Rings and Poles

I took my screen door to lunch with me today.

Now, I normally don’t take my screen door when I go to lunch with my dad. Most people don’t. Wallet? Yes. Phone? Usually. Screen door? Not so much.

But today was a special day. The screen door came with me because my barn cats had decided to rip a big hole in the bottom of it. Apparently, waiting for a human to open the door had become far too inconvenient. They wanted the freedom to walk in and out of the house whenever they pleased—and they were willing to undertake some unauthorized home renovations to make it happen.

So there I was, traveling down the road with a screen door to get it repaired at Burkey’s.

It is funny how an ordinary object looks completely natural in one place and completely ridiculous in another. A screen door belongs on the house. Once you put it in a vehicle and take it to lunch, people begin to have questions.

Earlier that morning, I had been reading Exodus 25:22–30. God was giving Moses instructions for constructing the table that would hold the bread of the Presence along with plates, dishes, pitchers, and bowls used for the offerings.

But one particular detail caught my attention: the table had rings.

Four gold rings were attached near its four legs, and poles were made to slide through them. When it was time for Israel to move, the table was not to be grabbed by its edges and carried like somebody rearranging the dining room. It was to be carried by the poles, exactly as God had instructed.

God designed the table with the journey in mind.

The rings and poles declared that this holy table was not meant to be left behind when the people broke camp. God’s presence and provision were not stationary. When He called His people to move, the table moved with them. The bread moved with them. The reminder of His faithful provision moved with them.

And that made me wonder: How often do I leave God behnd?

I meet with Him in the morning. I sit in my favorite chair, open my Bible, drink my iced tea, pray, highlight a verse, and feel grounded and encouraged. Then I close the Bible, stand up, and walk into the rest of my day as though God plans to remain seated until I return.

But He was never meant to be confined to my morning quiet time.

I can do the same thing at church. I worship. I listen. I pray. I receive the final blessing—and then I walk through the doors and leave behind everything I just proclaimed.

Yet the rings and poles remind me that God goes with His people.

His presence is not something I visit on Sunday morning. His provision is not something I admire from a comfortable chair. Wherever I go and wherever He calls me, I am to live consciously in His presence and carry the testimony of His faithfulness with me.

That means taking an awareness of God’s presence into lunch with my dad.

It means taking it into conversations, errands, interruptions, and inconveniences. It means remembering His provision when the unexpected bills arrive, His patience when someone tests mine, and His wisdom when I do not know what to do next.

It even means taking His presence with me when I am hauling a screen door across town because a committee of barn cats has decided that boundaries are merely suggestions.

The poles also remind me that holy things should be carried in God’s way. Israel could not handle the sacred furnishings however they pleased. God gave them instructions. His presence was a gift, but it was never to be treated casually.

I need that reminder too. Carrying God’s presence does not mean attaching His name to whatever I have already decided to do. It means allowing Him to determine where I go, how I speak, what I carry, and what I leave behind. It means walking with reverence, obedience, and readiness.

Perhaps that is why the rings were built into the table before the journey began. They were not added later as an emergency modification. The table was designed from the beginning to be carried.

We were not made merely to encounter God in quiet rooms and sacred buildings. We were made to walk with Him—to carry the knowledge of His goodness into ordinary places and let His presence shape the way we live there.

The screen door will eventually return to where it belongs. Once repaired, it has no reason to accompany me to lunch again.

But God’s presence is different.

I do not want to leave it in the living room after I read my Bible in the morning. I do not want to leave it in the sanctuary when the final blessing is pronounced. I want to remember the rings and poles.

Wherever I go, He goes with me.

Wherever He leads, I want to carry the assurance of His presence and provision.

Even if where He leads me today happens to include lunch, my dad, and one badly damaged screen door.