just one of many boxes.
boxes stacked in rows
precise
orderly
exact
no need leaving room
for margin of error,
for how could error
exist in a world
of such order?
my box was among these
beautifully organized boxes.
it was the box into which I was
born and raised,
and that says only good of my parents who
were, of course, born into their own boxes,
and their parents before them
and their parents before them
and so on and on...
and boxes in and of themselves
are not a bad thing.
boxes give us roots.
boxes give us
security.
so in my box I lived,
feeling a sense of pride
in the accomplishments
and achievements I had
reached within that box,
yet always undermined by
a sense of being unworthy.
not quite good enough.
and into their own boxes
my children were born
and raised, as with
me and my parents
before me and theirs
before them and so on and on.
"why?" one might ask.
"why stay within a box
when so much more exists
outside of the box?"
the answer is quite simple.
I did not know.
I did not know
about a life other
than that which
I knew.
and again, that
in and of itself is not
a bad thing. it simply is.
my box in this story of boxes
is religion.
not God.
not Jesus.
not the Spirit.
no. religion.
and in no way does
the story of my box speak
for another box and nor does it
seek to put down other boxes and the
stories which lie within.
what I have discovered in my story
is that God cannot be put into a box,
no matter how big or beautiful or
close to an appearance perfect
it might have.
a sense of knowing God,
knowing who He is and how
deeply and passionately He loves me,
cannot be confined in a box!
in fact, it cannot be confined in
this entire universe,
for God is holding the
universe in the palm of
His hand.
He created.
He set in motion.
He sustains all of life.
and yet He is my Father!
my Abba!
how amazing is that?
and no box or building or theology
or religion can contain Him!
Jesus Himself lived entirely
outside of any box into
which the people of His
time attempted to put Him.
and still many try.
and the Holy Spirit in a box?
absolutely impossible and
inconceivable.
for how can one
contain the wind?
life outside that box is for me,
it is, at times, quite uncomfortable.
after all, my box was, if nothing else,
comfortable.
yet I will not go back.
in fact I cannot go back...
for the mold
has been broken.
shattered.
by the love of
the One who gave
His life for me
and for you.
I long to know Him more.
I long to live each day
in the overflow of His love,
and in so doing, to be His love
in my own small corner of this
world.
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