In case you haven't met her yet, I have a cat named Emi.
Here she is:
Apparently she's being shy. Let's try that again.
Ahh, that's better.
Emi has a new love. It happened when I pulled some stuff out of the closet to decorate for Christmas, and stumbled across a couple of empty shoeboxes.
I pulled them out of the closet and placed them near the edge of the dining room table so that I would remember to throw them out.
She had other ideas.
In fact, every time I would even think of throwing the boxes away, I'd remember how adorable she is when she's in her box, all curled up and cozy. I can't bear to throw these eyesores away.
However, she can't stay in her box forever.
The box is comfortable.
It provides a somewhat secure and cozy place for her to sleep.
She observes life from this box.
The box serves a purpose for her. It's a familiar place that she can retreat to when new and scary people or situations enter her life. It's a great spot for napping or for watching tv with "mommy"
But she fails to see the chaos that is sometimes around it. I doubt she even notices the candy wrapper, plastic shopping bag, or pair of shoes.
We do the same thing.
Our boxes are comfortable.
We feel secure.
We observe life from this box, and we try to place others in similar boxes so that we can avoid getting to know the real persons. We even try to put God in a box--as if He is going to stay all neat and tidy according to our dictations.
Our box has sometimes served us well. It's been the vehicle in which we've grown and developed. It can protect us from those new and scary situations. It has a purpose.
But when we stay in our box we fail to see the details, the chaos around us, the living that is going on without us.
We can't stay in our box forever.
Even if we do look cute in there.