Brown boxes
Me and them got history.
Not the kind you write in photo albums
but the kind that shows up with the sound of tape ripping through silence,
the kind that reminds you
comfort is borrowed,
and home can vanish overnight.
They come to you flat
empty and waiting,
like me in so many seasons.
And somehow, I always find myself filling them up
with what little I’ve managed to keep,
stacking pieces of a life I prayed would stay put
just one more time.
When the tape stretches tight across cardboard,
my spine remembers.
Time to go… again.
That sound?
It’s the soundtrack of survival.
Of moving while mothering,
of smiling while sinking,
of wrapping your babies in hope
even when you don’t know what tomorrow holds.
I feared those boxes.
Feared them because they whispered what I didn’t want to hear:
You ain’t stable. Stay ready to run.
And run I did.
Not from danger,
but from the lie of security.
From couches, to floors, to friend’s extra rooms
anywhere I could exhale long enough to say,
“this’ll do… for now.”
All while carrying little ones
who once lived safe beneath my heart,
but now looked up at me asking for that same safety in a world
I couldn’t always give them.
I packed a tiny Ford Explorer
with dreams too big for the trunk,
faith barely holding on in the rearview,
but eyes still searching the road ahead
for something anything better.
And when I had nothing left but prayers,
I dropped them like tears.
Abba… I’m tired. I can’t carry this no more.
And God being who He is
didn’t just take the weight.
He started peeling me back.
First, He sat me down… alone
Took my babies to a safer place.
Reduced my boxes to just a few.
Gave me space to feel
what I’d been packing for years:
heartbreak, shame, silent screams,
guilt I didn’t deserve,
grief I never named.
I didn’t realize
those brown boxes weren’t punishment.
They were invitation.
To surrender.
To unpack.
To finally let go.
God didn’t want my things.
He wanted my pain.
My stories.
My silence.
So He could make me light.
So I could rise.
And here I am.
Still unsure if this home will hold.
Still feeling the ache of absence.
Still healing.
But now I’m free.
Because I laid every box
every wound, every burden
at His feet.
I’m not holding it anymore.
Abba holds me now.
song : Healing by India.Arie
