What Will Heaven Smell Like?

Maybe I've just got a hypersensitive sense of smell, but there are few things that delight me like the fragrances of nature.

The weather has cooled down enough to finally drive with the window down, and I absolutely love the aromas the night air brings. Even here in a metropolitan area, there are scents and fragrances in the air that still tickle my senses, that delight me, that, yes, make me long for a cooler climate where I could spend much more time outdoors, surrounded by nature.

Driving home from work at 1:30 this morning, I caught faint whiffs of the night air: damp earth where someone had been using a sprinkler system, the scent of a vacant lot that was overgrown with tall grasses and weeds, trees here and there that were sharing their perfumes with the night breeze… A couple years ago, my family and I were blessed with a short vacation in Jackson Hole, Wyoming; during our visit there, the church family that we were visiting took us on an all-day four-wheeling trip through parts of the Bridger-Teton National Forest, along Grey's River, through mountain ranges that were spectacular to look at, and at one time, I told my friend, Pastor Wayne Neal, that I felt like I was going into "sensory overload". There were so many sights to see, so many smells, so many sounds of the outdoors, that I literally felt like it was almost too much to take in at one time.

With all these aromas tickling my senses, and the memory of that all-too-brief trip on a four-wheeler up through the mountains of Wyoming, it just made me wonder, "What will Heaven smell like?"

We know there will be trees, and a river… What else will Heaven hold for us? (Those who love the beach may be out of luck, as John's revelation showed him "there was no more sea".) Will God allow me that "mountain view" that I've always wanted? Will there be towering pines, sagebrush and cedar, jasmine, or honeysuckle to fill the air with their perfumes? Fresh-cut grass, roses, eucalyptus plants, or freshly-tilled soil to delight our sense of smell?

In His creation of man, God gave us five different senses. I've heard countless songs, stories, testimonies, and dreams about what Heaven is going to look like; I've heard sermons and songs about what Heaven will sound like. We've talked about drinking from the river of life, or eating the fruit of the trees of life that are planted beside that river. But I've never heard anyone mention what Heaven will smell like.

Curiously, however, as I was writing this, it dawned on me that even God has a sense of smell, and enjoys certain aromas. The very thing that turned the heart of God, and caused Him to repent of ever cursing the earth was a burnt offering that Noah offered after the flood had abated, and the ark had come to rest. ("And the LORD smelled a sweet savour…" Gen. 8:20-21) Incense was to be burned in the tabernacle of the LORD, to represent the prayers of God's people. An alabaster box was broken in the presence of Jesus, and the fragrance of its contents filled the whole house.

So it becomes apparent that, yes, even God Himself has a sense of smell. I'm just wondering what Heaven will smell like? I can hardly wait to find out...

Where Do You See God?

In a forum of ministers that I’m blessed to be a part of, someone recently posed the question, “Where do you see God?" I was sitting in my cubicle at work on a Monday night when I read his question, and began to type my response. I confess that I had to stop a couple of times and try to brush tears from my eyes as inconspicuously as I possibly could. Someone later read my response and told me I should “put it into song form”, and, while I was flattered, I know that no song I write would ever come out exactly like I want it to. The restrictions of time, tempo, stanza and rhyming seems to bottle up what I really want to express.

So you’ll probably never hear (or read) it in song form, but here is my response. It flowed from my heart…

Where Do You See God?

Interesting question, and one that I have pondered in my own mind here of late...

I have been nearsighted all my life; wore glasses that looked like Coke bottles since first grade. My vision is very poor, and I suspect the diabetes is making it worse. Because of a firing range incident while in the Army, along with various industrial jobs that involved excessively loud noise, my hearing is permanently damaged. I have tinnitus—that damage to the nerves in the ear canal that causes one to constantly hear "crickets" or bells, whistles, high-frequency whines, etc, non-stop. There is no cure for it.

Because of these two things, I seem to have noticed an increase in my sense of smell. (Granted, it could be my imagination, but it certainly seems real!) I'm not blind (my vision is corrected), nor am I deaf (I can hear; I just can't discern voices or distinguish particular sounds, especially in a crowd, unless they're loud, or directly at me). However, I have noticed in the past few months that, when I'm outdoors, the fragrance of nature (something that I've always loved) has become more vibrant, more telling, more noticeable.

Yet, in spite of diminishing sight, I see God in the diamonds that are outlined against the blackness of a velvet night; I've seen Him in a golden eagle silhouetted against the backdrop of the Colorado National Monument; I see God in the majesty of the Tetons mountains, that mysterious range in Wyoming that seems to suddenly burst out of the ground from nowhere, and disappear just as quickly on the opposite end. I see God in the shade of a huge tree on the banks of a still pond; I see Him in the artistic palette of a sunrise or sunset. I see Him in the lightning that creases the sky, and rather than being fearful, I'm reminded of how quickly He will come for me. I've laid under the stars in the deserts of Saudi Arabia, and seen His glory displayed in a million lights thrown across a boundless desert sky, an ebony canvas that makes even Montana's sky look tiny. I see God in the thundering rapids of a canyon river, and when I look at the Grand Canyon, I picture God "doodling" in the sand as He created the world. I see His handiwork displayed—almost with a grin—as He created that strange, fantastical place known as Horseshoe Bend. I see His strength and majesty in the towering sequoias of northern California, and I see His delicate touch unfolding the petals of a rose.

