Turning the Valley of Pain into hope

By Ellen Shuck

This is a continuation of a former reflection from a grieving relative, Randy Burnett, who lost his wife of 31 years to cancer. May you find solace in his insights on readjusting to life.

"In the years of being married, before the cancer years, we could look down on a valley full of trees, fields and wildlife roaming about and stopping to drink in the streams of clear water that traveled throughout the valley. We would look at this majestic sight from the crest above, reveling in the awesome beauty of a valley full of life that we had been blessed to see -- knowing the handiwork of God was in full view.

Then came the cancer. Rarely did we see the beauty of the valley -- now shrouded in fog. Brown leaves hung from the trees; the wildlife seemed to have left the valley.

When we could see the valley floor, large sections were now barren of grass and other vegetation; the stream bed was only a trickle. And so the cliff became a place we stopped going to. It seemed God had left the valley.

Then came the day when it was no longer us -- just me. Months later, I ventured out to the cliff to see if it was all a bad dream, but instead, I saw a barren landscape. No trees, no grass, only the dried-up stream bed and desert, stretched from one end of the valley to the other. So I named the cliff 'The Cliff of Despair,' and the valley 'The Valley of Pain.'

Each day, with my life in turmoil, hurting so badly within my heart, I would walk out to the Cliff of Despair and overlook the Valley of Pain. But what was the point? I felt abandoned by everyone, even God. Then, fortunately, one day I trudged out to the cliff's edge and looked down to see a small field of grass. 'So what!' I said.

A few days later, saplings were growing near a very small stream that now ran through the valley. Weeks went by, and each day more greenery appeared. I watched a family of rabbits running through an open field of grass that had been barren only a few weeks ago. A few months later, trees had grown taller, the stream was stronger, deer roamed about the meadows, and barren land had disappeared. Finally, I became curious.

I called out to God, 'This valley is beautiful again, but why, when I hurt so bad inside, why did you create this to torture me?'

Quietly and lovingly, I heard the answer: 'Look closer at your valley; you're not alone.'

I looked and strained my eyes. I saw movement down below, so I grabbed my binoculars and looked down. I saw my friends and relatives. My relatives were hard at work in my valley.

Lovingly, they planted and cared for it, to help it grow and become more beautiful. Some could work for a short while, and others spent hours at a time caring for my valley.

'Why, Lord?' I asked.

And he replied, 'Even before your dark days came, I was placing people in your life to help you, to comfort you and show you my love for you. For through all these people that are in your life now -- new friends and old -- my light shines like a beacon to show you that you're never alone. Rather, through their unselfish acts of love towards you, and caring for your valley when you couldn't, they were also being blessed.'

And so today, I happily walk out to a cliff of my future dreams that overlook the renewed valley of hope, and I pray the same, and that I will one day work in someone else's valley. For now, though, I can only say, 'Thank you for coming to my Valley of Pain and turning it into a Valley of Hope.'"