old books and altars

I do not give this title out lightly, but my favorite book of all time is To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.  This book, and a handful of other classics, made me love to read.  It did not hurt that I had a fantastic teacher who brought it alive {thank you, Mrs. Stein}, but in the end it was Atticus Finch that sealed the deal.  In our generation of literary trials and bravery, my opinion holds firm that Harry and Edward and Katniss have nothing on the hero that is Atticus Finch.

I went to the library last week and found the oldest copy I could of TKAM.  I wish I could describe the euphoria: an original 1960 first edition, with the most lovely old book smell and slightly yellowing fragile pages.  I own an iPad and I have an almost brand new printing of the book at home, but for some reason, I wanted the realest, oldest, closest to how Harper Lee wrote it edition that I could get my hands on.  I just wanted to be reminded of my love for that book and those characters, to go back to being sixteen years old and remembering the moment that I really loved reading, and back to a place and a memory that something really good changed in me. 

What are those places for you?  What are the moments and who are the people that bring you back to something really good in your life?  Where do you know, without a doubt, that God was there?

In the Old Testament, when God showed up in the lives of his people, they built an altar.  There are probably not a whole lot of us today who can just grab some large rocks of out the nearby river in order to build a symbol for the memory of that day.  But I do know that in my own life I want to remember, and I don’t have enough of my own altars.

My faith falls into periods of doubt, question, anxiety, and at its very worse, apathy, when I let one really easy thing happen: I don’t remember…  I don’t remember the thousands of answered prayers, or unanswered-because-His-option-was-way-better prayers.  I don’t remember the cards that came in the mail at the perfect moment.  I don’t remember the scripture that promises He will never leave or forsake me.  I don’t remember that this really is not my home.  I don’t remember who He is- the God whose complexity and simplicity defies language in such a way that he is all, but He is simply, I AM.  When I fail to remember the ways that the steps of my life have been wholly directed by Someone other than me, I grab on to the illusion that I am doing ok on my own.  It never, ever, lasts long.  

    

Sometimes, I think we all need to go back to the really good places in our hearts so that we can live in light of that goodness today.  This may be as simple as a box of kraft macaroni and cheese or as lavish as renewing your wedding vows on the beaches of Fiji.  Maybe it means looking back at old pictures or journals, perhaps it is listening to that sermon from a few years ago that was just amazing when you first heard it.  It could be simply making a list of all things we are thankful for.  Our lives are so full of altar moments, altar places, altar people, and we should fight to bring the best of our past with us to our present and future—that might really be why it was given to us in the first place.  Let’s be really, really good at celebrating and remembering the joy we have lived in so that when life does get dark it is never outweighed by light.  Let’s not be known as the generation who could never have enough, get it fast enough, and never be enough… but as people who stopped to remember that all God created was good, and is good, and He is more than enough.