Psalm 23:4 says, “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

What we are currently walking through with Sydney fighting for her life in the NICU feels like the valley of the shadow of death. There really is no softer way to describe it. It is scary. It is painful. It is exhausting. It is the kind of place where your heart feels like it is being stretched beyond what it can bear. There are moments when fear tries to take over, when the machines, the monitors, the wires, the tests, and the waiting all feel overwhelming.

But what encourages me so much about this verse is the phrase, “Even though I walk.”

David did not say, “Even though I sit in the valley.” He did not say, “Even though I stay in the valley.” He said, “Even though I walk.” That means the valley is not our final destination. It is something we are passing through. It may be dark, but it is not permanent. It may be frightening, but it is not the end of the story. It may feel like death is casting a shadow over the situation, but a shadow is not the substance. A shadow can frighten us, but it cannot defeat the God who walks with us.

In spite of the recent, unexpected, and traumatic events we have faced, it would be easy to become discouraged. It would be easy to let fear take the lead. It would be easy to focus only on what we can see with our natural eyes. But God’s Word keeps reminding us again and again, “Do not be afraid.” And the reason we do not have to fear is not because the valley is easy. It is not because the circumstances are simple. It is not because we have all the answers. The reason we do not have to fear is because one of God’s greatest and most repeated promises is, “I am with you.”

That promise changes everything.

In our church, we have a philosophy that no one fights alone. That truth has become more than a saying to me in this season. It has become something I am living. To know that people are praying, standing with us, checking on us, encouraging us, and believing with us has been a tremendous comfort. But even greater than that is the promise that my God is walking this out right beside me. I am not walking through this valley without Him. My wife is not walking through this valley without Him. Sydney is not lying in that NICU bed without Him. He is there. He is near. He is present. He is faithful.

I know what we are walking through is temporary, even though it feels heavy right now. I know the Lord is at work as the Great Physician. I know He is working through doctors, nurses, treatments, wisdom, medicine, prayer, and the countless unseen ways I cannot even begin to understand. There is so much I cannot control, but I can trust. There is so much I cannot fix, but I can surrender. There is so much I cannot see, but I can believe that God sees it all.

His ways are higher than my ways. His thoughts are higher than my thoughts. And even when I do not understand the path, I can trust His heart. I can trust that He loves Sydney more than I ever could. I can trust that He is holding her life in His hands. I can trust that He has our best interest at heart, even in a season that hurts more than words can explain.

Fear has a way of trying to paralyze us. It can make us freeze when we need to move forward. It can cause us to react instead of respond. It can tempt us to speak out of panic, withdraw in discouragement, or make decisions from a place of exhaustion instead of faith. But God has not given us a spirit of fear. He has set us up for victory when we place our trust in Him alone.

Right now, I believe He is giving me the strength I need for today. Not necessarily strength for the next month. Not answers for every question. Not a full picture of everything ahead. Just enough grace for this moment. Enough peace for this hour. Enough faith for this step. And I believe He is lining up the right people, the right care, the right wisdom, and the right support to help us and to help Sydney as she continues this fight for her life.

Last night, I had the hardest time sleeping. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing Sydney hooked up to all the machines. I could see the wires, the tubes, the monitors, and her tiny body surrounded by medical equipment. It made me feel so sad. It made me feel helpless. It made my heart ache in a way I cannot fully describe.

But then something began to shift.

Instead of only seeing her in the NICU, I began to imagine the future. I began to picture all the sweet things I believe I will get to do with my little princess. I pictured dancing with her. I pictured tucking her into bed. I pictured holding her hand. I pictured hearing her laugh. I pictured teaching her about her heavenly Father. I pictured telling her how God carried her, how people prayed for her, and how her life has always belonged to Him.

And as those thoughts filled my mind, peace began to come over me.

That is what God does. He meets us in the darkness and reminds us that the valley is not the whole story. He lifts our eyes beyond the machines, beyond the fear, beyond the diagnosis, beyond the waiting, and He reminds us that He is still writing. He is still working. He is still healing. He is still good.

Our God is faithful. Every step we take in faith brings us one step closer to the other side. Every prayer prayed through tears matters. Every moment of worship in the middle of uncertainty matters. Every decision to trust God when fear is screaming matters. These are the moments when faith becomes more than words we say. These are the moments when faith becomes the ground we stand on.

It is easy to say, “Trust God.” It is much harder to actually do it when your child is in the NICU. It is much harder to trust when your heart is breaking, when you are tired, when you are afraid, and when you would give anything to change the situation. But I am learning that trust is not pretending everything is okay. Trust is choosing to believe God is good while everything is not okay. Trust is placing the people we love most into the hands of the One who loves them even more than we do.

And the more I trust Him, the more I see His faithfulness. The closer I grow to the Lord, the more I realize that He can be trusted in all things. I may not always understand what He is doing. I may not always like the process. I may not always see the outcome as quickly as I want to. But I am learning that when things do not unfold the way I would have chosen, God is still working a greater plan than I can see in the moment.

Isaiah 26:3 says, “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.”

That kind of peace does not come from having perfect circumstances. It comes from fixing our thoughts on a perfect God. It comes from choosing to focus on His promises more than our problems. It comes from remembering that the same God who walks with us through the valley is also leading us toward victory.

And Romans 8:28 reminds us, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

That does not mean all things are good. The NICU is hard. Watching your child struggle is painful. Fear is real. Tears are real. The valley is real. But God is able to work in all things. He can bring purpose out of pain. He can bring testimony out of trauma. He can bring peace into panic. He can bring life into places where death tried to cast its shadow.

So today, I am choosing to walk. I may walk with tears in my eyes. I may walk with questions in my heart. I may walk tired. I may walk slowly. But by the grace of God, I will keep walking.

Because I am not walking alone.

The Shepherd is with me.

Sydney is in His hands.

And the valley is not where this story ends.