Eleven hours on the road! The sight of the cabin through the darkness was welcome, not only because we were tired, but because we loved the old place. It was ours. For over 70 years, it had provided rest and relaxation. Nestled in the northwoods of Wisconsin, it also provided solace from the storms of life.
Just seven years ago, the old place had transitioned from a basic cabin to a delightful summer home. Decades old walls, formerly the habitat of all sorts of unidentified creatures, had been dismantled, replaced by new studs, beams and insulation. It was updated. It was clean. It was virtually free from the carnage of mice, squirrels, gophers, raccoons — those uninvited visitors claiming squatter’s rights. Ah, the joys and the challenges of the northwoods in all their glory!
Headlights providing illumination, John entered through the front door to open the screened porch door, enabling us to unload the car. As the screen door slammed shut behind him, I heard him mutter under his breath, “I don’t know, but I think I smell something.” John immediately had my attention. My husband rarely senses odors.
The cottage had been closed up for only three weeks. At the point of closing, we had detected nothing. How bad could it be? Then again, it HAD to be pretty strong for John to make a comment!
Loading up my arms with the first load, I turned on all nasal nerve endings, braced myself and entered our beloved domain with bloodhound scrutiny. Immediately a rancid cloud invaded my nostrils. “Oh my goodness! What is THAT???” It reeked! A knot quickly formed in the pit of my stomach. Our beloved hideaway had been invaded — by what, we had no idea. But it was not welcome!!
Between loads from the car, we continued our investigation, longing for bed, but even more, longing for a quick and easy explanation for the noxious welcome. The fresh air of open windows offered only minimal encouragement.
Settling in for the night, we were able to discern the odor stronger in the main room/kitchen area and fainter in the bedroom/bathroom areas. Grateful for the fresh breezes off the lake, reminding us of the joys of this treasured place, we settled our brains for a troubled sleep.
Early the next morning, our search ensued. As coffee was measured out, kitchen cabinet doors were opened and closed, frantically searching for any possible reason for such an odor. While slightly diminished through the nite, it continued to be distinct and definitely emanated from the kitchen/main floor area. Both John and I searched in earnest. We were not about to accept that kind of a smell in our beloved home. Every drawer and cabinet was opened and emptied looking for critter homes or the telltale tracks of mouse droppings. One by one, we examined every plate cup and saucer, every pot and pan, every pantry item and piece of cutlery, seeking answers. Then, just to be sure, each item was hand-washed and dried before putting it away in a freshly cleaned cupboard or drawer. We pulled out the refrigerator and the stove finding only a few small surprises, none of which explained such a strong fragrance. Floors underneath the heavy appliances were scrubbed and sanitized.
By the end of the first day, we had not only handled, examined and hand-washed every item in our kitchen, we began to dismantle parts of our cabinetry. John had become convinced that there must be a nest under the island cabinetry, accessible to us only by removing the back of the cabinet. We stopped at nothing, carefully removing parts of the island’s cabinet structure. Rarely had the two of us been so united in an effort, totally committed and in agreement that the source of the odor had to be found and eliminated. Closing in on 4 pm, it seemed all efforts were futile.
In absolute frustration and exhaustion I collapsed into my Grandfather’s old overstuffed chair kitty corner to the kitchen. After minutes of solitude, watching John continue his hot pursuit, I dared to make an observation, “John, the odor seems a bit better over here right now.” He said nothing, totally focused on the dismantling of the kitchen island.
Minutes later, I had to eat my words as a new wafting of noxious stench discouraged my desperate attempts to rest. “No, there it is again. Maybe worse. I smell it badly sometimes— but not others.” Remaining recumbent, I rationalized that even at rest, my detective work continued in earnest. I pondered, “What changes periodically? Why the off and on intensity of the odor? The only thing directly in front of me was the refrigerator and the kitchen island. The only thing that changed about the refrigerator was that a fan motor cycled on and off as the frig maintained temperature. Could that be….?”
John aborted the disassembling of the center island, nudged by my focus on the refrigerator. Opening the front frig door, he detected nothing. Joining him, I opened the upper freezer door. Immediately my nose was met with a frosty blast of the noxious air. “This is it! But how is it getting into the freezer?” Within minutes, we once again pulled the frig out, this time opening up the backing of it’s casings to explore all inner workings of the refrigeration system. There before our eyes and noses, we discovered what might possibly have been a decades old, covert habitat for mice, filled with nesting components, excrements, and various and sundry other delights signifying major time mouse homesteading.
Our search was over. This twenty two year old refrigerator had become a critter habitat. It seems that only after the house had been closed up for three weeks that we could fully sense the smell.
By the end of the second day, having located, suctioned out and sanitized, both John and I were satisfied that we had found the source of the odor. We were, however, unable to completely get rid of the odor. In frustrated surrender, we agreed it was time to replace the refrigerator and within 12 hours, we made the unplanned for, unbudgeted purchase.
