Jacob wasn’t looking for a miracle.

He was running.

Fleeing for his life from a brother who wanted him dead.
The family he left behind was fractured by deception, favoritism, and shame.
Now he had nothing. No plan. No home. Just a rock for a pillow and a heart full of fear.

He stared into the darkness, the silence only broken by his own breath.
Eventually, sleep overtook him.

Then it hit.

A dream so vivid it felt like he could reach out and touch it:
A ladder, stretching from the dirt at his feet to the clouds above.
Angels moved up and down its rungs, ministering from heaven to earth.
At the top? A voice.
God’s voice.

Not the voice Jacob expected.
No fury. No accusation.
A blessing.

Jacob jolted awake, sweat clinging to his skin, his heart racing.
Then, just as quickly, peace flooded in. Something deeper than relief.
Something sacred.

He sat up. Looked around. Then whispered the only words he could find:

“Surely the Lord is in this place—and I didn’t know it.”

He stood.
Took the stone that had been his pillow.
Set it upright and anointed it with oil.

That day that place got a new name:
Bethel.
The House of God.

He didn’t find Heaven in a holy place.
He found it in the dust.
Right where he’d collapsed the night before.

That’s what altars are for.
Not just to remember where God showed up…
But to remind us: He always does.

We don’t use the word “altar” much anymore.

To many, it feels like a relic of a different era, very old-testament:
stone piles, burnt offerings, fire from Heaven, that type of thing.

However, altars were never just about sacrifice.
They were about presence.
About recognizing a moment when Heaven touched Earth, and choosing to remember it.

Jacob didn’t build an altar because someone told him to.
He built it because God showed up.
And he didn’t want to forget.

That’s what a true altar does:
It marks the places where God meets you.
Where something changed.
Where your heart was re-centered around Him.

The enemy has always tried to twist this.
All throughout Scripture, we see God commanding His people to tear down altars to false gods:
places built out of fear, control, and compromise.
They offered quick relief but demanded everything in return.
And they always pulled people farther from Yahweh.

The good news is God never stops at demolition.
He tears down to rebuild.
He clears the false to make space for the true.

His plan is never a behavior management program.
It’s always been about relationship.

And deep relationships are formed in intimate meeting places.

Unlike the ones built out of fear, true altars aren’t flashy.
They don’t come with smoke, fire, or ritual.

They come with obedience.

Every time you say yes to God,
even when it’s awkward, inconvenient, or unseen,
you’re placing a stone.

Each stone is formed in a moment.
Each moment, gathered and offered, becomes an altar.

It might not look like much at first, but you Father sees it.

Maybe it’s while brushing your teeth. Maybe like myself, it’s when you're vacuuming.
A personal space, just for a moment. No music. No prayers out loud.
Just Him. Present. Patient. Waiting.

These aren’t distractions from spiritual life.
They are your spiritual life.

Then there are the bigger altars:

Scripture echoes this reality:

“Let my prayer be counted as incense before You,
and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.” – Psalm 141:2

“The prayers of the saints rose like incense before the throne.” – Revelation 8:4

This is what your life becomes when you meet Him here.

Not performance.
Not perfection.
Incense on the altar.

You won’t always feel it.

Sometimes you’ll wonder if these small acts matter at all.

You’ll vacuum the floor, sing a worship song in the car, whisper a prayer before bed, and it won’t always feel like incense. Sometimes it feels like normal, mundane routine.

That’s how altars are built though.

One stone. Then another.

Not in the moments of spiritual fireworks, but in the moments of faithfulness.

You won’t always feel Him but He will meet you.

And over time, these ordinary places like the kitchen sink, the grocery line, and your bed will become sacred.

Not because they’re loud, but because you keep meeting Him there.

That’s what a true altar looks like. Not a monument to your effort, but a meeting place with your Father.

Keep laying stones.

Even when it’s slow.

Even when it’s quiet.

Even when it feels like nothing is happening.

Because eventually, like Jacob, you’ll look up from the ordinary and realize:

Until next time,
Addison