I'm thankful for songs to sing to Jesus with new little friends and for the Emilias who come up and grab your hand and just hold on for the remainder of the lesson – just to know you're there and that you care – that's enough. No formal introductions, not a word exchanged. Until the end, I have to let go. "Como te llamas?" I ask. "Emilia," squeak the small vocal chords. She looks like my friend Angie from Peru, a round face with those innocent question asking eyes. I don't want to forget her name. Names are important, names mark significance in our lives. Her name is Emilia and her fingerprints now mark mine.
I'm thankful for breakfast tables – there is something about the breakfast table, maybe it's the the squinty crusted eyes and disheveled hair, the half smiles and arm stretches and steaming cups of coffee, or tea, or "real milk" if you're Missy. We pass the bread, and then the fruit, and maybe the manjarblanco (magic caramel-y spread), or sometimes pancakes when we have something to celebrate. Lissete, our Bolivian mama tells a story and "mms" and "ahhs" and the occasional "woah" peep up from around the table. She's the mamma bird and we are her chicks making little noises to assure her of our understanding. These peeps are our universal listening-and-mostly-tracking-with-you signals. They've become habit with a second language. Spanish professors don't teach you those filler words in school, those active listening cues that are so necessary in everyday conversation. So we invent our own array of noises to assure our listeners of our attention. Tone definitely matters. "Wow" too loud or "mm" too early and your teammates know immediately that you're bluffing. Your Bolivian mama might sense it too, but she doesn't let you know it. She's too polite. That's when an English whisper clears the confusion and we continue "mm-ing" and "woah-ing" around the breakfast table.
Lately I've taken up the practice of naming moments…in my head, out loud, written in my journal (as seen above). Ann Voskamp writes about naming things like new friends and breakfast tables. She talks about naming moments. She calls the practice of naming things a holy work, because when we name it, "the naming manifests its meaning: to know it comes from God." Naming marks it as a gift.
I think Abraham would have deemed a similar practice altar building. Genesis 12 tells the story. Abraham left his country and his people at God's call and promise, he traveled to a foreign land where the Lord appeared to Him and he built an altar. Trace your finger down a couple verses and you'll see it again down in the bottom left hand corner, "There he built an altar to the Lord and called on the name of the Lord," (Gen. 12:8). It's bus immediate response. He did this when he arrived in a new place, he continually dedicated and surrendered his journey to the Lord.
Abraham wasn't the only Old Testament guy into altar building. After the battle against the Amelekites in Exodus 17, the one where Aaron and Hur had to hold up Moses' hands until sunset when God gave them the victory, Moses did nothing other than build an altar. After the victory the Lord told Moses, 'Write this on a scroll as something to be remembered'" and then "Moses built an altar and called it The Lord is my Banner," (Exodus 17:14a, 15a). What a significant history this altar building practice carries.
I built an altar last month at Machu Picchu. It's something I used to do during significant transitions or moments in my journey, like when I graduated from college, or when I went to serve in Guatemala. It was both a marking and a dedication. My friend Amanda helped balance the rocks along the trail to the Inca sun gate. Somehow it just felt right, as I thought about the Incas moving all those rocks and creating such beautiful structures. I thought about this pilgrimage I am on traveling through Central and South America, learning how to better listen, serve and love God and people along the way. I thought about where I started and where He is taking me. I thought about Abraham forging into a new land and setting up a marker of significance, a reminder of God's faithfulness, a tangible emblem of our need, an active asking for His guidance.
Whether you're a moment namer with a journal record of God's gifts or an altar builder like me and you enjoy big kid legos, there is something significant about intentionally marking the work of God in our lives. Moment naming and altar building are everyday practices. We don't have to be brilliant authors to scribble down the little blessings He puts in our path today. It's these marking practices that weave His goodness and faithfulness into the fabric of our lives.
I want to be someone who sets markers of significance, who is constantly being reminded of God's faithfulness, who carries tangible emblems of my need for a Savior and actively asks for His guidance. I want to be someone who never forgets the Emilias and treasures time around the breakfast table. I want to be a moment namer. I want to be an altar-builder.
