Chlorine crusted towels baked in the scorching sun while piled in the trunk since Sunday.
At the advice of my husband, I finally removed the damp fabrics from my vehicle. I knew I needed to do it, but I kept forgetting, had too many bags in my hands, and was holding just one excuse too many not to lug it inside. Tonight, it was too unbearable. The repugnant stench assaulted my nose. It was not a pleasing aroma.
Since our July 4th camping trip, which besides festering tick bites and the subsequent antibiotic remedies was a phenomenal vacation, I’ve been brought to the stories in Exodus that describe the sacrifices made unto the Lord. The calf was slain, the blood dabbed on the horns of the sacrificial altar, and burned on planks. This smoldering heap of meat was considered a pleasing aroma unto God. The sacrifice was made as an atonement for the people’s sins. Jesus was anointed with oil before his death upon the cross. Each sacrifice was a pleasing aroma unto God, the latter so much so that it paid sin’s debt for eternity, if only we choose to call Jesus our Lord.
Anyone who accepts Christ as Lord is to repent. I keep thinking of the things in my life that are gross, initiating a gag reflex because a particular sin is repulsive to God. I know I am forgiven. I am grateful. However there is laundry that needs to be aired before him in order to experience the times of refreshing. I can’t postpone hefting that sack outside my caravan lest I vomit and choke on my own fetor. What buried sin needs to be dug up, brought before him, and washed by his redeeming grace?
For me, it’s been the process of eradicating this incessant approval addiction. Another deadly sin is the inclination to dismiss those in the body who don’t regularly agree with my worldviews or maintain a friendship and gossip about their absurd opinions when they are absent. I’m getting better. God is showing me how not to judge. He’s showing me that I’m a sinner in need of anointing. His Spirit is dwelling within, I’ve been anointed with his presence, since my acceptance of Christ, but I need to wholly submit. I haven’t quite figured out what that looks like, but I know that fruit smells sweet and at times, especially with events such as my recent Facebook debates, my life smells more like the Fenmore (?) landfill, dung that permeates the air anywhere within a 10 mile radius, sometimes even greater.
I’m working on sorting out the articles that need cleansing. I’m trying to air my sin before him rather than zip it between seats of comfort that make me lazy and reluctant to remove the stinky junk. I’m getting up the courage to bring the basket down, to let the bundles inside be washed by his blood, through repentance and receipt of grace. It’s not easy, enjoyable, or pleasant, but in the end, I’ll be wrapped in fragrant mercy that’ll hopefully delight the senses of those around me, causing them to want a life transformed by Christ as well.