12/22/2017 0 Comments Scents and SmellsWhen my four children were growing up, there were a couple of games that we played through the years that became family traditions. My kids just loved “The Smoke Alarm is Blaring. What’s for Dinner?” guessing game because it usually involved wildly flapping the exterior doors like wings to remove the pungent odor of burnt offerings from our home. I believe they thought if they opened and closed the doors fast enough, the house would take off like a giant albatross. The Christmas I accidently caught the stockings on fire was double fun. We had the delicious aroma of melting plastic, burning nylon, and a molten Hershey kiss to attempt to fan out into the brisk December night, good times!
This wonderful game was normally played in the minutes before my husband would return home from work. We would franticly try to expel the smoke from the house, so his allergies wouldn’t be activated when he stepped through the door. I’m sure coming home to a soot filled home after a long day at work was a less than pleasant experience for him. The other family bonding game we developed over the years was less appreciated by my children. It was the old classic “What the Hell is that Smell?” guessing game. When my over-large and over-active nose detected unpleasantness wafting from one of the kid’s rooms, an extensive investigation would usually ensue. The culprits primarily consisted of wrestling shoes, an offensive sock that was hiding under a bed, or some food item that had been hastily stashed away then forgotten. The no-food-in-the-rooms rule was roughly interpreted as hide-the-pizza-in-a-drawer-when-mom-knocks guideline. They weren’t bad kids, just hungry, all the time. Through the years, I developed different strategies for handling the odd assortment of smells that teenagers produce.
On Wednesday morning, I helped at one of the homeless missions in our city. I was pumped because I was put in charge of making the stew we would be distributing later. I sautéed onions and celery and carrots, mixed a smooth gluten free roux to thicken the stock, and spiced the soup just right. It was delicious (no brag, just fact). The perfect meal for a chilly winter day. We ladled the soup into disposable coffee mugs with tops and drove to the corners where the panhandlers gather and distributed a bit of warmth to the hungry souls that congregate there. Little cups of love with lids that smelled so delicious in the car. After the initial sharing of soup, the ministry takes the food to their mobile distribution center i.e. food truck and hands out the rest to whomever shows up. Its amazing how powerful the communication is among the transient populations of the city. People appear out of nowhere to get the food we bring them once a week. The abandoned lot where we set up the truck is full of life and prayer and song one day a week then dies back to desolation until the next time. How do the new ones hear about us? As appetizing as the soup smelled when I was busy fixing it and as delicious as it tasted when we were handing it out, the after effects of food and homeless hugs on my clothes were not only unappetizing but vaguely nauseous. The work of the day left a rank odor that needed to be washed out. The cabbage/onion/armpit mixture was less than enticing and throwing my laundry in the hamper in the corner of the bedroom didn’t make it go away; it just made it worse. What was good one day, has soured by the next. Progress requires persistence. Water that sits too long becomes stagnant, living on the fumes of yesterday produces the same putrid results. Each day is a new chance to serve God. If I continue do to the same thing in the coming year that I did this last year, am I treading water, making progress or slowly drowning? Is the cool refreshing water I once drank still so refreshing or has it become sullied while I waited for things to happen? I need more direction in my doing. Right now, I am going nowhere quickly and its driving me batty. Clearly, discernment is the best word for 2018 for me. I need to pick a path and then pursue that path. In May, I will no longer be able to say I am at stay at home mom and have it mean anything. My youngest will graduate from high school and my justification for staying home will be gone. I need to discern between the different opportunities I have available to me and pick the path God would have me to walk. Time to make my life a pleasing aroma unto the Lord.
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AuthorI am a Christian, a wife, a mom, and a part-time basket case who wants to be a full time writer.
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