god in a box

a tiny box sits in the corner of my room. god lives there, i’m pleased to say. it’s a small snug fit, but a nice, safe place, nevertheless. one day, though, i walked into my room and to my surprise, the top was off the tiny box and god was nowhere to be found. i searched the house; no god. i searched outside and looked up into the cloudy, threatening sky, but i couldn’t catch a glimpse of my absentee deity. suddenly, the clouds split wide open and the rain poured out; then lightning lit the sky and thunder blasted like cannons; rushing winds ripped the leaves from the branches of my old maple. i fretted: how could god possibly survive such a storm? i shouted and pleaded: “oh, god, god, where are you, god? please come home where all is safe from this awful weather!” to my great relief, god trotted from the shadows, headed back to the house and nestled into the tiny box in the corner of my room. i quickly snapped the lid on and then wrapped tape around and around until i was certain god couldn’t possibly escape. from inside the box, i thought i heard a gentle whimper and this made me kind of sad. but not too sad, because i knew god was safe, controlled, and small enough to fit inside my box.