When it comes to finding God in ordinary places, no one does it better than Christie Purifoy. The first time I read her writing, it felt like coming home. I found her book, Roots and Sky, during a time when I felt stuck and unable to read any other writing. Somehow her personal journey to find home turned into a spiritually informative pilgrimage for my own soul. I’m thrilled to welcome her here today.
I have always been a follow-the-rules, keep-it-under-control, anxious-to-please kind of girl. Which means I am, more often than not, anxious.
The hum of impending disaster is the white noise of my day. Whether weeding my garden or reading a bedtime book, I am on high alert: for the cough that might be asthma, the rose bush harboring some soon-to-multiply pest, the crock pot I must remember to fill and start at 11 am exactly. And woven in and out of these small, weedy worries are the invasive vines of my anxiety: the writing deadline, the big decision, the older child who seems, unusually and inexplicably, sad.
If the moment is without crisis, then it is up to me to keep it so.
I have been given a spacious place, but my eyes are always scanning the horizon. The sky over my home is a clear blue dome, yet I struggle for the air to breathe.
Because the whole world rests on my shoulders, I am enormous. The place where I am is always crowded.
Jesus says, Give me the world from your shoulders! Take my yoke instead! My burden is easy. My burden is light.
But how? For all my effort, I cannot budge this boulder from my back.
Yet I remember moments of grace. I can recall seasons of freedom and rest.
Almost thirteen years ago I became a mother. Having crossed that threshold with a textbook “difficult” baby in my arms, I was overwhelmed by an experience that was entirely beyond my ability to control or determine. The weight of one small daughter was enough to pull the world from my shoulders, and the sign of my new brokenness came in tears.
For three or four years I was always just on the edge of tears.
Those years were hard but how good it was to be weak, needy, and helpless. I accepted that I was in control of none of it, and so there was room within each day for so many tiny wonders.
Her first smile.
The way she fit, just so, in the crook of my arm.
That little streak of white-blonde hair on her otherwise dark head.
She and I both grew, and my tears dried. Three more babies joined their older sister, and every year I harvested another crop of worries. I grew large again, and the shadow cast by that world on my shoulders obliterated all the tiny, wonderful things.
In January, a great loss knocked the breath right out of me. I am sure I am not the only one in my family who would say I’ve been breathing borrowed air ever since.
Now, even breathing feels outside my control. This is good news. The only job I have to do, my one responsibility, is to whisper thank you.
For four months I have been on the verge of tears. I do not even realize they are there, but I step into the shower or I close myself into the silence of my car, and I find them. Just there. Waiting for me.
Once again, I am small. I cannot change or determine the big, important things.
But here again are the tiny wonders.
Here are the moments of pure beauty and grace: a silly text from my niece, the first peony in the garden, the grass-green taste of asparagus I grew myself.
It hurts to be sifted by sorrow, and I can glimpse no end to the hurt, and yet I find myself grateful. To be sifted by suffering is to find that all your usual worries have settled down into their proper places. Large uncertainties land in your prayers, plans for the future edge your daydreams, and the small anxieties that once loomed so large on your shoulders float down and far away where they look like just what they are: the dust beneath your feet.
Now lift your eyes and look around you.
Here, at last, is room for each given breath. The doorway is wet with tears, yet this is a spacious place and a land of small wonders.
Christie Purifoy earned a PhD in English Literature at the University of Chicago before trading the classroom for a farmhouse, a garden, and a blog.
Her book Roots and Sky: A Journey Home in Four Seasons is now out from Revell. Connect with Christie and discover more about life in a Victorian farmhouse called Maplehurst on Instagram and Facebook.
Sandra Heska King says
June 23, 2016 at 10:46 AMOh Christie… your words here are exquisite. I know the feeling of having the whole world rest on my shoulders and feeling responsible for everything. Sitting with you in your continuing sorrow. Hugs.
Christie Purifoy says
June 23, 2016 at 12:00 PMThank you, Sandra. Are you a firstborn, too? Perhaps not, but I find this condition particularly common among firstborns. 😉 I am grateful for you, for the words you write, and for your sympathy. Much love to you today.
Rhonda says
June 23, 2016 at 10:46 AMThis post so reflects where I am. Struggling to breathe, passed through the great loss and remember there was a purity and ease that came with the hardest days. Now, still on the verge (well crying right now) because somebody else understands. Thank you for putting your words down and sharing. That impending doom as white noise and everything crowded where I am. Anxiety, that is what this is. That is where I am today. The blue dome and spacious place is mine, too. I haven’t made it into the place of thankfulness and gratitude. I want to be there. How did you get there, Christy?
Christie Purifoy says
June 23, 2016 at 12:04 PMRhonda, I am so sorry you are in that hard, hard, breathless place. I know it well. I have no formulas or easy solutions to offer (though I will note here that with anxiety there is sometimes a need for a wise doctor’s or counselor’s care). Please know that I am praying for you right now. I am praying that God will meet you in your weakness and lead you beside those quiet waters. Perhaps you might cling to Psalm 23 today? It is a prayer I personally pray every single day.
Emily P Freeman says
June 23, 2016 at 12:18 PMBeautiful, wise words. xo
Beth says
June 23, 2016 at 12:29 PMThis. All of this. The thoughts from my heart that I couldn’t put into words. You’ve done it here, so beautifully. <3
Christie Purifoy says
June 23, 2016 at 3:57 PMThank you, Beth. And thank you for being here with me.
