The Valley Was Never the Detour
Most of us spend our lives chasing mountaintops.
We pray for the promotion. We hope for financial security. We dream about healthy relationships, obedient children, peaceful homes, and a future with fewer problems than the past. We imagine that if we can just get to the next peak, life will finally make sense.
There's nothing wrong with wanting those things. God delights in blessing His children.
But after more than fifty years of living, loving, failing, grieving, rebuilding, and starting over, I've noticed something.
The greatest lessons of my life were never learned on the mountaintops.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me." — Psalm 23:4They were learned in the valleys.
Mountaintops are beautiful. They give us breathtaking views and moments we'll never forget. We celebrate there. We rest there. We thank God there.
But we rarely stay there.
Valleys, on the other hand, are where life happens.
They're where prayers seem to linger a little longer before being answered. They're where we question ourselves. They're where plans fall apart. They're where relationships become strained, jobs disappear, loved ones die, and our carefully constructed timelines collapse beneath our feet.
No one volunteers for a valley.
Yet almost every disciple in scripture found one waiting.
That isn't a coincidence.
It's part of God's pattern.
One of my favorite General Conference messages is Elder Neal A. Maxwell's 1988 address, "Not My Will, But Thine." Elder Maxwell taught that the greatest offering we can place on God's altar is our own will. That sounds noble until life asks us to actually do it.
Submitting our will isn't difficult when everything is going well.
It's difficult when the diagnosis arrives.
When the marriage ends.
When the child walks away from faith.
When the job you've poured yourself into suddenly disappears.
That's when discipleship becomes real.
That's when the valley begins to teach.
Look through the scriptures and you'll find the same pattern repeated over and over.
Joseph dreamed of greatness, but first he was betrayed by his brothers, sold into slavery, falsely accused, and forgotten in prison.
Moses spent forty years tending sheep before leading Israel.
Alma the Younger had to confront the terrible weight of his own sins before becoming one of the Lord's greatest missionaries.
Nephi built a ship while his own family mocked him.
The brother of Jared wandered for years before ever seeing the promised land.
Even Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, descended below all things before ascending above them all.
Before Easter morning came Gethsemane.
Before resurrection came the cross.
The pattern is unmistakable.
God prepares His people in valleys.
We often mistake the valley as evidence that God has abandoned us. We assume hardship means we've taken a wrong turn.
But what if the opposite is true?
What if the valley isn't where God leaves us?
What if it's where He meets us?
Think about how roots grow.
You never see them.
They're hidden beneath the surface, quietly pushing deeper into the soil. While everyone admires the tree reaching toward the sky, the real work has always been happening underground.
Faith grows the same way.
No one sees the silent prayers whispered after midnight.
No one notices the tears wiped away before walking into church.
No one hears the conversations between you and your Heavenly Father while driving home from another disappointing day.
But heaven notices.
God notices.
The deepest roots of testimony are almost always formed beneath the surface.
I've had my own valleys.
I've buried my daughter.
I've watched relationships end that I thought would last forever.
I've had careers disappear and doors close unexpectedly.
I've questioned where I belonged. I've wondered what God was trying to accomplish. I've spent nights asking questions that seemed to receive no immediate answers.
I would never choose those experiences again.
But I also wouldn't erase what they taught me.
The valleys taught me compassion.
It's easy to judge someone when you've never carried what they're carrying. It's much harder after you've walked through your own darkness.
The valleys taught me humility.
There comes a point when you finally admit you can't fix everything yourself. Oddly enough, that's often the exact moment Christ begins doing His finest work.
The valleys taught me patience.
God's timetable has rarely matched mine. Looking back, I'm grateful. His timing has proven wiser than my plans more times than I can count.
Most of all, the valleys taught me who Jesus Christ really is.
Not simply my Savior in theory.
My companion in practice.
The Book of Mormon teaches that Christ took upon Himself our pains, sicknesses, infirmities, and afflictions "that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people" (Alma 7:11–12).
That scripture means more to me today than it did years ago.
It means there is no valley I will ever enter where Christ has not already been.
He understands grief because He has borne it.
He understands loneliness because He has experienced it.
He understands betrayal because He lived it.
He understands fear because He willingly walked toward the greatest suffering ever known.
He doesn't simply point us toward the path.
He walks it beside us.
The world often measures success by mountaintops.
Promotions.
Paychecks.
Recognition.
Influence.
Possessions.
God measures something very different.
Patience.
Kindness.
Charity.
Mercy.
Faithfulness.
Endurance.
Those qualities are rarely developed during seasons of ease.
James wrote, "The trying of your faith worketh patience."
We don't enjoy that verse nearly as much as we enjoy promises of blessings.
Yet patience cannot be downloaded.
Character cannot be rushed.
Christlike attributes are forged slowly, one difficult day at a time.
Psalm 23 contains one small word I've grown to love.
David wrote, "Though I walk through the valley..."
He didn't say we'd live there.
He didn't say we'd build a home there.
He said we'd walk through it.
Valleys are temporary.
Some last weeks.
Some last years.
Some seem to stretch far longer than we think we can endure.
But every valley has an end because God never intended it to become our permanent address.
If today finds you walking through one of life's valleys, don't assume heaven has gone silent.
Sometimes God's greatest work happens quietly.
Sometimes He's strengthening roots you'll depend on years from now.
Sometimes He's preparing you to comfort someone else with the comfort you've received.
One day you'll find yourself standing on another mountaintop.
The view will be beautiful.
But if you're honest, you'll realize the mountain didn't change you.
The valley did.
It taught you to trust when you couldn't see.
To hope when circumstances offered little reason.
To keep praying when answers seemed delayed.
To keep walking when every step required faith.
That's where disciples are made.
Not on the peaks.
In the valleys.
And perhaps that's why David could write those familiar words with such confidence:
"I will fear no evil: for thou art with me."
The valley was never proof that God had left him.
It was proof that God was leading him.
Perhaps He's leading you too.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell
"Not My Will, But Thine"
General Conference — April 1988
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When God Leads Us Through the Valley | Lessons We Never Learn on the Mountain
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Excerpt
Nobody asks for a season of struggle. Yet nearly every great disciple learned life's most important lessons while walking through a valley. The mountains inspire us, but the valleys transform us. Discover why God often does His greatest work when life is hardest.
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Faith
Trials
Adversity
Jesus Christ
Hope
LDS
Christian Living
General Conference
Endurance
Trust in God
Psalm 23
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
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