Altar. Alter. Two similar words. Not just in the way they sound, but in the process they initiate.Lately I've been contemplating both the place and the process of altar/alter. The hymn declares, "I'll drop my burden at His feet, and bear a song away." (How Gentle God's Commands, Hymns 125) Although I know He graciously exchanges our baggage for His blessings, I see that that kind of process is a little too cavalier. How could any reciprocal friendship function in that manner? If the only time I come to Him is to abandon a trial I have grown weary of carrying, I will only know His feet.
Looking to Abraham as an example, I see that the real opportunity to know the Lord completely, from head to toe, comes from placing something precious on the altar. My natural man becomes changed, altered, when I put everything on the line and endure to the end in faithfulness. Somewhere in my telesital tutoring, I learned that each one of us, if we hope to sit down with Prophets, must endure our own customized Abrahamic test. Like the trusting patriarch of old, am I willing to give what it is I treasure most–and not just what it is I no longer want? (A new way to consider how/what I donate to Deseret Industries.) Realizing that everything is already the Lord's, and I am just a selfish steward, my outlook on offerings has shifted.
One of my favorite definitions of charity is: giving away something that is good for you, that is better for someone else. Charity is the pure love of Christ. And what is it that He purely loves, but us? He willingly laid down His perfect life that we might gain eternal life. So, instead of bringing an offering of frustration, as I am often wont to do–I will place faith on the altar. Rather than confusion, anger, and upset–most of all, I bring hope before Him. Like obedient Abraham, I will bring my best to Him–and He will do His will with it all.
