WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Through the Valley

     Kids used to walk to get from point A to point B more often when I was growing up than they do now. I can almost see young folks already rolling their eyes and thinking "Here comes one of those stories about the good old days and how spoiled our generation is". Rest easy, my dear youngsters, such is not the point of this week's wacky wisdom. My point is this: We used to walk to get to places more than kids today. Plain and simple. No judgment.
     Take, for example, the neighborhood I grew up in. It was a neighborhood where we kids came out and played with each other every afternoon as long as the weather cooperated. We were told by our parents when to start heading for home, and in many cases, that moment came even after darkness had descended upon the land.
     Please refrain from making judgments about the wisdom of our parents. They were all good parents. It was a different time and place. We were plenty safe being outside on our own after sunset.
     That being said, quite often as a pre-teen I would find myself facing the long and treacherous journey home from my neighbor best friend Kent's house well after the sun had gone to sleep. Turns out the journey was about the length of two football fields but for a ten-year-old, the courage it took to set out on that trek was immense.
     I had two choices after bidding farewell to my friend. I could exit through his front yard and take a shortcut through the woods and save a few steps. Or I could depart via the back yard, making my way up a path through a narrow valley surrounded by a legion of massive trees, and eventually emerging onto Farris Drive.
     Of course now I realize the trees aren't as big as I remember them to be. The valley is more of a shallow ditch and the hill is more of a slight incline. (I walked down the hall of my old elementary school a few years ago. I was amazed how much effort somebody made to narrow the halls and lower the ceilings).
     Anyway, on one particular dark and dreary evening when I was maybe nine or ten, I decided that the valley route would be my best option. The other option was the woods, and they looked awful dark and menacing. Plus there were various sorts of roots and things that could trip you in the woods on moonless nights. So off I went toward Farris Drive, knowing there was a street light near the end of the Browne's driveway.
     As I entered the dark valley, I could barely make out the the light up on Farris Drive. But the shadows it created among the curled and twisted tree limbs were spooky and intimidating. My Little League-aged-body began to tremble and my heart raced.
     Suddenly my not-yet-fully-developed mind remembered something it had been taught in the Sunday School class at the First Presbyterian Church of Cherryville, NC. "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me". (Psalm 23:4). Feeling that my current valley qualified, I repeated those words over and over as I negotiated my way through the "attacking enemy" trees. The light on Farris Drive got brighter and brighter until finally my feet felt pavement underneath them. The rest of the journey home was a cakewalk.
     I often wonder about that little boy. Despite the fact that I am nearly fifty years wiser than the child of that night and am now considered to be a "mature" Christian- recently ordained as a pastor- I think maybe that little boy had something I don't have as much of today. An unclouded, unpolluted, unobstructed view of the blessed assurance of a Father who never fails us in our time of need. On that dark and moonless night, there was no room for doubt in the child's heart as he conquered the valley while clinging to the inspiration of his Heavenly Father.
     The world takes the hopes, dreams, and unconditional trust of a child and does everything it can to smash those precious thoughts to pieces. Hearts become hardened, selfishness emerges, the struggles of life take over, and before you know it, the child that used to reside within has gone missing.
     That little boy grew to make his share of mistakes and engage in his share of mischief and sinfulness along the way, but I think he "got it" at times even better than I do now. At least for one night he did. I hope that little boy is still hanging around inside my heart somewhere these days. I would welcome a conversation with him anytime he wishes. The scene that dreary, dark night in the little valley behind my friend Kent's house was not a major historical event, but even so, somewhere in the distance that evening, God was smiling.