Boxes within Boxes

I have already completed a bunch of tasks today. One of my students will be starting up again soon. I have so much support from family and friends. I have a God who is strong to save. My car is still rolling. I have a future. My projects are forming, growing, progressing. I am being inspired to write, and I am inspiring others to write.

Our circumstances are not the foundation of our joy, but — just as joy can be felt in dire times — joy can be felt in luxurious times as well.

The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. I praise the Lord.

Can I tell you something magical? I memorized Psalm 1. I've described this before—back when I memorized Psalm 23.

Well, blazes. I couldn't find where I described it.

Anyway, eons ago, I memorized Psalm 23 at the recommendation of my father. Impulsively, I started reciting it every evening before going to bed. Do you know anything about math? Do you know the difference between continuous and discontinuous functions? Imagine with me: most of my life, I see ups and downs, and the ups and downs are usually gradual, smooth. It's typically hard to tell what causes any particular change; typically, I imagine, it's many factors. That is a continuous line: a line without any kind of break or jump or anything. When I started reciting Psalm 23 at night, the graph of my life took a massive, awkward jump upward. That's discontinuous.

And it's even extra hard to describe. It wasn't a jump into everything's sappy-happy now, but it took a jump from greyscale to color. At first glance, nothing really changed: all the shapes and movements, all the people and things, all the tasks were the same—but they all gained colors, vibrant and glaring colors. I continued ambling my way through life. I started slogging through another season of stickiness. With a good bit of prodding, I finally memorized Psalm 1. I figured I could start reciting it in the mornings. Lo and behold, whaddaya know, my life took yet another awkward jump for the better. Again, the everyday activities are about the same, but, if I thought the switch from greyscale to color was striking, I wouldn't even know how to describe this switch. The dimensions keep deepening. Greyscale to color, color to hyperspace? And what's next? Hyperspace to time travel? Who even knows?!

How can I impart the experience? I'm sure you can imagine living a grey life and then suddenly switching into color. But what if you thought you were already in color? What if you switched to color and later realized it was really just another greyscale? I really wish I could tell you! And I could tell you; it would just take forever. But the world opens up again, like a present inside a present, but each present you pull out of the previous box is bigger than the last. Does that make sense?

I started with a tiny, grey box that sat on a shelf. I ignored the little box because it couldn't possibly contain much of anything. One day, in a sort of desperation, I opened the box, and out burst so much new life, so many new opportunities, so many new hopes and friends. Along with all this came another box; it was a good bit bigger and covered in colorful wrapping paper.

I said to myself, "Well that's a fine box, but I'll just put it on the shelf for now. It couldn't be better than what came out of the tiny, grey box."

Then, in another, small fit of desperation, I opened that present. Out burst a furious array of colors and possibilities and family and friends and peace and patience and imagination and determination and so much more. Now, I am still pulling out all the presents that were piled in that small box (they definitely take up more space than could possibly fit inside that little container), so I haven't found the next present waiting inside. But I imagine, sadly, I'll leave it sit on a shelf again until desperation calls me back to open yet another present. I can't imagine what will burst forth then! I can't imagine!

I wonder how many glorious technicolor explosions will scale by, outshining the contents of the last present.

I wish I could tell you what it's like. I tried. It's a weird experience. If you check some of my earliest blog posts, you'll see — even feel — a sad greyness. I myself glanced back recently, and there was so much gloom. As you roll forward through the posts, you'll sense noticeable changes. That at the very least should give you a glimpse of the bursting colors.