There it is, …the sad saga of the start of vacation, predictably fitting for the COVID summer of 2020, when all of life is turned on its head and nothing is quite the same. As disgusting as this story is — it’s a sanitized version, blatantly lacking the spiritual dimension that shrouded the most intense moments of the pursuit. Here now is the REST of the story!
A Holy Spirit nudge was at first gentle, barely perceptible in the midst of clanging saucepans, dish soap hands and the frantic opening and closing of drawers and cupboards. “Do you see yourself, Sondra?”
I had started my morning in prayer before raising my head off the pillow, asking the Lord to lead us to the source of the noxious invasion. I so strongly believe in the power of the Holy Spirit to lead and guide my mind and my heart to truth. Spiritual truth. Physical truth. Reality truth. Yes, even those mundane little crises every 70 plus year old faces — those times when we count on divine insight, as in “Heavenly Father, where did I put those keys? Please show me.”
I was convinced that today we would find the answer to our quest. Yet, never for a minute did I consider that God might turn our morning investigation into a deeply personal, contemplative spiritual journey. The holy whisper became a bit more urgent somewhere between the initial pulling out of the refrigerator and stove and the disassembling of the kitchen island.
“Sondra! When have you EVER been this aggressive to come to the source of ‘the distasteful’ in your heart and spirit? You know what they are, Sondra. Those petty attitudes, lack of forgiveness, issues of pride and arrogance. Those sins that so easily become your default. Sins that no one knows about and you keep well concealed with Pinesol and perfume.”
“Huh, what? I made every effort to ignore the inner voice, only to hear it more clearly and distinctly.
As I flopped down in exhaustion on my Grandfather’s beloved chair, watching my husband tear into the island cabinet moldings, the Holy Spirit spoke in absolute clarity. “Is your life a TOTALLY fragrant offering to ME? And do you really care if it is NOT? Have you EVER been this forthright in addressing the wafts of sin in YOUR life?”
“ Ouch!” Now things were getting a little personal!
Still resting, but deeply pondering — all focused pursuit of the cabin odor turned to the refrigerator. We were, I believe, led to the source of the odor — that cesspool of a mouse habitation in the bottom section of our 20 year old refrigerator. With a little elbow grease, and a costly unexpected purchase, our cabin odor issue was resolved and we were relieved and deeply thankful.
Still, holy nudges remained annoyingly troubling. Resolution of the scent of spiritual decay would demand far more commitment and intent than any mere purchase could provide.
It did not surprise me that within the next few days I discovered a book curiously entitled, The Smell of Sin, and the Fresh Air of Grace, by Don Everts. I highly recommend it! It seems appropriate that I close this blog sharing a few choice quotes.
“. . .Throughout the Gospels, Jesus, without apology, starkly describes for us this stench of sin. But there is one more point that Jesus was very clear about . That smell, that stench that smacks of death and slavery and insult, is coming from INSIDE US!. . .We are not stained with sin near as much as we are infected by it. . . Jesus confronts us with the stark reality that sin resides within our hearts, When we sin it’s not just a problem of being naughty, it’s a case of being sick, being utterly infected by a disease. . . I choke my own neck and dizzy my own head. My whole life becomes tenuous and fragile, and the sturdiest thing to come of my sin is the stout iron that shackles my arms and legs and soul. I’m not naughty. I’m a fool. I am unfaithful and weak and oppressed.
This, Jesus says, this is the smell of sin. And wherever you go—there the stench is.
Thus teaches our dear, sweet Jesus. Ah, but for the fresh air of GRACE in which we celebrate the surprising beauty that accompanies the true smell of sin. “ (1)
I experienced that fresh air of grace throughout the coming week while basking in the reality that the putrid frig had been so easily rolled out of our cabin and a new refrigerator stood in its place wafting only clean, fresh air. My cabin kitchen was never cleaner and with an hour or two of reassembly of cabinetry, our frenetic investigation was only a memory. The spiritual lessons learned, however, continue to unfold in self discovery. I think it likely that they will NEVER, ever be forgotten.
In the words of author Don Everts:
”These word pictures that Jesus paints have roused me to consciousness. To be honest, at times, it has felt more like an abrupt shaking than a gentle rousing. It has hurt. There have been moments when I’ve longed for my comfortable old lies about sin, like some little child crying for his familiar, well-worn blanket. But I am left with the sober reality that these harsh images of sin are Jesus’ words, Jesus’ pictures. . . It feels good to be awake. It’s a welcome breath of fresh air to not be fooled so much by the enemy. It’s tiring and scary and wonderful to cry and worship and sweat and know. . . It has been— and is always the case when submitting to Jesus — a beautiful thing.”
“May we delve into his teachings on sin, then, may His Spirit breathe clarity and conviction into our days, and may we find ourselves so leaning upon him and His words, with every inch of our lives, that we find this rare blessedness that he speaks of.”
“May we wrestle with Jesus. And may we wind up smelling more like Him.” (1)
(1) Everts, Don. The Smell of Sin and the Fresh Air of Grace. (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003).