What can you expect? Straight talk, laughable humor, real truth, simple living, and passionate yearning...
all regarding the God that still involves Himself in the details of the lives of His people
A calling to write what He leads, no matter how uncomfortable...
Because simple daily Christian living is never what we thought it would be
And Linger There
Nothing smells like my Bible. Nothing smells like the Word of God from my own life, from my own hands. The years of preparation and stewing and stirring have given it some very uniqueness. My hands in tight grip have dampened and frayed the threads and left there a blueprint of my own distinctness. And, the heat from the trials and the fires of attempting new things and deviating from the known recipe have definitely added to its intensity. The leather, now worn and exposed in the corners, encourages the seepage of its scent. The tears that have stained the cover and its pages also somehow offer their share. And yet, in the midst of all the warmth and sameness, there is a freshness. There is a scent that springs through the comfortable and familiar which offers its own aromatic breeze of newness and renewal.
And Linger There
If you do not already know me to be one of the strangest people you have ever encountered, then this, today, might be the convincing. People have told me things in community and in confidence about how they collect reassurance from God, and some of the rituals are most certainly strange. Some cling to their Bibles under their pillows, some decorate prayer rooms, and some praise the Lord in song from the same hymnal that their grandmother held. But, for the past several years now, when they tell me of their secret and personal methods of connecting to the Lord, I sheepishly grin and nod and assure them that what they do is more normal than they think. In fact, I usually make some comment acknowledging that I have heard of things much more unusual. And then I remember me.
I love a home cooked meal. I love the familiarity of the flavors all blended together in a very expected way. I love sitting down to a table and knowing that the mashed potatoes do not have anything hiding in their fluff, and the gravy will be just the perfect too-thickness. I enjoy that everything is passed in the familiar direction, and that, at just the right moment, the same people make the same comments…about the same foods. I love the same ole lace table cloth and the same ole people teasing each other about soiling it. I like that I know what to take from the bowl in front of me and what to pass on. But most of all, I like the scent of the home cooked meal.
Now the scents of the kitchen and dining room are completely different. The kitchen is full of intense odors of preparation. The warmth of the air brings out each ingredient and then combines them all in an abstract of descriptive oneness. It smells of the raw and of the cooked. It permeates off of the hot cooking surface and of the soap bubbles from the sink. It even includes the scent of the ones who labored there and the smell of their favorite perfumes. The kitchen that is used to consistently prepare home cooked meals is a scented symphony of comfort and satisfaction.
The dining room is similar, yet, somehow completely different. It still has many of the smells of the kitchen, but everything is much, much more faint. The cool air in the dining hall somehow quiets and reduces the exaggeration of the flavors. A deep breath in and a closing of the eyes is all one needs to transform them right back to the warmth of the kitchen. Yes, it is still all there. But, the air is softer and the light is more exposed, and there is an odor of starch that penetrates the flavors with a flowery scent from the fresh linens. Or, is it the centerpiece of fresh herbs and garden flowers that I smell? Still, the combination of the warmth of the kitchen and the freshness of the dining room area combine into a spectacular awareness of familiarity. It is home cooked perfection.
So what, you say, is so strange about that? Nothing, nothing at all! But does the smell of your Bible give you that same sort of comfort and assurance? Just one hint of the odor and my heart begins to feel transported. I press it close to my face so that when I breathe in, I am consumed with its distinctness. Nothing smells like my Bible. Nothing smells like the Word of God from my own life, from my own hands. The years of preparation and stewing and stirring have given it some very uniqueness. My hands in tight grip have dampened and frayed the threads and left there a blueprint of my own distinctness. And, the heat from the trials and the fires of attempting new things and deviating from the known recipe have definitely added to its intensity. The leather, now worn and exposed in the corners, encourages the seepage of its scent. The tears that have stained the cover and its pages also somehow offer their share. And yet, in the midst of all the warmth and sameness, there is a freshness. There is a scent that springs through the comfortable and familiar which offers its own aromatic breeze of newness and renewal.
I smell my Bible. I don’t plan to or intend to, but sometimes I just certainly do. Sometimes when I am putting it away the breeze created by my hand just calls me, so I embrace it and kiss it and then inhale its richness. Sometimes I am so desperate and lonely for Him, that when I bow my head to seek His face, the scent of His Word is so overwhelmingly comfortable that I just stay there…inhaling His presence. And then, there are those times, quite per chance, that when my mind is half His and half already on the day, I turn the pages of His Book, and the aroma of His Word completely consumes me. And I breathe in…and linger there…with Him.
In obedience
Rhonda D Loucks