I seem to have no long-term memory when it comes to God. In a moment of panic or deep suffering I lose my grip on all those years of Sunday School, Bible College and Seminary. I forget the miracles that fill the scriptures and the wonders that thread through my own life. Though I love God deeply and need him even more, I'm just like the crazy Israelites who had to pile rocks on top of each other to remember their mighty Protector. I need constant reminders of who he is. Not because I'm faithless or too busy…but because my heart fills up with ache, worry and raw fear. It becomes hard to grasp that God is powerful, present and with purpose. So I too, stack my rocks up and up, towards the God who is certainly mighty and without a doubt active. Because I'm sure to forget. And what I need is what God gives…constant reminders. But we must not be idle. Instead we must continually fill our hearts with truth and surround our weary bodies with his people.

My reality is that I am plagued with a recurring anxiety that is at times excruciating. I can assure you it is not due to a lack of faith, wrong theology or even my sinful heart. I live in a fallen world and my soul resides in a human and mortal package. The evil of this world has seemingly rewired my brain…but God still holds my soul. I am wounded, but I know God doesn't judge me for such things…just sends more rocks. He knows I need altars at every turn, because he knows my weakness. Each stone is a precious promise or a call to courage. He laces my way with such pebbles and boulders. But he doesn't stack them up…that is my job. So I build my altars using his solid truth and concrete promises. My altars are simple - Bible verses tacked to the bathroom mirror on bright yellow post-its, sermon notes that are folded up in my back pocket, friends that constantly remind me of who God is, a book I daily write in recalling any way that I saw God's presence in my day, music that reminds me that God is mighty…these are some of my altars, I have many more.

Because the reality is a worldwide suffering that just halts my heart. My resolve and faith seemed to almost dissolve when I listened to the news of buildings crumbling, woman walking veiled and hate seeming to win out. In my own world I held a little boy in my arms and listened as he raged. His father hits him and terrorizes the family of eight. The boy is terrified, bruised, weary and only ten years old. I deplete all my resources trying to help him. But he won't speak of it again. I make the necessary calls, fill out the burdensome paperwork and even beg the social worker. I'm not sure what will happen and fear it might be nothing. And so I sit and worry. Hardly a heartbeat later there is a phone call - a dear friend, co-worker and parishioner died earlier this morning. Too much. My mind fills with fear and all I know of God seems to simply fall out. My human brain has run out of room. The noisy pain and chaos of this world drowns out that sweet whisper of God's voice.

When the pain explodes in our hearts we are just too human…and we forget that God is bigger than terrorists, drunk fathers and even death itself. Our vision is limited and we only see the injustice. We only feel the fear. And yet, though we were made to live in the moment, we have been invited to seek a God who exists beyond time. And so, these are the very moments - when faith seems impossible - that we must be brave and believe anyway. We must take what we knew yesterday and believe that it will still be true tomorrow. Our faith must be timeless. In desperate times we must define not who we are, but whose we are. My anxious brain clings to the "what ifs" but my weary heart desperately holds to the "who is". And God certainly is.

Stop. Wherever you are today and build an altar. Piles the stones up and up, not as an idol to worship but as a memorial to the moments when you know something of God that stirs your heart. Because tomorrow you might forget and you'll need stones in the road so that you stumble on them with every step you take and fall on your knees in front of a precious rock of remembrance. God is here. He is powerful. And never forget…our God is good.

* all names and identifying details have been changed to protect anonymity. © Amy Beth Augustin Barlow 2003