What Story Will Your Stones Tell?
We’ve always had a way of leaving our mark. From skyscrapers etched into city skylines, to war memorials, to the glowing rectangles in our pockets where we post highlights of our lives—we all build monuments of some kind. They’re meant to last, to tell a story, to say something about who we are and what we’ve done. This isn’t new. Long before hashtags of achievements, ancient kings and rulers were doing the very same thing in the form of a stele (pronounced “stella”).
After all these years, humanity hasn’t changed because we still raise stelae (plural for stele) today. We just don’t call them that. Our monuments aren’t carved in stone; they’re posted on Instagram, etched on résumés, and stacked up in the legacies we try to leave. We display our victories and accomplishments in ways that say, “Look at me. Don’t forget what I’ve done.”
In the ancient world, it wasn’t much different. Kings and tribal chiefs raised stelae—stone slabs set upright as monuments—to broadcast their greatness. These weren’t subtle. They were massive PR campaigns carved in rock for generations to see.
Take the Victory Stele of Naram-Sin (Akkadian, c. 2250 BC). It shows the king towering over his enemies, trampling them underfoot, climbing toward the gods with stars shining approval above his head. Or the Merneptah Stele (Egyptian, c. 1208 BC), where Pharaoh recorded his victories in Canaan—including the earliest extra-biblical mention of “Israel.” Then there’s the Louvre Stele (Babylonian, c. 1750 BC). Though mostly laws, its carvings present Hammurabi as chosen by the gods, legitimizing his rule, and presenting his code of societal conduct—some of which we still practice today.
Each of these stelae carried the same message: “Look at me. Remember my power. This is my story.”
But when God’s people raised stones, it told a different story. Jacob’s pillar at Bethel wasn’t about Jacob—it was about the God who appeared to him. Joshua’s twelve stones at the Jordan weren’t about Israel’s strength—it was about the God who parted the waters. Samuel’s Ebenezer wasn’t a monument to Samuel’s leadership—it was a reminder that God had rescued His people.
Israel’s stones were not monuments of human glory. They were memorials of divine faithfulness.
And here’s where it hits home: we still set up “stones” in our lives. Don’t we?
Every choice, every achievement, every story we highlight is a kind of monument. The question is—when people look at them, do they see our greatness, or God’s faithfulness?
Scripture
“This is so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the LORD’s hand is strong, and so that you may always fear the LORD your God.” Joshua 4:24
Contemplate
Our life will tell a story. It will either be a monument to our own glory or a memorial to God’s faithfulness. Which story are you writing today?
Prayer
Father, forgive me for the times I’ve built monuments to myself. Teach me to live in such a way that every word, every action, every legacy points only to you. May my life say, “Look what God has done.” May my life be one surrounded by others among your community of disciples who do the same. In Jesus Name, Amen.
Questions for Reflection
What “modern stele” do you tend to build—ways you draw attention to yourself instead of God?
Where in your life right now could you raise a “stone” of remembrance that points to God’s faithfulness?
If others looked at the story of your life, what would they remember more—your achievements and your name or God’s hand at work and His Name?
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