The Altar

I wondered how many stones it would take to build it. I had never built an altar before. Jacob had built them and Moses had–those altars of remembrance. Abraham had built one for sacrifice. I wasn’t sure what kind mine was to be, remembrance or sacrifice? But altars had been on my mind since early in the springtime.

I was hiking on Mt. Magazine a month ago, the tallest one in Arkansas, and standing on cliff’s edge I could see across all the way to Mt. Nebo.

I thought of the cabin I had rented on Mt. Nebo. I was going there in just a couple of weeks— going up to talk to God. I wanted to read books, read the Bible, to pray and to sit still and alone to review my life thus far and consider my future. So much had changed for me in the last 7 years, and especially the last 2. And I was going there to write. Maybe I would build an altar there. I had been contemplating altars when I heard the lyrics of this song.

And I will build an altar
And stack it stone by stone
‘Cause every Ebenezer says I’ve never been alone
My faith will surely falter
But that don’t change what You’ve done
‘Cause every Ebenezer points to where my help comes from.
(Chris Renzema, Just as Good)

I read that an Ebenezer stone means a “stone of help”. I mused that I had experienced enough of those in my lifetime to build a sweet cottage by now. I had looked at one recently, all covered with field stones that a past lady-of-the-house had gathered and set in concrete. It was a mess now. Surely she was dead and gone as the house was sad with neglect inside. But a house of Ebenezer stones, uncut by man–field stones, smooth from years exposed to rain and shine…that would represent my life well thus far.

Moses had stood on another Mt. Nebo long ago while God showed him the promised land. Maybe God would show me something epic too from up high on Mt. Nebo…maybe a promised land for my life. The time came and I packed my bag to go up. I tucked in my journal and my Bible, some books and some food. I would surely find some stones to build an altar on the mountain. It would make me feel good to stack it, look at it, feel it all together at once. I took a marker so I could label each stone and I would take a picture. I imagined each one and how they would read:

Stone #1 The help of learning His dear voice”

Stone #2 His protection from my flights of fancy and of my misplaced passions

Stone #3 The help of His Word……His presence, His guidance, of His teaching, of His nurturing, comfort, care, His soundness, His sanity, His peace, His Fathering, His healing, His rescue, His provision, His truth, His life, and the help of His gargantuan love. Yes, I could build an altar with such a stack of Ebenezer stones.

The afternoon I arrived on Nebo I found there is a trail that is very steep and made of many stepping stones. My legs ached the next day from going that stony way. The pain made me think of my own life-path and the way the pain had strengthened me for the next leg of the journey. The sign read, “Steps Trail”, but in my mind it looked just like Ebenezer stones and my altar coming to life just under my feet. I couldn’t help thinking it.

The next morning I woke on Nebo and I looked outside of my cabin for some stones, but those I found were made into a fire pit for guests. I mustn’t disturb those. On the trails, I couldn’t stop to gather stones. That evening on Sunset Point, a wedding had taken place and people were all around watching that orange-glory slipping below the horizon. No, not a good time to gather stones. The last morning, I gazed over Sunrise Point just as the sun was burning its way up into a fiery good morning. No, I couldn’t gather stones in front of the others who were there to see the sun rising.

And back in the cabin, instead of writing, I had found myself reading the words of my journal from the start of the year until now. And instead of praying, I sat with the Lord and we looked at all the words together, the tears, the questions, the big feelings, the story of my life still unfolding. And it was just days before my 55th birthday on September 29th when I turned the last page. As I reviewed each weighty page of filled up words, it began to become clear to me. My stories were my stacking stones; heavy, weighty, solid and real to me. They were all my story-stones giving testimony to what life in the palm of His hand looks like and feels like to me. I had been building altars of remembrance all along, stacking them one by one by one–there had been altars of sacrifice as well. And as long as there are more days and more words for me, I will keep building these altars to remember Him and His help always and forever.