This has been on my heart for a long time. Like many people, life and responsibility got in the way. For years, I worked full-time in corporate America — doing what I needed to do, staying busy, staying productive — while quietly carrying this idea with me. The God Box was something deeply meaningful in my own life, something I shared organically with the people I loved, but I never quite gave myself permission to imagine it becoming more. And yet, every time I gave one away, the response was the same. People loved them. They wanted one. They felt the intention behind it.

Originally, I imagined this in the simplest way — maybe setting up at farmer’s markets, bringing the boxes and a table of add-ons, and letting people curate something meaningful for themselves or for someone they love. That vision hasn’t changed. At its heart, The God Box isn’t about perfection or presentation. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It can be just a box. What matters is the meaning. The box itself is simply a container. The intention is what gives it life. The extras — the cards, tools, and thoughtful additions — are beautiful and helpful, but I know from experience that even the smallest box can hold something powerful.

I’ve seen that firsthand with my granddaughter, Lily. She received her first God Box when she was 12, and she loved it so much that she eventually asked for a bigger one. At her age, she’s putting all kinds of things inside — worries, hopes, and thoughts I may never fully know — along with photos, notes, tickets, small keepsakes, and little pieces of her life. In many ways, she’s made it her own kind of memory box. I don’t expect her to use it the same way I do, and that’s okay. What matters is that the seed is planted. That she knows she has a place to put things down. A place to release. A place to trust. Watching that has been one of the most beautiful confirmations of why this matters.

This past year, I lost my dad, and grief has a way of reshaping how you see everything. It made me think about how meaningful a God Box could be for someone walking through loss — not to fix it, not to rush healing, but simply to hold space during a time when words often fall short. From there, the vision began to grow. A God Box makes sense for someone going off to college. For a preteen navigating big feelings. For someone walking through a hard season. For a wedding gift, a new baby, a milestone, or a quiet moment of encouragement. There really isn’t a life experience where this practice doesn’t belong. I’ve given them for birthdays, Christmases, and “just because” moments for years, and every time, it fills my heart in a way I can’t quite explain. At some point, it became clear: this is how I want to spend my time. Instead of sixty-hour workweeks and constant pressure, I want to create something rooted in intention. Something that spreads love. Something that helps people let go of what they were never meant to carry alone. This journey is still unfolding, and that feels right. The God Box is meant to be personal, flexible, and deeply individual — just like the people who use it. If it becomes a part of your story, my hope is simple: that it offers you a pause, a release, and a little more peace than you had before