Boxed In

When coordinating a handful of simultaneous moves one must consider oneself a box: flexible, fill-able, empty-able, re-fill-able, and tough.

I go behind the grocery store and dig in the the bins for boxes. Flattened, the boxes stack on the scale so they know how many coins I need to give them. I feel like these boxes. Emptied of the original and deflated. I am emptying myself of the attachment we have had to this location for years.

Reformation of the 200+ boxes by way of rolls of sticky tape makes perfect work for children eager to lend a hand. They pile by the wall waiting to be filled. I feel like these boxes. Devoid of my former attachments I wait for re-purposing. What will I carry? What will the new load be? What will fill me at the new place?

Filled yet still in use the boxes lounge around. Items will be pulled and returned a number of times still before Monday. Then the final strip of tape will shut them up for the trip down the street. These boxes mostly likely won’t stay taped for long. I feel like these boxes. I am in the in-between. There are daily chores that feel suddenly odd even after doing in them every day for all time. I want to be at the new place but we are not there yet. So I have to unpack and repack myself various times in a day.

The Berenstain Bears tell a story of prepositions using the predicament of being stuff in a box. The rhythmic verse chants in my mind, “Inside, outside, upside-down…” Our things displaced fill our spaces, inside, outside, and all around. I feel like these boxes. Insecurity of not-what-was and not-yet thrust me forward, awkward, in the way, imposing. I want to rush and be done with this. I want to quit stubbing my toes on things out of place. I want to stop stubbing my heart on a jumbled up soul.

Monday we move our house. Other moving dates will come soon. For now I focus on this one. This sweet picture taken by their older sister, Gabrielle, captures the anticipation of my little ones. I feel like this box. The burden of making this move a good one for the whole family weighs heavy. I hope they don’t feel overlooked or shoved to one side. I hope I can absorb their insecurities and stresses in this time of change. I hope I don’t forget that they, too, are feeling all the boxes-full of emotions that I am. I hope I remember to run to the One who can tape together my seems when I feel things getting to be too much.



  1. I don’t know how you do all you do and still manage to write such lovely, thoughtful blog posts!

    I pray all goes well with your move tomorrow!

    And I wish I could be there to help.

    • You are very kind, Becky. I wish you were here too. I think writing keeps me sane… or provides a release for my insanity so I can keep up appearances. I wonder what it means when I can’t distinguish between the two. ;-)

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