guilt, for thinking of ourselves in an “I” capacity. We’re told it’s selfish, unholy, un-Christ-like. Certainly, we should not think of ourselves, right?

Wrong.

“…Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself…”

Mark 12:31

Remember this little ditty?

Cancer puts things in perspective. There exists a form of prioritization. Love, family, connecting with our humanity and making amends are usually a part of that process. We are aware of what’s important and we long to do what is right (most of the time).

But, with that said, we also need to remember the self in our self-care. A cancer diagnosis dictates that we take good care of ourselves: body, mind and spirit.

And sometimes, that means that we must focus on one word: “I.” It is an important word.

 “…will...”

Almost as important as that word, is another: “will.” It speaks to spirit, out innate nature to survive, to progress, to live well. Do we, therefore, have a strong will to do these things?

It’s often said that the factor which determines how successful any outcome is, whether it be company sales or a cancer prognosis, is a matter of motivation. How many studies have been done on cancer patients, stating that those who had a positive outlook, yes, had a much better outcome?

Motivation is a matter of will. What is ours, at any given point? This has been a challenge for me, as there have been many dark nights of the soul. I’ve had a few cancer scares since my diagnosis. Death thoughts abound. I sometimes had to will myself out of bed when I least wanted to move.

Sometimes, that just didn’t happen. But there still was the will, somewhere, in me. I would try again the next day.

 “…fear no evil...”

Ever heard this acronym? FEAR: False evidence appearing real. These three words, “fear no evil,” possess quite a challenge, don’t they? It is so much easier said than lived, especially, if you hear the words, “It’s cancer.”

The truth? We feel fear; it’s a human emotion. Many of us are shamed for experiencing that emotion. We reason we should be tougher and have more faith.

In my experiences, thus far, I suppose I prefer to concentrate, then, on the word, “courage,” in the presence of fear. And before I sound all Pollyanna Optimist here, let’s just examine what the word,” courage” means. In gritty, rubber meets the scary road terminology, it means “doing something scary, while you’re still afraid.” If you are scared, there’s no shame in that. We’re are vulnerable human beings, cancer or no cancer.

I believe we are Divinely led, no matter what. As we move through the valley, as we face scary mortality issues, deal with a dreadful prognosis and live in uncertainty, let’s do it honestly, imperfectly, yes scared, sometimes. Let’s do it with courage.

“… For You are...”

This next bit of the scripture, showcases three powerful words, “… For You are...”

It notifies us of the present tense of our Divine Intervention. Our Shepherd is on the scene. This may seem like a no-brainer, especially to us people of faith. Yes, we know the Deity we believe in is there, is “with us,” no matter how vague that reality may seem or feel.

In my cancer recovery, “For You are” carries a specific distinction with it. It is the very opposite of my own faulty and frail “I am.” When each of my “I am” efforts, inevitably, fails, “For You are” brings much-needed perspective. I am not running this thing; “The Father of us all” IS.

That can be easy to overlook and forget that as we go about the business of our treatment and survivorship paces. There’s so much emphasis on what we do, diet, fitness, lifestyle changes, that we often lose sight of the fact that our bodies and our lives are not solely within our control.

Someone Else holds powerful sway.

“…with me...”

We’re back to us again, aren’t we?

“With me.” We are not alone. We are participating. Our Higher Power, likewise, is also participating, with us. A partnership exists with this Omnipresent Deity. Shepherd. Father. Friend. Companion.

Cancer has sharpened that for me.

For, indeed, the disease’s challenges have focused on the loneliness; we can believe we are utterly alone.

Of course, we are not.

But, sooner or later, again, there is that dark night of the soul that comes to us all. It’s desolate. Yet, this is not the whole story.

“With me” is an important point for each of us to absorb into our being.

Our Valley Experience:

Cancer, like many other difficult trials, is a valley experience. A valley is geologically depressed terrain. Therefore, it can seem impossible for us to see a way out.

How much more has that been brought to light within the context of Covid-19? This is a true valley. It’s hard to see any mountain peak right now. We are just breathing, day to day. We are trying to move through this.

Walking encompasses so much: movement, life, cries for help and mercy, belief, hope. Add a valley to that, and it can be overwhelming.

How much more, then, do we need that Eternal Guide?

I know I need to take that walk, every single day.

Copyright © 2020 by Sheryle Cruse