Romans 8:5, “Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.”
When I was a little girl, I didn’t like steak. It was hard to chew. It came from the Black Angus cattle that we raised on our farm and all had names like Bessy and Lucy. It wasn’t good with ketchup. And it refused to go down even when I tried to swallow.
My dad was a stickler for us eating our meal. Food was not to be wasted – there were starving children in China, who I might add, I would have gladly given my steak if he would have allowed me to do so.
My mom loved antiques. Every piece of furniture in our home had a story behind it and our kitchen table was no exception. The old pine table had drawers at either end of it and my chair just happened to be at the end of the table. “Hallelujah!” A perfect spot to rake my steak, eggs, liver, and any other disgusting food item prepared for dinner that I chose to dispose of – quickly. I might add, I was quite clever in arranging my food on the plate as if I had eaten it. When no one was looking, which growing-up in a family the size of mine is tough in and of itself, I would slip the distasteful scraps into the drawer, feeling quite smug.
Until the smell…a foggy stench, oozing out, lingering in the air like big city smog.
And oh, how I denied knowing where the smell could possibly have come from…no idea…I hardly even smelled anything.
I often wonder if sin could smell like that to God. We walk around masking our wrong doings, shoving it into little drawers in hope no one will find out. The lies, the gossip, the arguing, the discontent, the jealousy, the betrayal, the lack of commitment, the addictions, the greed, the lust, the…sin…covering our bodies, hovering over us, rotting away in our hearts.
It didn’t take long for my mom to find my secret nest of decaying food. I knew the minute I walked into the kitchen and the smell was completely gone, replaced by the refreshing scent of Mr. Clean, that my identity as a traitor had been revealed. I was a cheat of the worst kind. A wasteful, ungrateful, nothing anyone could do about it mess.
She smiled at me, “Next time you don’t want to eat something, why don’t we put it in the leftovers for the dogs, ok?”
That was it?
Surely I would be beaten at the stake and left for dead! A week of eating nothing but prunes or something.
I nodded and left the kitchen shocked and relieved.
I learned something that day- what the smell of Grace is like – fresh and new like Mr. Clean – a scent that can only come from the redemptive love of Christ.