McKenna says
June 23, 2016 at 12:32 PMThank you so much for putting it into words. The relief to know I’m not the only one who feels overwhelmed in such ways is comforting. My heart and prayers are with you, Christie, and with all the others who are feeling burdened and have shared. I’m comforted to know we don’t have to walk alone. God bless you all.
Christie Purifoy says
June 23, 2016 at 3:58 PMThank you, McKenna! May God’s peace be with you this day.
Lisa-Jo says
June 23, 2016 at 1:21 PMEverything you write is my favorite thing, Christie.
Christie Purifoy says
June 23, 2016 at 3:59 PMOh, Lisa-Jo. You always know just what to say. xoxo
Kathy Schwanke says
June 23, 2016 at 1:53 PM*raises hand* Firstborn here too! Been to the pit of anxiety/depression and [Praise Him!] He rescued me, and brought me into a spacious place . . . this reminds me of that one book, Grace for the Good Girl. 🙂
Thanks precedes peace. Seeing His goodness, trusting His heart. Amen. Amen. And having community. We so need that when we are burdened and anxious, for perspective and strength. And yes, sometimes meds. So thankful that since I went through that, it is not as commonly seen as sin or unbelief to take medication.
And those of us who carry the heavier weights, when we learn to put them over on Him are blessed that we felt the weight in the first place. It means we care. I even thank Him for my fears, because they cause me to turn them to prayer and apprehend the blessing of . . . His protection for my son, His provision for my daughter, His healing for my friend, His life for the lost . . .
Blessed comfort in your sorrow,
Kathy
Christie Purifoy says
June 23, 2016 at 4:00 PMThere are depths of wisdom in your words and experience, Kathy. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Lisa ulrich says
June 23, 2016 at 3:27 PMGoodness, I needed to read this so badly, thank you
Christie Purifoy says
June 23, 2016 at 6:09 PMLove you, Lisa.
Tonya says
June 23, 2016 at 5:37 PMThank you for expressing so beautifully what I feel…and, yes, I, too, am the firstborn…I didn’t realize that this is sometimes linked. Thank you for your refreshing honesty…may God bless you
Amanda says
June 23, 2016 at 7:16 PMSo good to not be alone – I just exhaled as I read, it felt good to expand my ribs and allow the air to flow & release all the self condemning thoughts that have made an un-permitted home in my soul, so similar to the ones you’ve scribed. Thank you. My sincere sympathy for your loss, may this edge, the verge of tears be a place that releases more radical thankfulness and propels you into deeper intimacy in Him… x
Devi says
June 23, 2016 at 8:38 PM“The doorway is wet with tears” – yes, I think every beautiful lesson and even every beautiful place I’ve walked into has been through this doorway. I think it’s the limp we walk with here on earth. Thanks as always for your beautiful words, they show me something of myself and something of Jesus.
Sandi says
June 24, 2016 at 12:27 PMI know there are times when I can quote the verse @ ” My burden is easy”…. but I still cry and my shoulders are still sagging. In these days of expecting quick answers and immediate changes, we believe an automatic relief should take place. DUH!!! The Son of God is weeping with me. He knows the pain and is walking with me. As I continue to walk with Him, giving the reality of my pain to Him, He makes the sweet changes needing to take place in me. His love guides my eyes to see the beauty around. I am in a good place. This was a beautiful post. Thank you for sharing.
Beth williams says
June 28, 2016 at 5:36 PMChristie,
I am the baby of family and the one who lives near parent. Over the past few years I have been through the pit of feeling overwhelmed. Breathing was hard. All of life was on my shoulders. Went through anxiety and a bit of depression. Now finally God has brought me through all that and I am better. Breathing daily and have whitespace to enjoy this life!
Blessings 🙂
Kathy says
August 2, 2016 at 9:00 PMYour words are so delicate in the tangle of anxiety. Beauty comes from such turmoil. Thank you for reminding me of my own–wonders and worries. I am sharing this on my Summer Blog Tour this week! I took a break from writing and sharing some of my favorite blogs and writings. This was a pleasure!
Kathy Scott says
August 3, 2016 at 1:02 PMLife is full of challenges that bring either joy or fear. I’ve found that when all else is crumbling around me, I need to focus on God’s Word and trust Him to give me what I need…not what I want. The real test is to find contentment whether we are wrestling with problems that are physical, emotional or spiritual. Paul the Apostle says in best, “…for I have learned, in whatever state I am, therewith to be content.” Later he gives the secret to this contentment by speaking in Phil. 4:13, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” It is a constant redirection of our attention to Christ and to be filled in spirit. All the tests of life will bring us into the transformation of being in His likeness. It is encouraging that we are going through a process that will result in a life that honors the Lord and brings Him glory.
Christine Carter says
August 6, 2016 at 12:41 AMOh so much of me, I see in your beautiful and accurate descriptions. This gave me pause- in a really good way. It’s amazing how our worlds can shift on their axis and all the weight completely changes- our view is different too.
I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. My heart broke open when I went to read your post. Utterly tragic. I’m praying you and your family are constantly strengthened by the enduring love and highest hope we can cling to in God.
Theresa Beauchamp says
August 20, 2016 at 4:29 PMYour gorgeous writing perfectly describes those ebbs and flows of “feeling big” vs “feeling small”. I love the simplicity of statement and profound depth of the meaning of “big” vs. “small”. I have struggled with feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders AND my personal false perception that the world will fall apart without me controlling all aspects that impact me. I am learning to say “Thy will be done” in my morning prayer much more these days which is a great way to remind me that I am “small” and a vessel for Divine Will. When I am able to truly adopt this and “let go” of control, I find I am much less anxious, more playful and better able to enjoy those beautiful peonies flowers . Thank you so much Christie