the box

They handed me a white box.

A perfect cube, unstained and unmarked,

“This is God’s design,”

they said with a smile.

“Climb in.”

I watched as they handed them out one by one.

One to me,

One to him,

One to her,

Down the line,

One size fits all,

Each box exactly the same as the next.

I stepped inside and wrapped myself up.

It was cozy.

Secure.

Safe.

I liked being like everyone else.

Fitting right in.

My white box looked just like hers.

My perfect, unstained cube just like his.

I liked the smooth exterior,

How nobody could see my flaws.

But slowly, against my will,

I started growing,

Running out of room.

My box still felt safe,

But also stifling.

I shifted around searching for pockets of fresh air

My lungs burning for just one deep breath.

“If I could just make myself smaller,”

I thought,

Contorting and sucking in.

But I was suffocating. I knew it.

And God knew it.

I asked if he could open the lid for just a second,

If I could just take one breath?

But I was terrified.

Would I be safe outside of the box?

Would I survive?

Would I be loved?

Accepted?

He smiled and grabbed my hand.

He pulled me up out of the smooth, unblemished box.

I stretched my aching legs,

Gripped his hand tightly.

“THIS is my design,”

He said,

Waving his arms at the grandeur of his creation,

The rolling waves,

The wildflowers,

The untamed weeds.

The greens and the browns and the blues and the blacks and every shade in between.

I breathed in the beauty.

The freedom.

“You’re safe out here,”

He assured me,

“I was with you then and I’m with you now.

I’m in all of this.

It’s not to be feared.

I’m in all of you.

You’re not to be feared.

For YOU, your very self, YOU are my design.”