July 12, 2026
Finding Light in Dark Valleys: A Reflection on Psalm 23
The psalmist does not say "if" — he says "though." The valley is a certainty in the life of faith, but so is the Shepherd who walks it with us.
Beloved in Christ,
There is a verse most of us can recite from memory: "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). We say it at funerals. We whisper it in hospital corridors. But I want to invite you today to notice something we often miss: the psalmist does not say "if" — he says "though."
The valley is not a possibility in the life of faith. It is a certainty. What the Good Shepherd promises is not a detour around the valley, but His presence within it.
The valley is a passage, not a home
Notice the little word that carries the whole verse: through. David does not pitch a tent in the valley. He does not build a house there. He walks through it, because the valley in God's design is a corridor, never a destination.
Many of us treat our seasons of grief, unemployment, sickness, or loneliness as if they were our new permanent address. We hang pictures on the walls of our despair. But the Shepherd keeps moving, and He calls us to keep walking. The pace may be slow — grief has a slow pace, and that is holy too — but the direction is always forward, toward the table He has prepared (Psalm 23:5).
Glitters in dark valleys
In my years of ministry — from parishes in Nigeria to communities in Italy — I have sat with the dying, the bereaved, the abandoned. And I can testify to something remarkable: it is in the darkest valleys that the smallest lights shine brightest.
A neighbour's unexpected kindness. A verse of Scripture that suddenly breathes. A hymn hummed through tears. These are what I call the glitters of the valley — fragments of God's glory that we would never have noticed on the sunlit mountaintop. The mountaintop shows us God's grandeur; the valley shows us His nearness.
The saints understood this. St. Paul sang at midnight in a Philippian jail (Acts 16:25). He did not sing because the chains were comfortable. He sang because Someone was in the cell with him.
Three practices for your valley season
1. Speak to God honestly. The Psalms give us permission to bring our raw grief to God. Half of them are laments! Prayer in the valley does not need to be polished; it needs to be true.
2. Stay at the table. When we suffer, the temptation is to withdraw — from Mass, from community, from the sacraments. But the valley is precisely where we need the Bread of Life most. Do not fast from the very food that sustains the journey.
3. Look for the glitters. Each evening, name one small mercy from the day. Write it down. Over weeks, you will find you are holding a rosary of light, bead after bead of God's faithfulness.
A word to the one reading this in a valley right now
Perhaps you opened this page not out of curiosity but out of desperation. If that is you, hear this clearly: you are not abandoned. The silence you feel is not absence. The Shepherd walks closest when the path is narrowest — that is why, in the valley, the psalmist stops talking about God ("He leads me") and starts talking to Him ("You are with me").
The valley changed the grammar of his prayer. It moved God from the third person to the second. May it do the same for you.
"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5)
Walk on, beloved. The morning is already on its way.
Fr. Dr. Linus Akali Nwakaline
If this reflection blessed you, you may find the full journey in my book Glitters In Dark Valleys — and if you wish to help carry this message further, you can support the mission here. May the Lord keep you.