The Valley of Weeping: When Blessings Feel Hollow

The Bible calls that place the Valley of Baca — “the Valley of Weeping” (Psalm 84)

It’s described as a dry and weary land, yet for those whose hearts are set on pilgrimage, God turns it into a place of springs.

They keep walking, even while they’re weeping.

They pass through, and somehow that place of pain becomes a place of praise.

Lately, I’ve realized — that’s where I am.

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I’ve been very aware of how richly God has provided for me in this season. It wouldn’t take me long to come up with a dozen great blessings in my life: a job I enjoy, coworkers who support me, a brand-new Tesla in the exact colors I chose, nice clothes, and planning a trip down south for the winter. And most importantly, a ministry that is forming from the ashes of deep ruin.

By every metric, I should be happy. And yet, what I feel the most is a deep ache — an emptiness I can’t fully articulate. But if I tried to, I’d say: It all still feels incomplete.

I keep noticing how much I long to love, to protect, to provide, to share the fruit of my labor with someone who truly sees me. Who knows me deeply, loves me, and stays by my side. That longing doesn’t make me weak; it reminds me I’m human. It reminds me that even success and calling feel incomplete when they can’t be shared. A feeling of being “hollow”.

As defined by Oxford Languages

For a long time, I thought the tenderness I had inside me was something to outgrow. That growing in faith, or establishing a ministry, or simply “growing older” in life meant I would mature out of this part of me that wants to nurture, to hold, and to care deeply.

But I’m learning the opposite is true.

That ache is not rebellious or immature; it’s intentional design. It’s the masculine tenderness God placed in me — the impulse to give, to guard, and to carry.

Though I am grieved because there is nowhere safe for that part of me to land right now. Still, God delights in this part of me, and his desire is for me to express it and share it because it is a good gift. I understand conceptually that this longing can be satisfied in God, and I should turn to Him in these moments. But my humanity longs to share my experiences with another person.

Culture has made me believe that this is “weak” or “feminine.” Scripture calls it Christlike.

To love deeply, to mourn openly, to keep giving even when we feel empty is to be like Christ. Jesus healed and taught even when He was weary. He chose compassion for the lost, who were “like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36), serving long days until He was exhausted.

Then He would withdraw to the Father for strength, suggesting He was in a state of weariness. That doesn’t mean our Savior was weak; it means He was loving well.

Psalm 84 details a place named the Valley of Baca or “the Valley of Weeping.”

Scholars believe Baca originates from the Hebrew bakah, meaning “to weep,” perhaps from a “weeping tree” that drips sap in the desert.

It’s both a literal and symbolic place — a dry, weary stretch pilgrims passed through on the way to Jerusalem.

Psalm 84 is a pilgrimage psalm, written by the sons of Korah. It celebrates the joy of going up to Zion — the temple in Jerusalem — to worship.

Pilgrims traveled long, dusty miles through wilderness terrain to appear before God.

So when the psalmist writes,

He’s describing a miracle of faith: Their perseverance and trust literally change the landscape. What was barren becomes life-giving because of God’s presence and their endurance.

This is a place where:

It’s an image of redemptive endurance — that somehow, by trusting God in the valley, we become springs for others.

Charles Spurgeon said it best:

So I keep walking. Sometimes in faith, sometimes in fatigue and doubt. Some days I feel obedient; other days I’m restless and notice my flaws.

But even then, I am noticing my growing disposition toward obedience. An imperfect yet continual turning back toward God. The refusal to let my heart go numb — THIS has become my spiritual act of worship.

Maybe this is what it means to make the Valley of Weeping a place of springs.

To keep showing up, to acknowledge God in the hollow places, because he’s already there waiting for me.

And to believe that grief can water the ground and make a way for future joy.

If you find yourself here, too — blessed but broken, grateful yet grieving:

You’re not behind. You’re becoming.

You may be in the Valley now, but the same God who walked His people through the wilderness is still making streams in dry places.

God sees you. You are Mid Story, Not Missing in His eyes.

And if you are in Christ, you are still covered by His blood and still called to walk in freedom and power and strength.

“I will walk through this valley, not around it.

My tears are not wasted; they are watering tomorrow’s faith.

The tenderness God placed in me is not weakness; it’s His image.

And as I keep walking, He will make this valley a place of springs.

And I can find satisfaction in Him during this season,

and still grieve the part of me that feels so lonely.”

The loss of someone near and dear to me, who I believed would be with me for much longer on this journey.

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