Yea, though I walk through the valley
Of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil
For Thou art with me
Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.
Psalm 23 has taken on new—or perhaps old—and precious meaning for my family this past week and a half, as we have been walking with my grandma through the valley of the shadow, first in the hospital and now at home with hospice. We still very much don’t know what each day or hour will bring, but it does seem she is slowly slipping toward heaven.
As we’ve sat beside or around her so many hours this week, holding her hand and praying, reading Scripture, or singing the old hymns she loves, the meaning of Jesus’ cross and the hope of heaven it gives—the gospel itself—have sprung out to me in new vividness. I suppose the important things tend to rather sort themselves out when we come close to eternity. And so we don’t have to grieve as those who have no hope, and can even laugh and enjoy our extended family gathered together in this time, despite the heartache.
Still it is hard. And sometimes I doubt, and struggle. But the promise remains that His goodness and mercy will follow all of us—my grandma, and the rest of us here—all the days of our lives. Even these. And someday, because of Jesus, we will all dwell in the house of the Lord forever.