In the Shadow: Facing Death, Loss, and Life without Fear

I froze at the sharp sound of the cough. His breathing afterward was heavier, slightly labored.

These symptoms aren’t yet severe and they still disappear as frequently as they make themselves known. But the signs are gradually increasing—the signs that remind me our precious dog is dying.

Faithful readers of the Fear Warrior Blog will remember that one of my dogs, whose Furry Fear Warrior name is Lancelot, was diagnosed with terminal cancer last year. At that time, given the tumor pushing on his spine and the bone cancer diagnosis, medical specialists gave him three to four months to live. When pressed, one said that she had seen one dog last six months after such a diagnosis, but longer wasn’t possible.

I learned, however, that God is the One Who decides what’s possible, even in seemingly hopeless situations. That diagnosis was in June of 2017. Yes, we’re at one year later and Lancelot is still with us. Not only that, but until recently, his pain had been completely under control and he’d enjoyed his extra time to the fullest.

I’ve savored my time with him, cherishing every moment of Lancelot playing with Marshmallow (our overgrown puppy), bumping into me for back scratches, and being his incredibly sweet self. Most days, I remember to thank God for another day with my special boy when I awake in the morning and go to bed at night.

Lancelot did so well for so long that I could, at times, forget the imminent threat of illness and his too-early passing. He is now six years old and many people might think we should be fine with his death whenever it comes, given that God granted us so much extra time.

But the truth is it’s still too soon. Whenever it’s time for him to die, it will hurt. A lot. Not having the shock of a sudden death will help, to be sure, but I know his passing will still rip my heart wide open.

So here I sit, in the shadow of death, waiting for that moment when I reach the heart of darkness and it engulfs me. This is the place where fear runs rampant, along with despair, dread, and pain.

I’ve seen friends lately join me in this shadow of death. They, too, are waiting for a loved one to die or are in the shadow that extends beyond the moment of death, cloaking us in the darkness of grief.

The truth is, this shadow is ever present in this world. We live in a fallen world of sin, for which the penalty is death. All of us will taste death, that of others’ and our own. All of us will taste the little deaths, the lesser, but still painful losses that spiral us into grief.

Usually, we don’t anticipate the shadow of death. We live our lives in blissful ignorance or denial, perhaps rightfully postponing the grief until we come to it.

But death will come. The shadow, the darkness will come.

Sometimes, we will live in that shadow for some time, as I have with Lancelot. At times like this, I can sink into pain and despair, or, by God’s strength, I can look for a way out.

When He enables me to do that, I see one of my new favorite passages for battling grief:

because of the tender mercy of our God,
whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high
 to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.
– Luke 1:78-79

This passage was spoken by Zechariah just before Jesus was born on this earth, and he said it about Jesus. Jesus is the sunrise, and on this side of His earthly life, death, and resurrection, we can say that the Sunrise did visit us.

Because of His tender mercy, He left His Holy Spirit with us until His return, so that we can always have light, even when we sit in the shadow of death.

Can you see His light? Can you feel His peace as your path out of the darkness?

Or are you in too much pain to see or feel His light? Let’s look harder.

This phrase, “the shadow of death,” reminds me of a passage many of us have memorized:

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

Since I memorized this whole chapter as a young child, I sometimes race through it without stopping to glean comfort from the magnificent words. The psalmist knows well the shadow of death, even the deepest valley of it, but he says that even there he will fear no evil.

How can he say that? Fear so often overwhelms me when I’m anticipating a horrible loss.

But the psalmist is doing something I so often forget to do. He’s keeping his eyes on Jesus instead of the darkness. He sees the light that is our Savior because he recognizes that Jesus is actually with him in that dark valley. He sees the rod and staff in Jesus’s grip—the reminder that God is in control, He is a good Shepherd of His sheep, He will protect us, He will not let us fall or be lost in this darkness.

He will always lead us out of the valley, into His light, to His green pastures and still waters—into His heavenly reward for us who love Him.

If you’re still in too much pain, too much darkness to feel His comfort, check out this post and this post for more truth that will cast light on your sorrow.

Do you see Him? Do you see His light? Look closely. His light is in the sweet moments you share with your loved one despite the circumstances. It’s in the mercies He shows you and them, limiting the degree of pain and suffering or providing comfort. It’s in His sustaining grace that keeps you from breaking under the weight of your grief, even when it feels like you will.

And His light is in the amazing gift He gave you by bringing that loved one into your life in the first place—a gift so precious that the pain of its loss can be so great.

If you’re on the other side of the death, His light is in the memories, the precious gift of the loved one that you never would’ve known if not for God’s mercy and grace.

But having the Light with you doesn’t always mean you won’t grieve or feel pain. When I come to that moment I’m dreading—that moment when Lancelot…dies—I don’t know if I’ll be able to feel hope, to even see Christ’s light. I’ve lost sight of it in the midst of such pain before.

That’s when all I can do is trust that He’s holding me when I can’t hold on to Him. That’s when I remind myself of this great truth: Jesus wept.

When His friend Lazarus died, though Jesus was going to raise him from the dead, Jesus wept (John 11:35). Jesus knows grief. He’s tasted it as we have. And He is with us in our grief (Hebrews 13:5).

So when I’m weeping in the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For Jesus is with me, holding me in His everlasting arms as He weeps with me.

If I press in to Him, I hear Him whisper the promise that even this, even this shadow of death, will, someday, be swallowed up in victory (1 Cor. 15:54).

Are you grieving or expecting the loss of a loved one? How has God helped you fight your fears in times of loss? Please share!