It is not hewn from costly stones or precious marble. It is not spread with fine, pure-white linen cloths. Neither is it surrounded by alabaster statues; no crucifix is raised above it to remind me of the great sacrifice paid for my pardon.
No, it is only an everyday kitchen sink, now become my altar. Somehow I think the Father doesn’t mind.
A window affords me the opportunity to drink in the beauty of majestic mountain peaks, clear blue skies or sometimes clouds; a variety of feathered friends stop to rest a while in a nearby tree branch or to partake of the seeds provided. Families of deer meander through the yard on their constant quest for sustenance.
I have never seen a cathedral, church, chapel or temple adorned with all of this.
I cannot say I have experienced visions of glory or beheld great hosts of angels. I have not heard the audible voice of God nor ever been called to a burning bush. But as I stand and sip a steaming cup of coffee or have my hands immersed in soapy water, it almost seems I could peer into the portals of heaven. This has become a holy place, at least for these brief moments.
Prayers rise up from deep inside my being, often unexpected and unspoken, only expressed with wells of tears.
I sometimes struggle to understand the reason for such an outpouring, which is not always generated by sadness. More often, it is the overwhelming sense of the greatness and awesomeness of a God who has created all things; but the same Creator God hears the cries and prayers of one so small as I — incredible.
Memories often pass across this scene, some sweet, some bitter — regrets, too. But, all are covered by grace, precious, amazing grace.
Faces of those who have already left this sphere, some it would seem way too soon, pass: a young mother unable to raise the two little girls entrusted to her; a cousin, more like a brother, taken in the bloom of childhood; a daddy I was not ready to see go; and a strong, healthy husband I watched wither before my eyes as the ravages of cancer destroyed his body.
But a daughter we loved so much, whose life was threatened and nearly stolen, was spared. And we were spared the great heartache of losing her. We are so thankful.
In the midst of these reflections I cannot overlook the great suffering and devastation that goes on all around us. Far greater, however, than all the human physical suffering is the loss of one precious soul, made in the image of God, lost for all eternity — such unnecessary loss, as the price has been paid for each one.
There is heartbreak, unfathomable pain, yet I see hope and joy rise out of the ashes. Hope because there is One Who lives and ever makes intercession for His people. One Who holds all things in the palm of His hand so that not even a sparrow can fall without His notice. Joy because He loves me. Yes, the Bible does tell me so (John 3:16).
This is the same One Who instructed His followers not to fear. It is such assurance.
And so, Lord, as I ponder Your goodness, Your faithfulness, Your promises, I can only cry, “Holy.” And I long with all my heart to be holy. Yet “apart from You I can do nothing. But in Christ I can do all things through Him Who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13.
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