Valleys

It's camp season, and camp season reminds us all of the mountains we've been on with God - the incredible spiritual highs that we've had sprinkled throughout our Christian experience that have powerfully shaped our relationship with God and the times that have left us filled to overflowing. 

We spend so much of our lives chasing this feeling, trying to recreate those mountains. 

But can I tell you a secret? Can I tell you something raw and real and honest that I hope might help you when you get so deep back into your real life that it feels like the bottom is falling out of your faith? 

Here it is: 

You can have this feeling in the valleys, too. 

Actually, I think it's even more powerful here. 

When you're in the valley, you don't just want God; you need Him. That fullness you're seeking? It pours into a true emptiness, and that means that the measure of it is even bigger than you ever imagined. 

It's the difference between having a bunch of acquaintances who like to go bowling and frequent the farmer's market and hang out at the playground while the kids push each other on the swings and having a true friend who will bring you a tub of ice cream and eat it in the corner of the basement with you while you cry. 

At summer camp, God is awesome; in the valley, He's awe-inspiring. At camp, He's totally cool; in the valley, He's totally close. 

And this kind of radical experience draws you near to Him in a way that expands your heart to hold more of Him until you're filled to almost bursting with His goodness. Even in the mud. Even in the shadows. Even in the weeds. Even in the wilderness. 

The truth is that as our faith matures, we find that we feel closest to God not on the mountaintop, where it feels like either one of us could go tumbling off the peak at any moment, but in the valley, where the downward force of gravity - of trauma, of hurt, of brokenness, of emptiness - keeps drawing us closer. 

We spend so much of our Christian journey trying to make sure that our mountaintop faith can survive the valleys, but friends, I think that's wrong. I think what we need is a valley kind of faith that can survive the mountaintops. 

We need a faith that's tested in the darkness, that's rock solid sure, that's steady in the doldrums so that when we get filled with with the euphoria of the mountain, we don't forget the substance of God. That we don't forget that He's more than good feelings and joy and fun. That we don't forget that the God who shows up to celebrate with us is the same God who eats ice cream in the dark corners while we cry.