A Spreading Fragrance

 

Many of you know that I've been working on a novel for a couple of years. Today I was pecking away at the story in the study where I love to do all things contemplative. I light a candle nearly any time I set foot in here. The one gracing this space right now has amber notes in it. It's strong, the way I like them and intoxicatingly fragrant in the best possible way.

For the first time since I purchased this wonderful candle, I smelled the one from the kitchen wafting over its glorious brass band tones. This wouldn't be particularly noteworthy except that the one in the kitchen is a leftover from last fall that really disappointed me. I had a terrible time smelling it. I remember thinking it was just heavenly, as long as I was willing to nearly set my nose on fire. In fact, I ordered it again this year, but in the two-wick version in the hopes that a deeper wax pool would strengthen the scent throw. The one muscling past my amber candle is not the new, but the old, weak candle. Why is it suddenly running amok in the house, doing what I had so deeply desired for it to do last year?

The best possible answer is that, as it burned today, the flame hit a level in the candle where the scent oils had concentrated. I don't know if that is even possible, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me. Same house, same nose (mine), same candle. Ever more powerful scent.

I'm praying that God, in all of his sovereign ability, majesty and might, would take my efforts, the concoction that is me, and use me differently in this season of my life. I hope that I would somehow, through the influence of years and urgency of the grave rushing up to me, become something, someone He can use in new and better ways. I don't want to burn out, but rather burn up, my last gasp of air on this earth a prayer to Him. Only God can do this!

A Little Light

 

My toxic trait is that I live in, camp out around the edges of, dredge up and swim in the past. It's exhausting for my loved ones. They'd like to, oh, I don't know, MOVE ON? I am utterly fabulous at encouraging others to live for today, but my past is always knocking at my door. I am, to my everlasting discredit, always answering. 

I was reminded of that today as I tooled around one of my favorite thrift stores. I love remembering our oh-so-simple lives before the mind-altering, spirit-controlling firestorm that is the internet. A thrift store is the ideal place to bathe in those memories. I might run my hand along couches that saw the eighties come and go, pick up dusty cookbooks (the actual, physical kind), and smile as I note the decades-old pattern in a comforter proudly displayed on a bed that is also for sale. It's nostalgia for sale at great prices! As I troll the aisles for more treasures to stuff in my own home, I am taken back to so many nearly forgotten places in time. I remember neighbors and grandparents and at-home multi-level marketing parties. My own childhood homes swam before me today as I noted a bowl I believe we had. I was back at the table with my siblings. A lot of these memories are really fond. They make me happy.

It's a great thing to have great memories. Everyone has SOME. But it is not healthy to spend inordinate amounts of time in those memories if the purpose of the trip is to bemoan today, or to look upon the future with dread. The fact is, the good old days were not so good, after all. They were fraught with challenge, heartache, loss. Just like today. I think I live a bit too much in the past, especially my early married days. I long for the years when the biggest worry I had was my kids' scraped knees or a fever that seemed a little high for the moment. When I could keep everyone safe and make homemade soup if I felt a little sad, dousing it with cheese and baking cookies later for everyone to enjoy.

Living for the Lord is not like living for ourselves. Sure, we will still nurture our families, love our friends. Make homemade soup. But we've got another calling, one that requires focus, dedication to prayer and bible study, and a steadfast determination to live in the joy and peace of the Lord. I have learned that the world, the flesh and the devil are set against my having those two life-altering commodities. The enemy of my soul is always looking for an opening. With me, the easy door, the one that needs a permanent seal, is that of my past sins. I have decided to start thanking the Lord for everything I can think of when I am assailed with such memories. We are commanded in scripture to keep our minds on good things, because our feelings follow our thoughts and our actions follow our sustained feelings.

This post has meandered, and it's not nearly as artful as I'd hoped. So I'll close with the image I've attached at the top. I combed the store stem to stern and the only things I wanted to buy were the cross in the picture and two coffee cups. When I got the cross home and put a tealight inside, I have to admit, the candlelight did not illuminate the cross as beautifully and fully as I thought it would. I knew there was a message in that, somehow. I had been crying on the way home, begging the Lord to fully restore me spiritually. I haven't felt as connected to Him and to my life's purpose as I did as a younger person. With those tears still in my eyes, I happened upon a lady whose car had overheated. She was just inside my neighborhood but she was headed elsewhere. I went home and got my husband, who came back with me to help. As I sit here I see that, even though my light burns low at times, if it is steady, like the light at the bottom of the cross, it has value, just like my simple offer of water for an overheated car. A light is a light.