These are My Altars. What are Yours?
“Altars help us to remember what God doesn’t want us to forget. They give us a sacred place to go back to…We need altars that renew our faith by reminding us of the faithfulness of God. And every once in a while, we need to go back to those sacred places to repent of our sin, renew our covenant with God, and celebrate what God has done.” —Mark Batterson, Wild Goose Chase, Chapter 3: Page 48
Altars are mentioned often in the Old Testament. In fact, God often commanded the Israelites to build altars as places of remembrance and worship. It’s not something we think about a lot today. After all, Christ’s death and resurrection eliminated the need for sacrifices, and because of the gift of the Holy Spirit we can worship anywhere.
While extremely important, altars don’t have to be constructed of brick and mortar. They don’t even need to be a physical place. Because, in the most basic sense, altars are events in our lives that cause us to remember the goodness of God and to worship His greatness and glory.
Whether it was at the site of a miracle or an important victory, a personal revelation or a public recitation, altars served as physical reminders of how God showed up. Have you ever thought about ways in which God showed up for you? Have there ever been things that happened to you that you knew were undoubtedly some kind of message (dare I say, a sign?) from the Lord?
Let me share three specific stories from my own experiences in recent years.
A week or two after Brandon died, a man came into the office where I worked. He said he had an appointment with my boss, but it wasn’t on the books, and she wasn’t there. When we finally rescheduled the appointment and he got ready to leave, he handed me a beautiful rectangular piece of wood that was created from several smaller thinner pieces of various types and colors. He said, “I don’t want you to think I’m weird. This is just what I do. I make and then give people random gifts. But I do it in someone’s honor. I do it to remember my friend’s teenage son who died unexpectedly.”
I asked a few questions about his friend, her son, and how and when he died. Then, with tears in my eyes, I told him about Brandon. I could see that he thought maybe he had done something wrong, but I assured him. “Your gift to me today is a reminder of how much God loves me,” I said. To me, it was as if God sent that man to my office just for that reason, to remind me that He still saw me, that He still heard my cries.
It’s been many months since that event and going on two years since Brandon died. But I’m not sure the sting of his death has gotten any easier to bear. In fact, some days, I would say it is harder. Life goes on, and other people forget—or at least put it behind them—but I am reminded every day, with every breath, that a part of who I am is missing. This year, all of the individual quiet and social chaos have left me feeling emptier than usual.
The year started off with such promise, and (before the COVID19 regulations), I was on track to meet my goal of 12 speaking engagements this year. Then, as the world shut down, social media and the internet were overwhelmed with pastors and teachers writing and speaking and producing videos. I struggled to think clearly let alone write. What do I have to say that is any different than them? Why would anyone choose to read/listen/watch me with so many other choices?
Then, one day, I opened my Facebook account, and I realized I had a new message. I think it may have even been in the “Other” category where messages from non-friends are sent. I clicked on it. I recognized the name, but it was from a woman I didn’t know well, had never kept in touch with personally, and had not heard from since my oldest son was young.
The message read, “Not sure if you remember me-our sons played baseball together…God has put you on my mind and in my prayers this week. Just wanted to let you know I’ve been lifting you up in (a very open ended) prayer-for some reason I feel like God is wanting to use you and you just need prayers.”
I still cry when I read those words. Isn’t our God amazing? If my mom or my husband or one of my sisters or even a friend had told me that same thing, I’m not sure it would have made a difference to me. After all, we expect people we love to pray for us and to say things to make us feel better. God knew I needed to hear it from Him, and He used an acquaintance from years past to get the message through.
It would be nice if I could say that I always learn my lesson the first time. But I don’t. Even after receiving that message, I struggled with my emotions and my writing. Social media, which seems to be a requirement for writers and speakers these days, has been a bane to my existence. So, at one point, I tried to find a Christian alternative to Facebook, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to avoid all the political and social unrest.
I found a place called Savior Connect and made one or two posts promoting my site. Then I decided to significantly reduce the social media influence in my life and cancelled almost all of my accounts except for Facebook. During the short time I was on Savior Connect, however, a woman befriended me and sent me private messages about my website and my logo. She asked for permission to use it to make me some things.
While she assured me that she wasn’t “crazy,” I didn’t give it much serious thought. A week or so later, I received a box full of personalized gifts from her. She wasn’t selling anything. She was just being nice. In text messages to me, she wrote, “I’m continuing to pray for you… Someday I want to attend one of your meetings… Your message brought a huge smile to my face.” It was as if God reached down and gave me a big hug.
The Israelites used stones to mark the places where God showed up. They needed something to help them not forget. Because let’s admit it, we are all prone to forget. These events are three of many times when God vividly demonstrated His faithfulness, love, and compassion to me, not in some distant, ambiguous or ephemeral way but very specifically and very personally. I don’t want to, and I shouldn’t forget them, but I need help.
So, I look at the wooden board that sits on my desk, and I remember. I look at the mug from which I drink, and I remember. I glance at my Facebook messages and texts, and I remember. I write this article, and I remember. These are some of my altars, “places” where I go back in time to worship, where I thank God for His past goodness and for His continued love, where I ask Him to forgive me for my doubts and help me to trust Him more, and where I celebrate the beauty in His companionship and comfort. What are yours?