BY ROBERT MILLER
OPINION —
There are moments in life when the giant in front of you seems impossible to ignore.
Sometimes it’s a frightening diagnosis that changes everything in a single afternoon. Other times it’s the loss of someone you love, a broken relationship, an addiction that refuses to let go or a future filled with uncertainty. Whatever form it takes, the giant has a way of capturing all our attention until it’s difficult to see anything else. I’ve also discovered something else about fear over the years. It has an incredible ability to distort reality. Fear magnifies the size of our problems while minimizing the greatness of our God.
That was certainly true in the Valley of Elah. For forty days, Goliath stood before the army of Israel issuing challenge after challenge. At nearly ten feet tall, covered in heavy bronze armor and carrying weapons that outweighed what many men could even lift, he was the very picture of intimidation. Before a single sword was ever raised, Israel had already lost the battle in their minds. Scripture tells us they were “dismayed and greatly afraid.” Then David arrived.
We often remember the sling and the stone, but before either of those came another moment that has always fascinated me. Saul tried to dress David in his own armor. It seemed logical. If David was going to face a giant, he needed the best protection available. David tried it on. Then he took it off. The armor wasn’t evil. It simply wasn’t what God had prepared him to wear.
Why? Because David had already discovered something the rest of the army had forgotten. Long before he ever stood before Goliath, God had been preparing him in the quiet places. While tending sheep on the hillsides of Bethlehem, David learned to trust the Lord, day after day. He had watched God deliver him from the lion and the bear. Those victories weren’t about proving David’s courage. They were about teaching David the faithfulness of God. Saul’s armor represented confidence in human strength. David had learned to depend on something far greater.
I’ve thought about that scene many times because we still do something similar today. When life falls apart, the world is quick to hand us its own version of armor. It tells us that success will make us feel secure. That money will quiet our fears. That more accomplishments, more possessions or more recognition will somehow protect us from the battles we face. Sometimes it tells us to hide our struggles behind carefully managed appearances, pretending everything is fine while our hearts quietly unravel. Like Saul’s armor, those things may look impressive, but they were never designed to carry the weight of the valleys we walk through.
What has always captured my attention is what David had to see as he walked toward Goliath. In front of him stood a giant and an entire Philistine army convinced he would soon be dead. Behind him stood an Israelite army that wasn’t much more encouraging. They had already surrendered to fear. Few, if any, expected David to return. That’s what valleys often feel like.
There are days when the voices in front of us predict failure while the voices behind us remind us why we shouldn’t even try. We can feel isolated, misunderstood and completely alone. Yet David walked into that valley with a confidence no one else seemed to possess because he knew something they had forgotten: the Lord was with him.
Years later, after battles had come and gone, David penned words that have comforted generations of believers: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me.”
Notice what he didn’t write. He didn’t say God removed every valley. He didn’t say the giant disappeared. He didn’t say the journey became easy. He simply said, “You are with me.” Perhaps that’s why those words continue to resonate thousands of years later. They remind us that God’s greatest promise has never been a life free from valleys. His greatest promise is His presence within them.
David’s confidence wasn’t found in five smooth stones or even in the sling he carried. His confidence rested in the Shepherd who had never abandoned him. That’s what makes David’s story so much bigger than David. Like so many faithful men and women throughout Scripture, he points us beyond himself to the One who would one day become the Good Shepherd.
Jesus entered the darkest valley this world has ever known. He faced sin, death and the powers of darkness, not for Himself but for us. Unlike David, who faced one giant on one battlefield, Jesus confronted the greatest enemies mankind has ever known. Through His death and resurrection, He conquered them all so that those who belong to Him would never have to walk through life’s valleys alone.
Whatever valley you find yourself walking through today, remember this: the giant is not the center of the story. Nor is the valley. The Shepherd is. And because He walks with His people, the valley is never the end.
