The Box

I have a box. It’s a nice box—it’s made of a dark wood and hinged with iron, like a treasure chest. 

And it’s in my head. 

In this box I put things I just don’t understand right now. It’s not for truths I can’t face, or unforgiveness I want to hold back. I don’t think God would let me get away with those very long. It’s simply a place for “whys” that are beyond my ability to fully comprehend. My little brain doesn’t know how to make sense of a child brutalized and sold into slavery, and a paralyzed 75-year old man who is miraculously healed and walks for the first time in years.  

My box enables me to pray for the child without letting anger, doubt, and self–righteousness become the gods I’m praying to. And it helps me to lovingly and confidently pray for the next old man I encounter (it better, ’cause I’m all too quickly getting there myself). Maybe my treasure chest—my hope chest—is overly simplistic. I just know I don’t know everything, and what I do know is too real and too important not to pursue because I’m stumbling over a “why” I’ll never be able to fully answer. 

I don’t mean any of us should ever be content to become ignorant, religious robots—we should never stop asking, seeking, and knocking. It’s just not always about getting a certain answer, but more about the process of determined faith and trust. It’s never easy, but every time you step forward without knowing all the details, you’re allowing greater intimacy with God, growing your capacity to love without condition, and strengthening yourself to accomplish everything God wants to do in and around you. 

In that process, I’ve found God is good. So good. I love Him, and He loves me—not because religion tells me so, but experience. He’s never left me, no matter what I’ve gone through. I’ve seen miracles, signs, and wonders that shout how much He loves everyone and everything I see, more than my unsatisfied intellect ever could. I know I can trust Him with my life, no matter how long that is. Just because I don’t get all my questions answered doesn’t mean He’s not crazy about me. 

My box has enabled me to go beyond seeing God as a mystical white–bearded old man ready to throw lightning bolts at anyone who steps outside the rules or questions the way he does things. We are His sons and daughters, and I think few things please Him more than when we live like it. To me, that means being honest with Him about what hurts and what doesn’t make sense, but trusting Him with it all, and walking forward in His grace. It’s been His grace that has renewed my mind, not having all its questions fully answered. I know it’s weird. But carrying this small box has helped me live outside the ones others have expected me to stay in.