Today, I’m privileged to be guest posting at Rachel Held Evans‘ blog.
Rachel is an author, a speaker, a blogger, and, in her own words, “a skeptic, a creative, and a follower of Jesus.” I would add that Rachel is a seeker of the truth, and she’s asking important questions, right out loud and in public. She’s hosting some of the best, real, faith-filled conversations on the web with lots of people who agree with her and lots of people who don’t.
When Rachel asked me to guest post about the intersection of faith and parenting, I was thrilled – and terrified – because I knew, when I accepted her invitation, that I needed to be faithful to tell the truth, and the truth for me is often full of doubts and questions.
Telling the truest truth I know comes with a huge measure of vulnerability – and that’s why I hope to see you there, friends, on Rachel’s blog for a real discussion about how faith in parenting looks to you… even if it looks way, way different than it does to me.
Sending you x’s and o’s,
Ask. Seek. Knock. Breathe.
I used to prefer for God to live in a box.
Not a jewelry box. Or a moving box. Or a giant refrigerator box. Or even one of those pet store hamster boxes with breathing holes like the one I bought in 1980 with my best friend, Tracy, because two seven-year-olds co-owning a hamster is always a good idea.
Nope. My God-box was different.
My God-box was more like a Lunchables box. The kind that’s well-shaped with plastic compartments for neatly stacked crackers and round spheres of pressed meat and contoured for protection against breakage.
That was, to my mind, the very best, most structured kind of a God-box, and my God deserved the best.
I liked my boxed God very much because He was neat and tidy, and also a He with a capital H. And everything in my life fit into my God-box compartments.
I think that’s normal for a kid raised in the Church, and it isn’t bad or wrong. It just turned out to be, well, a little too easy and preserved for the realities of my life as it unfolded.