Yesterday, toward the end of our morning worship service at St. Hugh’s, I was asked to share a few words about hope in the midst of the dark valleys in which we sometimes find ourselves. This request followed a time of intercessory prayer for some of our members who are going through serious health issues. The request caught me by surprise (most of the time I forget I have health issues at all), but after a quick arrow prayer shot heavenward, I stepped forward to share my thoughts about hope.  I spoke about my Parkinson’s diagnosis four years ago, my breast cancer diagnosis a few months later, my time of questioning God, and the dark valley I’d walked in the aftermath.

Being the ‘Net person I am, after each diagnosis  I spent hours online finding out everything I could about the diseases — staging, life expectancy issues, progression of symptoms … you name it, I read it. Some of the information was pretty frightening. Much was overwhelming. I found out that as many as 50-percent of all Parkinson’s patients experience dementia in the later stages, that my stage and type of breast cancer has a fairly good shot at recurring.

I had to work through many emotions (fear among them) and questions, and I must admit I’ve had some pretty serious heart-to-heart talks with God.  Our conversations often went something like this:

“Lord, I hate to tell you this, but I think you made a mistake. I mean, I know you don’t cause harmful and painful things in our lives, but you do allow them — right?  I, of all people, know I need refining by fire and all that. But this refining business must really be needed in my life. No big surprise there. But … really, are you sure this isn’t overkill? I’m still getting used to the Parkinson’s diagnosis, and now I’m heading to the hospital for a mastectomy, of all things!”

His answer came to me in words something like these, “Diane, I have loved you with an everlasting love, so I have kept my mercy toward you . . . Fear not.You are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned … You are precious in my sight …. Fear not, for I am with you…”

Again and again, as I went to Him with my questions and fears, I felt wrapped in His arms of love and protection. I told Him how I wanted to live to a healthy old age to see my beloved daughters reach adulthood. I wanted to be part of their lives, and of the lives of my grandchildren, someday, even great-grandchildren. I mentioned the trips hubby and I want to take — strenuous stuff having to do with our Jeep and back roads. And the bucket list I’d planned — some of the things on the list even more extreme than the Jeeping. “What about my books, Lord? What if my brain gets fuzzy, or my fingers can no longer pound the keyboard?” I complained. “I have stories stirring my heart and waiting to be told, more passions to share, more  joys to experience … ”

His answer? “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, neither faints nor is weary. His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength… Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will help you. I will uphold you with my right hand…”

I tried again, “But Lord, maybe you don’t understand. Maybe I’m not making it clear. These are good things I want to do, I want to live life with passion, laugh out loud until I cry. I want to love deeply…”

I didn’t talk about my conversations with God with my brother and sister parishioners yesterday. But I did speak of the dark valley we enter when given such serious diagnoses (and mine are lightweight compared to what others have gone through or are going through), and I also talked about the One who goes with us through life’s valleys, sometimes holding our hands, sometimes carrying us, but who is always with us completely, wrapping us in His compassion, understanding our fears and pain, drying our tears, and giving us the strength to take the next step. Though my valley is my own, less serious than some, possibly more serious than others, still it is my unique valley, and it’s everything to know I am not alone. It’s everything to those of you walking through your own unique valleys to know you are not alone.

This may surprise you. I wouldn’t trade either experience for the world. Why? Because without the valleys I wouldn’t have known the precious Presence of the One who loves me more than anyone else could ever love me. I wouldn’t have learned that despite my weak limbs and stiff hands and foot tremors and wobbly steps, He is the one who renews my strength, helps me mount up with wings like eagles,  run and not be weary, and walk without fainting.

And as for the living life with passion, laughing so hard I cry, and loving deeply? Who says any of these require perfect physical health? Only heart health. And He is my provider for that, especially that.

Take courage, my friends, no matter your valley. Know that you are not alone.

Blessings of joy, peace, and love …