I fill my basket.
Crusty breads on sale–country wheat baguette, pan bigio, calabrese rounds.
Diapers, wipes, vinyl bibs.
A fleece jacket for Gracee–on sale for three dollars.
Bring in beauty right where you are. Right now. In the middle of the messiness. Just bring it in. Don’t wait for a moment when there is time.
When you go to the grocery store, buy some inexpensive cheery flowers. At home, put them in a vase where you wash the dishes or sit often. Make a little cleared space around the vase. Tomorrow, write about the flowers, and why you like them. What do they make you think of?
Every morning, spend a few minutes just gazing at the flowers. Let their beauty charge your creative soul.
And so I weave my way back to the flower area. (I breezed right past it when I came in.) I wrinkle my nose at the sad bouquets on display. But then the heady fragrance of hyacinth beckons, tucked between towering yellow daffodils and jonquils and pots of tulips.
I bring a pot home and set it on the end table next to the sofa.
I pour a cup of flowering tea (thanks, Sissy.)
And. I. Sit.
I gaze out the window.
The sky is clear. The sun is bright.
The wind whips and whistles around the house.
Branches brush the siding.
Dried brown leaves play tag.
Three purple finches, a titmouse, and a chickadee cling to the feeder, crazy swaying.
I hold the pot of flowers in my lap and study them.
I consider the spikes of sunshine-studded snow-white stars. I read somewhere that hyacinths are associated with rebirth.
Tall green arms embrace infant blooms, tight, soon to be born.
I hold the flowers close and inhale and get a bit dizzy.
High on hyacinth.
I stroke blossoms, cool, rubbery. Sturdy yet fragile.
And my hands carry the fragrance.
Hebrew kings were “crowned” with very expensive perfumed oil.
Everything and everyone with that unique fragrance was recognized as belonging to God in a special way.
In the ancient Middle East, the majesty of a king was expressed not only by what he wore–his jewelry and robes–but by his royal “aroma.” Even after a king was first anointed, he would perfume his robes with precious oils for special occasions . . .
During royal processions, the fragrance of expensive oils would inform the crowds that a king was passing by. . . (Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus~p. 16-18)
The scent of the perfume with which Mary anointed Jesus must have clung to him for days. Everywhere he went he “had the fragrance of royalty. Jesus smelled like a king.”
When He entered Jerusalem, in the garden, during his trial, during His stripping and whipping, and when He was nailed to the cross, His fragrance must have permeated the air. Perhaps it even clung to His enemies.
I sniff my hands again, savoring the scent.
I want to carry His fragrance.
High on Him.
Praying you catch His scent this weekend. And that it clings to you as well.
In the Messiah, in Christ, God leads us from place to place in one perpetual victory parade. Through us, he brings knowledge of Christ. Everywhere we go, people breathe in the exquisite fragrance. Because of Christ, we give off a sweet scent rising to God, which is recognized by those on the way of salvation—an aroma redolent with life. But those on the way to destruction treat us more like the stench from a rotting corpse. ~2 Corinthians 2:14-16