The God Box
In my office I have an oval table on which I have a small
altar with the following items: a daily meditation booklet, a covered candle, a
ceramic angel figure from my childhood, a postcard of an Orthodox drawing of
Mary and Jesus, and a “God box.” There’s
also a tea pot and two small cups made in Hawaii along with my very first
“congratulations on retiring” card, but it’s the God box I want to tell you
about.
In Anne Lamott’s book “Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential
Prayers,” she writes: One modest tool for letting go in prayer that
I’ve used for twenty-five years is a God box…
On a note, I write down the name of the person about whom I am so
distressed or angry, or describe the situation that is killing me, with which I
am so toxically, crazily obsessed, and I fold the note up, stick it in the box
and close it. You might have a brief
moment of prayer…”
After many months of distress over a situation of which I
had no control over, and of which I lamented endlessly, even lamenting over my
lamenting, I came across the chapter in Lamott’s book that told about the God
box. Each morning I enter my office and
read a daily meditation and light a candle for people and situations I want to
thoughtfully remember throughout the day.
This one situation kept coming up, and unlike the other concerns, I felt
I must “fix it” on my own. There must be
something I did that I could undo. That
was the trap.
I decided making a God box was a way of putting the torment
aside and giving to God the task of lamentation or whatever the “fix it” might
be. The solution that might manifest
could very well be something I didn’t expect or want in a resolution. I had to trust the Universe, trust God.
So I found this empty little tea canister, created a label
that read “God box,” penned my concern on a small piece of paper, folded it in
fours, no… sixes, I’m sure… put it into the box and closed the lid. There… it is done. It sits on the altar and each morning I come
in and light the candle and read the meditation and think about people and things
that are coming in and out of my life.
The God box is like some heavy covenant between me and God in which I
assume there will be a successful miracle of sorts sometime before I die.
I must say that I am less sad these days, and don’t lament
anymore. Occasionally a little catch
comes to the throat and the eyes get moist but it doesn’t belong to me
anymore. Like the fluff that comes off
the Cottonwood trees this time of year, I am amazed at how gently they pass by
and disappear into the sky.
