When the World Feels Heavy

Last Updated on February 15, 2024 by Stacy Averette

I slip the old faded army fatigue jacket over my short sleeves and check the pocket for cherry Chapstick. Winter in the South is mild this time of year but cold enough to make me shiver as I walk past the oak tree at the front corner of the house. I pick up the pace in my well-worn navy tennis shoes and look up, toward the woods. One of my favorite trails is just a few steps from the back of the house but I have to step lightly on the soggy grass. Underground springs mean this part of the yard is always wet. I hop onto the low, moss-covered, cinder block wall, jump across the little stream, and grab a bare sapling to help me up the slippery bank.

I’m getting warmer.

My house is yards behind me now but I’m closer to home.

I’ve entered a familiar wonderland.

The leaves are moist from winter rains so my steps barely make a sound. Years of turkey hunting with daddy taught me to walk quietly in the woods.

There’s a busy woodpecker in the distance and two squirrels chase each other in the tree just ahead. I stop to watch and wonder how they keep from falling. They stop, too, and look my way. I wave at them and smile and keep wandering away from the hum of tires on a busy black-top highway.

I’m looking for quiet.

I need to get to the place where I can hear the wind blow.

The place where all I can hear is the wind blowing.

 

The World Feels Heavy

So much has changed in 45 years, but I still need to get to a place where all I can hear is the wind blowing.

The world feels heavy.

Life is louder now than when I was a ten-year-old slipping away to the woods. By all accounts, I live a slow, simple life compared to the masses. We’ve been intentional about decluttering, stripping away all that is unnecessary and unordained by the Master. According to some, we’ve made questionable decisions about our time, our money, and our careers. We believe we’ve chosen well.

Still, the noise is deafening at times. The world is loud and heavy and there comes a day each week where I (sometimes we) lay it down and go to a place where I can hear the wind blow.

These days my house is miles from the one where I grew up and my favorite trail looks a little different.

But a few quiet steps and I’m closer to home.

Home is where I can hear the wind blow.

“Lay it down,” He whispers with every quiet step. “The world is not too heavy for me.”

I haven’t even rounded the bend in the road and the geese fly over. They’re coming to meet me. They always do.

“Hello, friend,” they honk, paddling, following me to the edge. I walk a little farther, noticing the white bark of the Sycamores across the pond. The sound of the highway reminds me to go back the way I came. My friends wait quietly and patiently for my return.

I feel seen by my Creator.

I feel lighter and freer and alive again. The gentle breeze is a resuscitating blow.

I am at home in Him.

“But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky and they will tell you, or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this? In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.” Job 12:7-10