The Nose Knows

Posted on June 10, 2011 by Margaret

God was generous to give us five senses. If one malfunctions, the other four can pick up the slack. I no longer have a sense of smell after receiving “the atomic bomb of antibiotics” during a hospital stay in 2005. (“Scent or smell?” Jan. 9, 2010) But I don’t view this as a handicap. On some occasions it’s actually a benefit. I can change a baby’s diaper without gagging and am not bothered by ammonia-based cleaning products. But what about missing smells meant to hint at danger?

Last week I got a “taste” of that. While our hardwood floors were being refinished, Birgitta and I had been staying in a house without an internet signal. We decided to head home for a quick in-and-out to get on line. She sat on the front steps with her laptop, and I went inside to a tiny area on the tile floor where an old tabletop computer was still attached to the cable.

Nested amidst stacked furniture, bins of books, a piano, fridge and stove, I booted up and began checking email. The wood floors six feet away were still tacky with that morning’s sealant application, but of course I couldn’t smell it.

In a few minutes my eyes began to sting, but I figured a short night’s sleep was the reason. Rapid blinking helped, and I forgot about it until a strange ache behind my eyes got my attention. “I’ll use my Visine when I get back in the car,” I thought. Then the headache began, mild at first but eventually pounding, and I thought I might have felt a chest pain.

An hour had gone by when Birgitta walked in with her closed laptop, ready to leave. “Oh Mom, it reeks in here!” she said. “How can you stand it?”

“I can’t smell anything,” I said.

“I’m gonna wait outside,” she said. “My eyes are stinging.” And that’s when I realized my nose had missed something important.

Scripture includes a wonderful parallel to my lack of olfactory common sense. God tells us the world is full of opportunities to make wise or foolish choices. Many of them don’t “smell bad” in the beginning, but in time they lead to a poisonous stench. Lowering our guard against sins that seem to smell good at the moment will lead us into a noxious wasteland of ruined relationships and rotted dreams.

Although I can’t smell polyurethane, I know it’s important to keep my spiritual sense of smell sensitive so it can recognize deadly behavioral odors. Thankfully that sense doesn’t depend on olfactory nerves and can’t be damaged if only I’m willing to be careful of what I will and won’t “smell”. But if I sniff around where I ought not to be, before long my nose won’t know what it knows.

If that happens, I hope God gives me spiritually-stinging eyes to let me know I should take my nose and go!

“The idols of the nations… have noses but cannot smell. And those who make idols are just like them, as are all who trust in them.” (Psalm 135:15, 17, 18)

Snowing in June

Posted on June 9, 2011 by Margaret

Here in the Midwest the first days of June can resemble the first week in January. Fluffy “snow” fills the air as cottonwood trees release their seeds, each one a tiny parachute of new life. When that happens, I always think of Dad. One of his quiet comments about the cottonwood made a permanent mark on my 8 year old heart.

Dad wasn’t an outdoorsman. In 92 years he never suffered a sunburn, deliberately walked in the rain, or slept outside just for fun. He didn’t like yard work, but for the sake of his wife and kids, uprooted himself from the familiarity of Chicago and moved to the “countryside” of 1948 Wilmette. This committed him to mowing an acre yard, tending a fruit orchard, pruning a grape arbor and weeding a vegetable garden.

Our yard had a massive cottonwood, important because of the tire swing Dad hung from a branch 25 feet up. One good underdog push would keep the Goodyear whitewall sailing for a long while. He set a 6 foot ladder just far enough away so we could stand on the top step, leap onto the tire and fly birdlike in big swooping arcs.

One spring when the cottonwood “snow” was especially prolific (clogging screens and accumulating in drifts), neighbors complained about the pesky nature of these trees. But Dad said, “Look how generous God is. Instead of supplying one seed per tree, he gave each one 10,000.” His comment planted a significant seed in my little-girl heart: God is generous.

Not everyone, however, shares my love of the cottonwood tree. Last week a man who detested the annual “snowstorm” of his next-door-neighbor’s cottonwood was convicted in court of killing the tree. A year earlier he’d secretly bored holes down into its roots, then poured in an overdose of Round-Up weed killer. Gradually the flourishing tree had deteriorated, a mystery to its owners.

The tree-assassin figured the law would be on his side since the holes he drilled were on his own property. But the court ruled otherwise, saying the roots of the tree next door, though growing beneath his lawn, belonged to his neighbor. Had this man been blessed with a father like mine, he might not have “murdered” so lightly.

Dad, a structural engineer by profession, consistently directed our attention to the structure within God’s world. As we grew older, our appreciation for what he showed us in nature transferred from the created things to their Creator, which of course was Dad’s underlying intention. An added benefit was our catching on to the great respect he had for God as the structural Designer of it all, which also transferred to us.

Today as I felt “snowflakes” brush past my cheek, I was thankful for a God who demonstrated his charcter through the cottonwood tree and for a father who pointed past the nuisance of fluffy seeds to the generous God behind them.

“Since the creation of the world his invisible attributes, his eternal power and divine nature have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made.” (Romans 1:20)

Finding Favor

Posted on June 8, 2011 by Margaret

The youngest child of 7 grows up having precious few hours alone with mom or dad. But as older siblings reach adulthood and head out, together-time becomes available. It’s been just Birgitta and me for the last 3 weeks, hanging out, talking, laughing and doing things one-on-one.

The day before she left, we decided to finish our time with a celebrity event, the Michael Buble’ concert in Milwaukee. Although his big band sound and classic old songs aren’t her style, she accommodated her mother, and we drove to Wisconsin anticipating a good time.

Our seats were in the nose-bleed section, and marching up those last 50 steps felt much like climbing the straight-up ladder of a giant fire truck. But we were surrounded by enthusiastic cohorts and could see the distant stage perfectly.

When Michael appeared, the audience went crazy. Asking for the house lights to be turned up so he could see us, he was thrilled that all 20,000 seats were full and shouted, “I really love you!” causing fresh screams of joy.

I wish I could have known his true thoughts at that moment.

Several times during the evening he stepped off the stage into the crowd, once to kiss a 96 year old fan, another time to walk the length of the floor to a mini-stage where he sang half-a-dozen songs up close and personal with the faithful. He gave himself to the crowd, shaking hands as he sang, snuggling for photos, and high-fiving each person he could reach. It was fun to watch it.

Driving home Birgitta and I chatted about this 35 year old singer who’s in the process of being swept high on a rising star. He told us about the “seedy dives” he’d sung in as a teen, trying to get his career started. But that night fans pushed each other aside to get near the object of their affection and literally jumped up and down reaching for him when he looked in their direction.

Watching the drama unfold from our bird’s eye view, I wondered how long this public devotion would last. The more important question, though, is how can Michael deal successfully with such gushing favoritism? How can he avoid thinking of himself as superior to those of us who paid to hear him sing? Maybe he is superior?

God has a strong opinion about this. He’s closely acquainted with each ticket-holder, from those of us in the cheap seats to the one on center-stage. If asked to rank us, he’d say, “At the bottom, all of you.” In our natural state, none of us, including Michael Buble’, have clout with God, and there’s nothing we can do to remedy that. If we think there is, we’ve misread the Bible.

But there is something God can do about it, and he did it. Because of his love, he worked out salvation’s plan through his only Son. After we put full trust in Jesus, we’ve ridden a rising star all the way to the top, one that will never fall.