Looking out of the kitchen window from home, across the fields that separated our house from those we could see in the distance, our view would traverse a valley, small in dimensions, but nevertheless a valley all the same. Its lowest point was no more than probably a hundred yards from the farmyard border and the gradual incline that separated it from the hills around meant that it was difficult to judge how much below our house it lay. About three quarters of a mile away the land began to rise steeply again and so the view from home was spectacular because of the nearness of everything. Form the gate at the top of the hill, you could see the river Callan meandering its way towards the Blackwater, the village where I spent all of my primary school life and the greater part of my adult teaching career, the pub on the corner, the little community of houses that lay close by and the spires of the city cathedral on the horizon. Even the far away things seemed close and it was quite easy to hear the audible sound of a horse walking along the main road on a still day or the excited voices of children playing in the cottages down in the valley. At Hallowe'en, our whole world was always filled with the lights of fireworks from near and far, shooting up into the night sky and exploding in a myriad of colours. And you could watch a whole world of activity happening in different places at the one time. In one field a farmer might be cutting hay, another field might have horses galloping about, in some places, cows would be quietly grazing or the men who were employed by the Ministry of Agriculture could be working in the big field at the top of the next hill. A lone figure might be walking along the road, a car arriving at the pub or a mist of spray ascending from an apple orchard and sometimes I would just stand, leaning against the gate, watching a thousand different worlds on the one screen.
I could see when the river was unable to hold the rainwater that had fallen and started to flood over the land and more than once I watched our valley fields become lakes for a time. I could see the bands make their way into the village for a parade or hear the roar of the locals at the football ground. I could view how the countryside changed with the seasons and how the late spring and early summer turned everywhere different shades of green and blocked out much from view. But I could also see the smoke from the terrorist bombs that killed men in our locality and could hear the gunfire of attacks on the local police station the night they came to destroy but never left. The valley just made it so much nearer, like it was happening in our back garden. But the other morning, as I mused nonchalantly before going off in the early morning sunshine to work, down in the valley I just caught the faintest glimpse of a red fox as he scampered through the tall grass. By the time I had refocused, he was out of sight and my attention was drawn to two rabbits scurrying about the field before the cattle had wakened for breakfast. And immediately I was reminded of God's great creation in its simplicity, complexity and variation and how he sends each good thing for us to enjoy, be it only a few animals basking in the early morning.
But the other thing that I always recall is that when I walk down along the fields in the valley, the view is very different from being up on the hill. Everything is much closer and one step along the valley barely registers for the onlooker high above. But also, you can't really see very far in any direction and I suppose the only answer is to keep walking until you climb the hill on one side. I guess we have all been in the valley and not even believers are exempt from feeling low, depressed or downhearted. I guess there are times when we just don't seem to be making any progress and we can't see ahead far enough to find a way out. But how comforting that the view which God has of our lives is at the very top of the hillside and as He looks down and sees our helplessness, He is ready to help us ascend to the hillside and to overcome the trials of the valley experience. The Psalmist writes, 'Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.' On those dark days, when the valley seems longer than usual, sometimes it is good to remember that there is another view and every step forward is a step closer to seeing it. What is your view like?
