Through the Valley

“Even though I walk through the valley…”
There’s something sacred about those words.
Not because it promises an easy way out.
But because it promises presence.
“…I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”

Sometimes, you don’t get to go around the valley.
You have to walk through it.

And when you do, you start to see —
it’s not the absence of fear that marks your faith,
but the nearness of the One who walks with you through it.


I’m in one of those valley seasons now.
The kind where the air feels heavier.
Where I wake up with more questions than answers.
Where joy is still real, but so is the ache beneath it.

And yet, I keep walking.

Not because I’m strong.
Not because it’s easy.
But because I know He’s near.

That’s what keeps my feet moving —
not clarity, not certainty,
just His presence.


Maybe you’re here too.
Maybe your steps are slow and unsure.
Maybe the shadows feel a little closer than they used to.

But even here — especially here —
you are not alone.

He hasn’t left.
He hasn’t forgotten.
And He isn’t waiting for you to climb out of the valley
before He meets you in it.


He doesn’t always calm the storm first.
Sometimes, He just walks beside us while it rages.

And maybe that’s what faith is —
learning to take the next step
even when the valley still feels dark.


Anchor Verse

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”
— Psalm 23:4 (ESV)

The Table Set Before Me

This morning felt like holy chaos.

My sister came with her four little ones,
and I had Beckett.

We spilled across multiple rows in the Father’s house —
passing babies from arm to arm,
slipping in and out of the pews,
quieting cries,
sharing smiles.

It was loud and unpolished,
and yet somehow,
it was perfect.

Because even here —
in the bustle and the noise,
in the interruptions and the laughter —
I could feel it:

“You prepare a table before me.”
— Psalm 23:5

Not a table set with silver and stillness,
but one overflowing with family,
with joy,
with the sacred sound of being together.

This is the feast I didn’t know I was hungry for.
And this is the house where my cup runs over.