Life In A Box

Whenever it is one of my children’s birthday, I get out the family pictures.
Since they all have Facebook, I like to post a picture or two of them when they were little.
Sometimes I have one particular picture in mind.
Often, I have to go through many pictures in order to find just the right one.

That happened the other night before my oldest son’s birthday.
I thought I had a picture in mind.
I went to the boxes that are labeled by years.
I quickly became lost in the memories.

I sat there under the pretense of finding the right picture.
When all the while, I was taking a trip down memory lane.
I found myself thinking, I remember that, and went down the rabbit hole of nostalgia.
I would look at each picture and I was transported.

I remembered what was going on when each picture was taken.
I remembered what was said.
I even remembered the little outfits my children wore.
It became a journey of thirty-three years of marriage and thirty-one years of being a mom.

It has been a good journey.

I looked at the boxes of pictures in the cabinet below the built-in shelves.
I looked at the pictures my husband took when I was expecting each child.
I thought of how in that picture my children were on the other side.
They knew only the comfort of my heartbeat and the nourishment they received.

There were newborn pictures of one, then two, then three, then four, then five children.
There were pictures of first birthdays and first steps.
There were pictures of favorite toys and favorite places.
There were pictures of sleeping children and sucking thumbs.

There was life in each of those boxes.
There was documentation of a life lived together.
There were sport team pictures and basketball on the driveway pictures.
There was graduations and celebrations when a driver’s license was received.

Life was packed away in those boxes.
Life was clearly labeled on the side.
Life was separated by dividers which had the year written on it.
Life was contained.

But it wasn’t.
Life was lived all over the place.
Life was shared and marked at a moment in time.
A moment that was captured by the press of a button.

A moment that cannot come back again.
A moment that is treasured simply because it is part of a precious whole.
A whole life in snippets contained in a box.
A whole life where negatives from the camera film developed into something positive.

Memories.
An hour and a half of sitting and remembering.
I glanced at the clock and saw that it was close to midnight.
I had to post the pictures I wanted to have for my son’s birthday.

I had lost track of time.
It was OK; in fact it was more than OK.
It was a journey that a mother takes periodically when she wants to remember.
It is a wistful journey but it is a necessary one.

I saw the clothes that we wore back then.
I saw the hairstyles that were a mistake.
I saw the big glasses that my husband and I both wore that were fashionable then.
I saw the three different houses we lived in along the way.

I saw the look of a young woman who entered motherhood so terribly naive.
I was an only child who never changed a diaper until I had my own children.
Didn’t you babysit when you were a teenager, Mom?
I did, but the children I took care of were older and beyond the diaper stage.

My husband and I looked so young.
We were.
We were married at twenty-two and had our first baby at twenty-four.
Babies came when I was twenty-four, twenty-six, twenty-nine, thirty-two, and thirty-six.

Life in a box.
God in a box.

Then have them make a sanctuary for Me, and I will dwell among them. Make this tabernacle and all its furnishings exactly like the pattern I will show you. Have them make a chest of acacia wood, two and a half cubits long, a cubit and a half wide, and a cubit and a half high. Overlay it with pure gold, both inside and out and make a gold molding around it. Cast four gold rings for it and fasten them to its four feet, with two rings on one side and two rings on the other. Then make poles of acacia wood and overlay them with gold. Insert the poles into the rings on the side of the chest to carry it. The poles are to remain in the rings of this ark; they are not to be removed. Then put in the Ark of the Testimony which I will give to you. Make an atonement cover of pure gold, two and a half cubits long and a cubit and a half wide. And make two cherubim out of hammered gold at the ends of the cover. Make one cherub on one end and the second cherub on the other; make the cherubim of one piece with the cover, at the two ends. The cherubim are to have their wings spread upward, overshadowing the cover with them. The cherubim are to face each other, looking toward the cover. Place the cover on top of the ark and put in the Ark of the Testimony which I will give you. There, above the cover between the two cherubim that are over the Ark of the Testimony, I will meet with you and give you all the commands for the Israelites. (Exodus 25:8-22)

God in a box.
God in a box that was overlaid with gold.
God in a box that was designed according to His specifications.
God in a box that was carried on poles throughout the desert.

Can you imagine what memories the people thought of as they looked at that box?
Can you imagine the life that was lived during those forty years of wandering?
The God who is everywhere confined Himself to a box for one reason.
So that He could tabernacle, or be with, His people.

The God who is with us.
Immanuel.
Jesus is the Living Tabernacle of God.
God confined Himself for thirty-three years in a body just like you and me.

God who knows no time, made time for His people.
Seasons and years to mark moments.
Moments in which His Sovereign hand is clearly seen.
Moments where we carelessly forget His presence until His Spirit reminds us.

God dwelled among His people in a box.
Just so He could be with them.
He sent His Son, Immanuel, to come to earth, fully God and fully man.
God with us; not in a box this time, but in a Person.

God with us.
Jesus.