This was an elaborate undertaking, starting with a careful and prayerful selection of a box. I chose heart-shaped. My daughter wanted me to get a big honkin' one citing, "Jesus said, 'Go big or go home." I was not sure Jesus actually said that, and went with a more manageable size.
I used some of my prettiest decorative papers to collage. This was getting good to me.
I finally finished my God Box, and was so happy with it I showed it off. My sister loved it! My sister-in-law is going to make her own. My parish priest asked me to create a retreat around making one. This was wonderful!
I placed my God Box right next to my bed. And then did absolutely nothing with it. Not a scrap of paper went inside. As far as the God Box was concerned, I didn't have a prayer.
Until today. Lately my prayers have been variations of "Help me move, please." And, "Thank you for helping me move." Then back to beggy help prayers. Again. And again. It's not that I don't have other big ticket items on my prayer list, but I'm becoming a little OCD about this praying about moving thing. Repeating a prayer over and over is not faith. Not that you can't repeat a prayer. I think I was being a little manipulative-- like, if I said the prayer enough times God may get sick of me and give in. Again, this is not faith, and OCD doesn't move mountains.
So guess where the one word prayer, "moving," is? You guessed it! The God Box. The prayer has been prayed, and the lid is closed on it. It's God's business now. And I'm going to rest in his love. However meager, this is my faith. And best of all, my prayer box isn't empty anymore.