Mountains and Valleys Part 1

“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.” — Psalm 23:4

If you’ve ever watched a toddler fall over on a playground, you’ve witnessed a fascinating psychological moment. When the child tumbles, they rarely cry immediately. Instead, they freeze on the grass and turn their head to look directly at their parent’s face. If the parent panics, gasps, and rushes over in terror, the child instantly bursts into frantic tears. But if the parent remains calm, smiles, and speaks in a warm, steady tone, the child almost always wipes off the dirt, giggles, and keeps playing. The child’s emotional state literally mirrors the nervous system of the parent. Psychologists call this co-regulation—the process where one person’s calm presence helps regulate another person’s emotional distress.

When dark emotions flood our lives—grief, fear, deep disappointment, or overwhelming sadness—our default emotional reaction is to panic or attempt to suppress what we feel. We tell ourselves we shouldn’t feel afraid, or we get angry at ourselves for feeling weak. We live in a culture that demands toxic positivity, telling us to put on a brave face and pretend everything is fine. But when we walk through deep valleys, fake smiles cannot quiet the raw terror that rises up inside us. The crushing pressure of life is real, and denying our emotional pain only isolates us further, convincing us that we are completely alone in the dark.

Jesus invites us into a divine form of co-regulation. He doesn’t demand that we instantly stop feeling sad or afraid through sheer willpower. Instead, He enters the dark valley with us and offers His steady, unshakeable presence to quiet our racing heart. When your emotions are spinning out of control, you don’t have to summon peace out of nowhere. You simply look to Him. You realize that the One walking beside you is not panicking, not wringing His hands, and not overwhelmed by the darkness surrounding you. In His presence, you can acknowledge the raw reality of your pain while simultaneously borrowing His steady calm. You can be honest about your fear without letting fear dictate your life, because your emotional anchor is tied to a Shepherd who remains totally undisturbed by the shadow of death.

When emotional pressure rises, do you tend to suppress your feelings or let them overwhelm you? How might inviting Jesus into those feelings change your reaction?

What would it look like for you to “borrow the calm” of Jesus in a specific situation that is causing you emotional distress right now?

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace…” — John 16:33a

There is a profound concept in modern counseling known as “radical acceptance.” It is the intentional practice of completely acknowledging reality as it is—without fighting it, throwing a tantrum, or demanding that it be different before you move forward. Most of us waste an incredible amount of our energy and willpower in direct rebellion against reality. We spend hours, weeks, or even years fuming: “This shouldn’t be happening to me,” or “If only they hadn’t said that,” or “Life isn’t supposed to be this hard.” We lock our wills into a battle against facts that have already happened, trying to demand that the world reshape itself to our expectations.

When our will is fixated on demanding a trouble-free existence, every obstacle feels like a personal offense. We use our agency to try to force outcomes, manipulate people, or bargain with God. “God, if I read my Bible every day, You have to give me this promotion,” or “If I pray hard enough, You have to fix this issue immediately.” But this is a misuse of the human will. It places our desire for comfort above God’s desire for our formation. When we demand that God function as a cosmic vending machine to protect us from every discomfort, our faith becomes fragile, easily broken the moment life turns hard.

Surrendering your will doesn’t mean becoming a passive victim or pretending that bad things are actually good. It means using your power of choice to align with reality as it is, trusting that God is present within it. It’s saying: “This valley is real, this pain hurts, and I wouldn’t have chosen it—but here I am, and God is here with me.” When you stop exhausting your willpower trying to force life to be easy, you free up your will to make the next right choice in obedience to Christ. You step out of the illusion of control and into the posture of a disciple. You stop asking God to take away every hard thing and start asking Him for the courage to stand firm and follow Him right through the middle of it.

Is there a current reality in your life that you are resisting or fighting against rather than practicing “radical acceptance”?

How can you use your power of choice today to surrender control of an outcome and take one small step of faithful obedience instead?

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” — John 16:33b

Our bodies carry the toll of our lives far more than we realize. When deadline after deadline piles up, when family conflicts drag on, or when financial strain persists, our physical frame registers the weight. Your shoulders tense up, your stomach churns, your jaw clenches, and sleep becomes elusive. We often treat our bodies as mere vehicles to transport our brains from one task to another, completely ignoring the physical signals telling us that we are overloaded. We push through exhaustion with caffeine and sheer grit, believing that if we just keep moving fast enough, we can outrun the physical toll of living under crushing pressure.

When Jesus speaks of the thlipsis—the crushing, constricting pressure of the world—He is using language that resonates directly with our physical self. The human body under constant stress enters a chronic fight-or-flight state, constantly bracing for impact. Yet, when Jesus commands us to “take heart,” the original language carries a physical connotation: to stand upright, to take a deep breath, to steady your footing, and to take courage like a soldier ready for battle. Jesus does not offer us a disembodied, abstract theology. He offers a physical, lived reality where His peace can inhabit our muscles, our lungs, and our tired nervous systems.

Caring for your physical self during seasons of pressure is a deeply spiritual act of trust. When you intentionally slow your breathing, step away from screens, go for a walk, or honor your body’s need for sleep, you are physically declaring that you are not the center of the universe. You are admitting that you are a limited creature who requires a Shepherd. Auditing the daily inputs that flood your senses—turning off the relentless news feeds, stepping back from outrage culture, and creating quiet physical space—allows your body to drop its defensive posture. As your physical self releases its frantic tension, you become far more capable of receiving the gentle, steady presence of Christ holding you upright.

Where in your physical body are you currently carrying stress or tension, and what is your body trying to tell you about your daily pace?

What is one practical physical input (screen time, sleep habits, news consumption) you need to limit this week to help your body rest in Christ’s peace?

“…so that in me you may have peace…” — John 16:33c

It is a well-known dynamic that stress is contagious. When an anxious, angry, or overwhelmed person enters a room, the emotional temperature of everyone in that space immediately shifts. In families, workplaces, and friend groups, panic rolls down like a snowball—one person’s anxiety triggers another’s fear, which triggers another’s defensiveness, until the entire social environment becomes toxic and frantic. When we live under constant pressure, we often project our internal chaos onto the people around us. We snap at our kids, become cold toward our spouses, or cut off anyone who disagrees with us, all in an effort to protect our fragile sense of stability.

We often try to solve this relational friction by insulating ourselves—cutting off anyone who presents a challenge or seeking out social circles that only echo our preferences. But retreating from difficult people doesn’t actually cultivate deep peace; it just temporarily reduces conflict. Jesus models a completely different way to inhabit social spaces. Because He was perfectly anchored in His relationship with the Father, He could walk into chaotic, hostile, and demanding crowds without absorbing their panic or reflecting their anger. He was a non-anxious presence in a profoundly anxious world.

When you allow Christ’s peace to coregulate your soul, you become a sanctuary of calm for the people around you. Instead of adding to the snowball of stress in your home or workplace, you become a circuit breaker. You can listen to a frustrated spouse, a challenging coworker, or a struggling child without immediately reacting out of fear or self-defense. Your relationships stop being a battleground where you demand that others make you feel secure, and instead become spaces where you extend the deep, steady welcome you have received from the Shepherd. As you learn to walk through your own valleys with Jesus, you become uniquely equipped to hold space for others in theirs, showing them that true peace is real and accessible.

How does your stress level currently affect the people in your home, workplace, or friend group?

How can you bring a non-anxious, calm presence into a tense relationship or social setting this coming week?