There’s a special place in the afterlife for whoever decided that plastic wrap should be the default packaging for every item that’s already hard to open. You know the ones—DVDs (back when those existed), cucumbers, remote controls, and the dreaded double-layered plastic fortress around batteries.
It’s like the manufacturers said, “This item is mildly inconvenient to open. Let’s make it a spiritual trial.”
You tug, you peel, you slice, you pray. And just when you think you’ve made progress, the wrap retaliates—clinging to your fingers like a needy toddler, refusing to be discarded. It’s not just packaging. It’s a test of character.
But what, exactly, are they protecting?
Is the cucumber going to escape? Is the remote control plotting a rebellion? Are the batteries going to unionize and demand better working conditions? No. The plastic wrap is there to protect the item from… us. From our grubby, impulsive, human hands. It’s a barrier. A shield. A clingy, transparent “Do Not Enter” sign for consumer goods.
And here’s where it gets theological.
In Ephesians 6, Paul talks about the “armor of God”—truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the Word. It’s divine packaging, really. A spiritual cling wrap designed to protect us from the world’s sharp edges. Because let’s be honest: life is full of metaphorical box cutters. Gossip, temptation, passive-aggressive emails, and people who say “Let’s circle back.”
Just like that shrink-wrapped pack of AA batteries, we too need layers. Not to keep others out entirely, but to slow down the unwrapping. To make people pause and consider: “Is this worth the effort?”
Because vulnerability is sacred. You don’t just hand it out like free samples at Costco.
Jesus himself had boundaries. He withdrew from crowds. He napped during storms. He didn’t answer every question. He didn’t heal every person. He wrapped himself in solitude, prayer, and intentionality.
Not because he was hiding, but because he was protecting the mission.
So maybe the plastic wrap isn’t just annoying. Maybe it’s a parable.
Maybe it’s saying: “Hey, not everything should be instantly accessible. Some things are worth the struggle. Some things need protection. Some things—like your peace, your purpose, your spiritual batteries—should be wrapped up tight until the right moment.”
Of course, this doesn’t mean we should start shrink-wrapping our emotions or encasing our personalities in bubble wrap. But it does mean we get to choose who gets access. Who gets to peel back the layers.
Who gets to see the real you underneath the cling.
And if someone’s not willing to wrestle with a little plastic wrap, maybe they’re not ready for the contents.
So next time you’re battling a stubborn package, take a breath. Channel your inner apostle. Remember that even the holiest things come wrapped. And maybe—just maybe—that frustrating layer is a divine reminder:
You are worth protecting.
Even if it takes scissors, a minor meltdown, and a YouTube tutorial to get there.
