The Cement Stairs

We drive past an empty corner lot on our way to worship services several times a week.  Years ago, a house sat there; a little wooden house.  Some time ago, the house was torn down, and now all that remains is a path and two cement stairs that at one time led to a front door.  It makes me sad.

Every time we pass the lot, with grass growing evenly across the ground where the foundation of a home once rested, the enduring path and tenacious steps seem to cry out for someone to know their story.  After all, everything has a story, and in my mind I've written a hundred scenarios for the stairs that seemingly lead to nowhere.

I think about the people.  I think about the rooms.  I think about those two things together and imagine life in the little house ten years ago.

The recurring plots in my head are of misfortune resulting in lost hope or of sacrifice ultimately claiming residential dreams.  Both are depressing, but I can't help but look at what is left on that lot and be flooded with ghostly echoes of "what might have been" for the nameless characters in the story behind the cement stairs.

What happened to the house?

Perhaps the house was condemned or irreparably damaged?  Maybe it was part of a complicated legal dispute or maybe there are plans to build something bigger in its place?

There are countless possibilities, but here is what I know:  The house is gone and the stairs remain.

It reminds me of our spiritual homes.  I'm not talking about Heaven.  I'm talking about the homes we build for our families right here, smack dab in the middle of this world.  How strong are our homes?

Sometimes we start out with a path of cemented belief and a few rock solid stairs of faith, but when it comes time to build a home...we construct something unstable, vulnerable, and a little wobbly.  We walk through the front door, leave God out on the cement stairs, and end up with a spiritual home that will fall.

Our homes need the strength of God in every brick, in every beam, in every nail, and in every slab of mortar.  We need God to be our interior decorator, our electrician, and our plumber.  We need to provide our families with a spiritual home that has been built by faith, furnished with love, and that is maintained through the hope of eternal life.  A home that will not fall is one that has God as the foundation, Jesus as the cornerstone, and the Holy Spirit as the protective roof and walls.

Sometimes houses shake.  Sometimes people leave.  Sometimes our own lack of faith might weaken the walls.  But if God is there, in every nook and cranny of your home, it will not fall.

There comes a time when each one of us becomes responsible for the spiritual home we build our family.  Parents can't build homes for their grown children, preachers can't build homes for church members, and God doesn't build homes for us.  Don't stop at the cement stairs.  Keep building strong!