The Setliffe Family

My Journey Through the Valley

I know, I know. I've been terrible at blogging lately. I've had so many thoughts on my heart, but I just haven't been able to formulate them into words. How do you share with people the journey that you are walking to the point that they really get it? I wish I were a more eloquent writer or a deeper philosopher or an animated storyteller, but I am not. Yet, in the depths of my soul I feel this need to tell you about the journey I have walked this year. It has been the most difficult year so far in my short life-time. Not difficult meaning just hard. Difficult meaning laborious, meaning full of strain & emotion. Difficult meaning overwhelming. I have been on a journey through the valley of the shadow of death. I have read Psalm 23 pretty much my whole life. If I was on Jeopordy & $10,000 was at stake, I could probably even recite it to you. I know the imagery of Christ as our Shepherd. I have pictured Him leading me by quiet waters & restoring my soul. I saw the beauty in that & I have found great comfort in those words for many years. But I have never, ever walked through this valley of the shadow of death. Until this year. In December, we found out that my Mom had breast cancer. Again. This really shook me to my core. She had already beat this horrible disease. She was invincible. Wasn't she? Again, God? Really? But we got through it. We were the ones in the waiting room that got the good news. We rejoiced in the doctor's words that they had gotten all the cancer. Life could go on for us. It would be a difficult recovery, but she would be ok. That is what a child needs to know. That their parents are ok. Those two little letters hold an ocean of meaning, don't they? And then came April. Then came the darkness. Then came the entrance into this dark valley. What pain I felt as I listened to my Dad talk about ovarian cancer. Talk to us with a strained voice about 10% chance of a cure. What does that mean? Is she going to die? Will we fight this for the rest of her life? Will this be my last Christmas with my Mom? Will she meet my sweet Bella from El Salvador? How many more phone calls will I have. How many more visits? Kisses & hugs? Will I be OK? We got through the surgery & I spent a month in Florida watching my Mom struggle with the pain; with the questions. With trying to show all of us that it will, in fact, be ok. I spent the next several months on airplanes back & forth from Houston to Florida. Back & forth--my heart split in two between the two places I wanted to be. But there was only one of me & I have to tell you, that that part of things--the split of my heart, was one of the most agonizing aspects of this whole thing. How do you live with a heart split in two? I watched her hair fall out. I watched her strength deplete. I watched her color wain. I watched her struggle with unbearable pain. But most of all I watched her spirit. I watched her faith. I watched her hope. I watched her passion and love for our sweet Shepherd who was guiding us all. Those things did not falter. She may think that they did, but they did not. They remained steady. Day by day, step by step through this valley. Creeping closer & closer to the edge of the shadow. Death. One Sunday morning I was driving to church listening to an old Hillsongs cd from college. "Let the weak say I am strong. Let the poor say I am rich. Let the blind say I can see. It's what the Lord's done in me. Hosanna to the Lamb that was slain." In those moments, in that car God whispered to the deepest deep of my soul & told me that my Mom was going to die. I needed to prepare myself. I could hardly breathe. The weight of these words cut me like the sharpest knife on earth. It shook me & I fell apart. And yet at the same exact moment that these words came, a peace, triumphant & strong came riding in & caught me up and held me close. I cannot explain to you the worship I experienced in that moment. I was undone. And yet, I had peace that could not be expressed or explained. My shepherd had swept in to lead me beside quiet waters. He quieted me with His love. He restored my soul. He promised me grace for the moment. So I kept walking. Day after day, step after step. Whatever happens, I will be ok. My Mom will be ok. My Dad & sister will be ok. We are going to get through this. And then we get the news. The cancer is GONE. Gone! What joy flooded my soul. I sobbed on the phone with my Mom. I couldn't hold it in any longer. My God, my sweet Shepherd had shown His mercy to my family. His stripes on the cross had healed my Mom. Oh what grace--what beauty! He had carried us through the valley. He had given peace to my tortured soul. He had shown me that even if my Mom does not survive this, His grace will be sufficient for my every moment. He allowed me to walk through that valley to draw me closer to His side. He walked me through that valley to close up the valley I had created in my heart--a chasm separating me from intimacy with my Heavenly Father. He whispered words of death to create a life inside of my tired heart. What a Savior. What a Shepherd. What grace. What tender, beautiful grace. He has healed my Mom's body. He has healed my soul. He has lead me through this valley to rivers of joy! And that's not the end. He can do this for you! He can restore. He can quiet you with His love. He can give peace where there is no peace. He longs to lead you to the rivers of joy. But you will have to walk through the valley. That is the only path--the only route to those streams. Walk with Him. Trust Him. Oh what joy awaits you!!