Everyone goes through trials; some far harsher than others. It happened to me. One day I was going about my business and the next I was thrown into a proverbial dark room where the walls were spinning. Someone cut out the floor from beneath me and I tried to grope my way out, but it was too late. I had fallen into a pit of despair so deep, so damning, everything felt overwhelmingly hopeless. It was the darkest moment, the bruise over my existence. Death lingered over me like a dream out of reach, and I was plagued with the darkest of thoughts. There was only one way out, a beacon of light in this indescribable terror, and that was Jesus. A life raft in the hellish gale that had taken over my life, and suddenly nothing or no one mattered but Him.
Sometimes the pit you find yourself in is so steep, so deep—so laden with grief—it’s impossible to imagine ever making your way out. I know. I’ve been in a pit so dark that even the blackest night would have afforded too much light in comparison.
Night comes. Before you know it, a dark season envelops you. There isn’t a whole lot you can do other than moan in mortal agony—that is, until you realize you are not truly alone. The God of the universe is right there by your side, and He has promised to never leave you, never forsake you, never let you fall (Genesis 28:15). That is great news, but at the moment you may not be able to see Him, feel Him, hear Him. Everything around you says there is no way out, no light, no exit, no hope. The darkness always wants you to linger, but the Bible teaches that the valleys in our lives are no place to remain. They are passageways to a better tomorrow, a pathway to the other side where victory waits, where our true destiny lies. Let’s journey together through the pitfalls and triumphs that so many of us fall into. Let us head into the valley first. I promise we’ll only be there a little while.
Perils of Lingering
A mess of our own making is something all of us are familiar with. I’m certainly no different. When life stuck its ugly foot out and tripped me hard, landing me face-first into the mud, I couldn’t see or breathe. Yes, I stayed down a moment or two (which felt more like an eternity or two), but the Holy Spirit was quick to whisper to my heart, get up, do not be afraid, be strong, and go.
First, let’s get one thing straight. I wasn’t simply afraid. I was downright bone-trembling terrified. Suddenly, my worst nightmare had manifested itself. I was facing something bigger than me, something dark and cloying that instantly robed itself around me like a wet sheet soaked in gasoline, and it was me who had inadvertently lit the match. Sometimes we make mistakes on purpose, and sometimes we make them without realizing it. I wasn’t even sure at the time which category I fell into.
Nevertheless, there I was, in the lowest pit I had ever landed in. Rock bottom was a ceiling I couldn’t even hope to reach. Are you there, friend?
Are you so low that you’ve long since plummeted past rock bottom? I was, too. You know who met me there? Jesus. In fact, He was a first responder. How awesome is that? He quickly became the literal rock I rested on, that I clung to. I mined His Word for strength, and He doled it out as quick as I could take it. I highlighted, underlined, colored a rainbow, bookmarked, and dog-eared my way through my Bible until it had looked as if it went through a warzone. I started a journal. Not to chronicle my pain but to chronicle my recovery. God’s Word promised that a rebound was coming. The days of the righteous grow brighter and brighter. But I wasn’t there yet. In fact, I still had my face stuck in the mud. I was having a tough time getting up, let alone getting onto all fours. I was lingering, stuck in the storm. My boat was spinning around in a circle as if my ocean of disaster morphed into a drain and I was slowly being flushed down the toilet of life. It was happening. I was coming undone, unglued, unmoored. Catastrophe had become my name.
But the Holy Spirit whispered to my heart once again. He assured me none of that was true. He asked me to trust Him—to understand that He loved me, to know in my gut, my bones, every cell of my body that I was His precious daughter. How inconceivably wonderful. I thought I knew it before, but on the journey that was ahead, it became engrained into my being.
Every molecule of my being was singing praises to my Father. I didn’t waste any time in acknowledging and accepting who I was. I was indeed the daughter of the King, and I felt both humbled and happy at the same time. This was a strange burst of joy in that darkness, the first piercing that washed warmth and sunlight over my world once again if only through a pinhole. I was not wallowing in the mud anymore. I was devoutly coloring in my Bible like a good little soldier, like a daughter brushing up on her wonderful new family history. I was finally on the move again, sludging my way
