Walking Dusty in the late afternoon yesterday, with the sun
hot on my head and the smells rising from the undergrowth, I suddenly sniffed
something which transported me back to Camp Suanga, a Camp Fire Girls day camp
in north Long Beach that I went to as a child. I don’t know what it was. But it
took me right back.
The power of odours is amazing. With pinpoint precision they
scoot you to another place and another time, be it happy or sad, peaceful or
turbulent.
Sometimes I catch a whiff of a man’s after shave which
reminds me of my dad – a good memory, or of a former boss from long ago – a
neutral memory. The smell of nail varnish reminds me of my sister, as we used
to spend time painting our nails and sharing our secrets in high school and at
university. Good memories.
The Bible says that believers are the fragrance of Christ.
We are attractive to those who are open to Jesus. We are a smelly odour to
those who aren’t.
We can only be the fragrance of Christ when we carry him in
us, when we are submitted to his Lordship in our lives and are living all out
for him, as far as we are able.
Otherwise we probably only smell of shower gel.
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