517_Turning the valley of weeping into springs

Psalm 84 How lovely is your dwelling place,
O Lord of hosts!
2 My soul longs, yes, faints
for the courts of the Lord;
my heart and flesh sing for joy
to the living God.

3 Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may lay her young,
at your altars, O Lord of hosts,
my King and my God.
4 Blessed are those who dwell in your house,
ever singing your praise! Selah

5 Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
6 As they go through the Valley of Baca
they make it a place of springs;
the early rain also covers it with pools.
7 They go from strength to strength;
each one appears before God in Zion.

8 O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer;
give ear, O God of Jacob! Selah
9 Behold our shield, O God;
look on the face of your anointed!

10 For a day in your courts is better
than a thousand elsewhere.
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
11 For the Lord God is a sun and shield;
the Lord bestows favor and honor.
No good thing does he withhold
from those who walk uprightly.
12 O Lord of hosts,
blessed is the one who trusts in you!

When Fanny Crosby was only six weeks old, she was left blind because of a medical accident. Imagine the crushing weight of that reality for a little child and her family. Many people in such circumstances might have given in to bitterness or despair. But Fanny chose a different path. At the age of eight, she wrote her first poem, expressing not sorrow but joy:

“Oh, what a happy soul am I,
Although I cannot see,
I am resolved that in this world
Contented I will be.”

As she grew, she began writing hymns—over 8,000 of them—Blessed Assurance Jesus is mine, To God Be the Glory, Safe in the Arms of Jesus, Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior, Rescue the Perishing, All the Way My Savior Leads Me, Safe in the Arms of Jesus, Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross – to name a few.

Her blindness did not stop her; in fact, it became the soil in which her faith grew deep. Instead of making her life a wilderness of self-pity, she turned her valley of weeping into springs. Even today, somewhere in the world, her words are sung in churches, hospitals, prisons, and homes, refreshing weary souls and lifting hearts to God.

Her story is a living picture of what Psalm 84 describes—the blessedness of those whose strength is in God, who transform their valleys of sorrow into places of life and refreshment.

This psalm was written by the sons of Korah, who carried their own story of mercy. Their father Korah led a rebellion against Moses in the wilderness, and he and his followers were judged by God (Numbers 16). Yet, by God’s mercy, his sons were spared (Numbers 26:9–11). Perhaps that experience of undeserved mercy birthed in them a deep love for worship. Out of a lineage of rebellion came voices that praised God with some of the most beautiful words of longing found in Scripture.

They begin with a cry of desire: “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yes, faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God” (vv.1–2). From the outside, the Tabernacle was nothing special, covered with badger skin, plain and unattractive. But inside, the golden lampstand glowed, the table of showbread gleamed, the veil shimmered with colors and cherubim, and the fragrance of incense filled the air. In the same way, God’s presence may not be dazzling to the world, but for the one who enters in faith, it is the place of deepest beauty.

The psalmist even envies the sparrows who build their nests near the altar. These little birds live daily in the presence of God, while he can only visit. He declares the blessedness of those who dwell always in God’s house: they are constantly singing His praise. There is a joy and satisfaction in being near the Lord that nothing else can compare to.

But then the psalmist shifts the focus: “Blessed are those whose strength is in you, in whose heart are the highways to Zion” (v.5). Life is pictured as a pilgrimage, a journey to the city of God. Along the way, there are valleys—specifically, the Valley of Baca, a word connected with weeping and sorrow. Every traveler, whether ancient Israelite or modern believer, must walk through valleys of grief, disappointment, or hardship.

And here lies the heart of the psalm: those who find their strength in God do not merely endure the valley; they transform it. “As they go through the Valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools” (v.6). Instead of letting sorrow consume them, they draw strength from God, and their tears water the ground. The valley that should have been barren becomes fruitful. What was a place of weeping becomes a source of refreshment, not only for themselves but for others who pass that way.

This is what Fanny Crosby did. She could have remained in despair, but her strength was in God. Out of her valley of blindness flowed springs of poetry and hymns that countless pilgrims still drink from today. This is also what many saints of God through history have done—turning their suffering into a testimony of His grace.

The psalmist says further, “They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion” (v.7). Humanly speaking, the longer we journey, the more exhausted we become. But when God is our strength, the opposite is true. Valleys do not weaken us; they deepen us. Sorrows do not crush us; they teach us endurance. Instead of losing strength, we gain it, until finally, we stand before God in His holy city.

Then comes the psalmist’s prayer: “Behold our shield, O God; look on the face of your anointed” (v.9). He acknowledges God as protector and intercessor. And then he makes this staggering declaration: “For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness” (v.10). Even the humblest position in God’s presence is far richer than the highest seat in a godless place. To belong to God, even on the margins, is greater than all the glories of the world.

Why? Because “the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor. No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly” (v.11). In Him, we find light for our path, protection for our journey, and blessings that cannot be bought. He withholds no good thing from His children. The world promises fulfillment but leaves us empty. God promises His presence, and in His presence there is fullness of joy.

The psalm concludes with this beatitude: “O Lord of hosts, blessed is the one who trusts in you” (v.12). The secret of strength, the secret of joy, the secret of transforming valleys into springs is simple trust in God. Not in ourselves. Not in our possessions. Not in other people. But in Him alone.

David understood this when he wrote in Psalm 16:11, “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” And Nehemiah declared, “The joy of the Lord is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). It is not merely our joy in the Lord, but God’s own joy in us and over us that gives strength. This joy is not tied to circumstances; it flows from His unchanging character and faithfulness.

So what does this mean for us? It means that when we find ourselves in the Valley of Baca—in times of grief, illness, loneliness, or disappointment—we do not need to remain paralyzed in sorrow. We can draw strength from God. We can allow Him to transform our tears into springs. And those springs can refresh others who come after us—our children, our friends, our communities. Just as we are refreshed by the hymns of Fanny Crosby, written out of her valley, so others may one day be refreshed by our testimony of faith in the midst of trial.

Maybe today you feel weary. Maybe you are in the valley and wonder if there is any way forward. Remember this psalm. Remember Fanny Crosby. Remember that God is your sun and shield, your joy and strength. He promises that you will go from strength to strength. He promises that no good thing will He withhold from those who walk uprightly. And He promises that one day, you will stand before Him in Zion.

So do not give up in the valley. Lift your eyes to Him. Trust Him. Let His joy be your strength. And as you walk, let your tears water the ground, turning your valley of weeping into springs—for your own soul and for the many weary travelers who will come after you.