Forged in Fire: My Offering of Gratitude

Special Gratitude Edition

Guest Post by Alecia Davenport

What if I told you that my greatest blessing in life was found in the valley of the shadow of death?

Have I lost you already?

Stay with me for a moment.

If the Lord came to you and said, “You can lie down in green pastures forever, or you can take My hand and walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” which would you choose?

Exactly one year ago, I would have chosen to lie down in green pastures for the rest of my days. But God had a more refining plan for me. He had the choice to send miraculous healing immediately, yet He didn’t. 

Now, forged in fire, I am grateful for my valley.

My valley was a deep and painful place, where the enemy whispered daily that the darkness would never lift.

A valley so deep that my family fell down with me.

My valley carried many burning bushes.

Cancer genes.

A journey through oncology and an untraditional detour in treatment.

A veil being lifted on the corruptions of the cancer industry that devastated me to my core.

Surgeries and scars.

A hysterectomy that stole my fertility at thirty-one.

The rollercoaster of menopause while raising little children.

Days I could barely function.

Pain and suffering.

Heartache.

Moments I missed with my children.

Loneliness watching everyone around me live life from a theoretical glass window.

Disappointment and sorrow.

It was a valley that burned, broke, and bled me dry.

And yet, I would not trade it.

Because even in the fire, He was there.

I heard His footsteps beside me.

Not distantly — not as a quiet whisper — but tangibly.

I tangibly felt His strength in my weakness.

I heard His voice cover me in truth when the enemy whispered lies.

He graciously delivered peace beyond all understanding.

Now I see that the valleys are sacred ground.

They are where gratitude is born — not from comfort, but from full and holy surrender.

Because believers are not called to avoid the fire; we are called to walk through it with grateful hearts, armored in purpose, proclaiming that “All things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

So no, I haven’t lost my mind.

I’ve found deep anchoring faith.

I’ve found the joy of being refined.

I lost much — but what I gained in the fire is far more precious than what was taken.

And now, gratitude lives in my bones.

It breathes in my worship.

It sings in my scars.

It guides me through every day that I’m given.

I don’t just thank Him with my words — I thank Him with my life.

Each sunrise is a hymn.

Each day is a striving to live passionately for Him as my offering of gratitude.

To the One Who walked with me through the valley and brought me out forged in fire — faithful, whole, and free.

Because now I understand the life-giving truth James 1 teaches us: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:2–4)

And that’s what He sowed in me — He’s finishing the work He started in the fire.

He turned ashes into beauty, sorrow into strength, and gratitude into a way of life.

It’s not easy to fight an angry grief over gratitude every day. He gives His grace to me every time my mind battles these two. I still grieve the part of me that was taken — the loud ache of lost fertility, the dreams that never had a chance to grow. Some days that grief still catches me off guard. But the Lord meets me there, too. He is healing my heart in layers, teaching me that His restoration isn’t always the return of what was lost — sometimes it’s the renewal of what remains.

To overlook the beauty in His timing would be to ignore His mercy.

To not give thanks for the two miracle babies He gave me before it was too late would be a rejection of His provision.

So let me invite this challenge upon you. When you wake each morning of your next valley, don’t immediately ask for an easier path.

Ask him to lovingly reveal the reasons He is walking you through. 

Thank Him for another day to walk it — with joy, with purpose, and with a heart forged in His fire.

The peaceful pasture that awaits you will bloom richer and lusher than the one you rose from.