A box canyon and a blood-bought box

Oh boy, I hope I can explain the title of this article in the number of words I have.

First, I am going to refer to myself as a box. I live and I move and I have my being in the box. It literally is me. I came from a very abusive childhood. My dad was very physically and mentally abusive. At 12 years old, I went into a canyon to get away from it all.

As I headed up this canyon, I noticed a draw veering off to the left. I went up that draw and found something that made my life so much better. I found alcohol. I put that in my box.

I came back down the draw into the canyon once again. With the help of this new friend, I could be anything I wanted to be. I could talk to girls, I could dance. I had arrived. Alcohol made the trip up this canyon so much easier.

As I continued, I saw another draw going up to the right, so I headed up it. There I found promiscuity, sex, lust, pornography. I put that in my box. I brought that back down into the canyon, and coupled with alcohol, life was good.

As I continued, I found another draw. That draw changed things. I found fear. I put that in my box. By then, my life had started to spiral out of control due to alcoholic drinking. Fear set in and I became afraid of living and afraid of dying.

The journey up the canyon was no longer fun — it became a drudgery. It got worse when I found the draw of bitterness, hatred and unforgiveness toward my father, and I put that into my box. By now I had been traveling up the canyon for 30 years. Because of all the things I had put into my box, I was now full of hopelessness, darkness and despair and thoughts of suicide.

Suddenly, I realized I was in a box canyon and I had come to the end. I could not go any further. I could not go up, there was no draw to the left or to the right, and I certainly could not go back. I was at my end, almost at the end of a 357. I was where the prodigal son was, at the end of myself.

Remember, I referred to myself as a box. Here is where it gets so exciting. I cried out to Jesus from within my box, and he reached down a plucked me out of that canyon. What he did next is totally amazing. He bought my box; he bought me.

Peter tells us the price Jesus paid in 1 Peter 1:18: “Knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things, like silver or gold, from your aimless conduct received by tradition from your fathers, but with the precious blood of Christ.”

That makes this man a “blood-bought box.” Listen, my friends, what is more exciting is that Jesus did not grab a couple angels and tell them to take up residence in me. No, no, no, he took up residence in me.

John 14:16: “And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever — the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him; but you know Him, for He dwells with you and will be IN you.”

This old box is the temple of the Holy Spirit.

1 Corinthians 6:19: “Or do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own.”

Oh, brother, let me tell you, when the Holy Spirit came into my box, he did not leave it like he found it, he tossed out all the garbage — the alcohol, the lust, the hatred and bitterness toward my father, the fear, the spirit of suicide. The Lord has moved me to write this. It is my prayer that it will reach someone who is in the process of going up that long, lonely, dark box canyon, and you have tried all the draws to get relief, but have found none.

Try Jesus. Literally “draw” near to Jesus. At the end of your box canyon, cry out to Jesus and become his next “blood-bought box.” Please let me know if that is you.

Hasselstrom is an evangelist with Cross Tied Ministries.