Well, we survived the move.

Mostly.

We’re making good headway at getting settled into our new house and getting familiar with a new city. Moving is always one of those strange times in life. There’s the sadness of leaving a familiar place yet the excitement of discovering someplace new. It’s leaving one part of your life behind and beginning the next part. It’s an end and a beginning all in one.

And then there are the boxes.

My entire life – my clothes, my cookware, my books & dvds, my photographs & memories – all boxed up and loaded into a 22 foot truck.

It’s inevitable. Try as I might to pack boxes of similar items from the same room in order to make unpacking that much easier, by the end we were just throwing all sorts of randomness into the next freshly taped box. Kitchen, bath, living room, and master bedroom paraphernalia all sharing a moving box together which gets marked “garage.”

We all have boxes in our lives. Psychologists call them schemas. You can think of them as habits. But we have a box for school. A box for work. A box for home life. A box for friends. We even have some boxes for random items that don’t really fit anywhere else.

This is not a bad thing. In fact, if it weren’t for my morning routine box, I wouldn’t be considered functional most days. It’s just how we live, interact, access memories and make decisions.

But most of us end up having a box for God. But what makes God – God – is his inability to be boxed. He does not fit any category other than his own and nothing else fits his category. God, by his nature, is uncategorizable. He is infinitely other. That’s called holiness.

So as I continue to unpack my life from my boxes, why don’t we all try to unpack God from that box we’ve been trying to shove him into. He’s too big for it. And it’s just better that way.