My God is in a box.

I don’t know when exactly it happened. I’m sure there was a time when my God was freely swimming around the vastness of my imagination…diving in and out of its innocent waters, less concerned about my own clean, cool, uninhibiting pond than the neighbour’s dirty green pool. But soon enough, the inevitable occurred. Whether due to a lack of proper care on my part, or whether it was a taught transgression into improper maintenance -- or both -- my God was soon confined to my own dirty green water-filled hole. I have put God in a box.

Once in a while He’ll come out and surprise me with a newfound understanding…just a glimpse of his vastness, his omni-[presence][potence][science]. But it isn’t long before that new understanding frightens me. The fright of it (or the ‘it’ behind the fright) forces me to gently lower Him back inside his holding cell, until, like a Jack-in-the-Box, he will surprise me once again. Was it me who turned that handle? Was it me who caused Him to pop out in the first place? Was it a series of fortunate events, each one giving the handle a quarter-turn? Or was it a power beyond my understanding, such as the third person in the party of three we call ‘Trinity’? I don’t know, most likely a combination of all of the above. Whatever. As long as that handle keeps getting turned. As much as I’d hate to admit, I like the surprise of it all. It’s about time my pal Jack popped out again.