Every day in my life is an adventure of sorts: I never know what I am going to experience when the sun begins its ascent. Will it be a good day? A frustrating day? Will I feel a competent professional or a foolish pretender at work? How often will I cry this week? Am I going to finally get below that number on my scales where I am stuck? Will this be the day I finally stop fretting about everything?
My long suffering mother is a saint. She has put up with the shenanigans of four diverse and strong-willed kids for 55+ years. She has listened to all of our ups and downs, has cried and laughed with every one of us in turn, and has a special place in her heart labeled with each of our names. And in spite of all that, she still loves us unconditionally. She would do anything for anyone of her children. Lately, she has been helping me fight my battles. Like a faithful page on a battlefield, she never leaves my side.
Today was one of those “adventures” where I cried and was close to stepping off the edge into the abyss of sorrow and self pity. So what did I do? I did what every self-respecting 48 year old woman would do: I called my mommy. And she said something that might have changed everything for me.
She said, “I wish that when you start worrying and fretting about everything, you would just imagine putting all those things in a box and wrapping it up. Then you could give the box to God and he would take care of it from there.”
Wow. I love that image!
She continued, “But in your case, I think we’re going to need a LOT of wrapping paper!”
After laughing at that fabulously honest comment, I began to imagine exactly what my “Gift Box for God” would look like. I decided if I lumped everything into one box, I would need one roughly the size of Montana, California, and Alaska. Combined. I can’t even begin to calculate how much wrapping paper that would take. Or how long. But what if I didn’t try to lump it all together?
What if I took each moment that caused me distress and wrapped it up instead? Like a bunch of little jewelry gift boxes for earrings or a necklace? Or maybe something a bit larger like those decorative storage boxes you find at Hobby Lobby or Michaels? What would this gift exchange look like? Perhaps I’d be handing God a box approximately every thirty seconds.
Now, why in the world would God want all these boxes and packages of my problems? Why would he, who is perfect and pretty much has the life, want to take on my crap? There is only one explanation: love. Just like my mom.
In 1 Peter 5:7, there is a clear and concise invitation from God to dump it all on him.
“Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.”
That’s it. Just put all of the crap, the foolishness, the worry and fear, the hopes and doubts…the good, the bad and the ugly, into boxes with pretty paper wrapped around its outer edges. Then express mail them to God.
There are no limitations, no signs anywhere, no “5 garments per room,” or “1 per family,” or “10 items or less” notifications hovering around. No. It’s so simple and yet the most difficult thing with which I struggle.
Give ALL your worries…Every. Single. Worry. And since I have a plethora of worries and cares, I know one thing for sure.
I’m gonna need a bigger box.
4 Replies to “We’re Gonna Need A Bigger Box”
Genius. No lie.
I need an even bigger box
So absolutely true Nettie. And it really helps: I know!