In spite of the incessant buzz that is constantly in my ears, I hear God in an afternoon rain; I hear Him in the breeze that caresses the tops of the pines, or soughs through the quaking aspens; I hear Him in the babble of a mountain stream, or the lapping of waves on a sandy beach; I hear Him in the singing of the birds on my evening walks, and—as annoying as it might be to some—I've heard His music in the buzz of cicadas, and the chirp of crickets in the late afternoon as the sun ceased to warm the ground. I hear Him in every note that I touch on a piano. I’ve heard His voice thundering through canyon walls, yet I can hear Him whisper to me. I've heard Him speak softly to me in my secret closet, and I heard Him call my name in the middle of thousands of young people at a Senior Youth Camp way back in 1980.

I smell him in fresh-cut grass; I've smelled His fragrance in the damp dust after a rain. I smell His touch in a rose bush, and I love His fragrance that He sprinkled through a mountain forest when He created the sagebrush, the cedar, the fir, and the mountain alpine. I've smelled Him in a garden of night jasmine, and on a fence covered with honeysuckle on a warm summer evening. I've smelled His touch in a mimosa tree closing up for the evening, and I've smelled Him in the piney woods of East Texas.

I've held Him in my closet; I've held Him at the altars of a small church I was blessed to pastor. I've sat in a dark sanctuary and sipped coffee and talked with Him. I've stood in the darkness of pre-dawn and talked with Him on my driveway, and I've sat in the darkness of the night at the end of a long shift, and I've felt His hand caress my brow with a breeze. I've seen Him, felt Him, touched Him, heard Him, every time I touch my children, each time I look at my wife; every time I hold them close to me, I am reminded of how close He is to me.

I've seen Him on Calvary's cross, and because of that, I now can see Him anywhere.

Sleeping In The Back Seat...

I know there are several who follow me on Facebook, so pardon the redundancy. However, for those who've not seen it, when I woke this morning, laying there in bed, this thought came to me, and I shared it (in abbreviated form, of course) on my Facebook:

Remember riding in the back seat of the car as a kid? Especially on late-night trips, you could just fall asleep and leave the driving to Dad, feeling secure that you would wake up in your own bed, safely at home. If only we could learn to live like that in the Spirit—feeling secure in our Father's strength, and knowing we'll wake up safely Home at the end of the trip.

Someone has asked (many times) on a particular forum that I’m a part of: "What is the Spirit saying to the Church?" I can't say exactly what the Spirit is saying to the Church (kind of difficult for me to say, since I'm not even involved in full-time ministry right now) but I can tell you what the Spirit has been saying to me: "Leave the driving to me. Leave the trip home to Me. Rest easy on the journey, because I'm still here, and I'm still in control."

I admit that, in the past couple years, I've run the gamut of emotions concerning spiritual matters. I've no doubt that, whom God uses, He will prove, and I've heard it said that any man who was used of God at one time or another would go through a "wilderness experience". I also know, however, that God hasn't moved from where He was; if anyone's position has changed, it had to be mine.

The first thing that crossed my mind this morning was that I should quit trying to give God directions, and just curl up and sleep, knowing that He still knows where I'm at, and He still knows what's best...whether I understand it or not. The old song says, "We'll understand it better by and by..." but I'm not sure we will. I'm not sure we'll care, actually.

What matter is, God is still in control, and it doesn't matter how many times I yell backseat directions to Him, He's piloting the ship, and He knows the way home. Job said "I've looked in all directions and can't see a sign of Him...but I promise you this: He knows the way that I'm going."

Once upon a time, Jesus went below deck, curled up on a pillow, and left the piloting to His disciples. Now, though, He's got the wheel, and it's your turn to relax, and leave the piloting to Him.

Rest easy... He's still at the wheel, and we're almost Home.

The Positive Side Of People

I was "taken to the woodshed" recently by a friend I've come to know in the past couple years.

I watched this guy—a very successful businessman—communicate and connect with rank strangers from every walk of life, and asked him about it later that evening. My question exactly was, "The way you communicate and talk with people, is this just your own personality, or is this a learned trait...something you've trained yourself to do?"

His reply was immediate and forthright: "I believe people are inherently nice."

He went on to explain that, he supposed it was a characteristic he had inherited from his father, who taught him (by example) that most people have a story to tell, and are just waiting to be asked about it. He brought tears to my eyes when he told me, "I've seen some ugly babies...I mean, honestly, not every baby is beautiful; but they are to their mother, and they are to God. So it's easy for me to look at a baby—no matter how ugly it might seem to be—and tell that mother, 'Ma'am, that is a beautiful child!' And to see her face light up, to see the smile that one simple statement can create, to me, there's just no feeling like it."

This man is neither a preacher, nor a politician; he's a true Christian who has chosen to see the good in everyone.

I wonder how my life would change if I chose to see people this way, as well? Has my opinion of humanity become jaded or cynical because of personal disappointments or supposed abuse? Or am I open to seeing the positive in people?

As preachers and pastors, it's easy for us to see the bad in humanity. Let's face it: few people call us for counseling or words of wisdom when their world is at its best. It's when they're dragging bottom, when their world is falling apart, or they've created some monumental problem, that they come asking for your time. Because of this, it would be easy to start seeing the world through cynical eyes, with a calloused mind that only saw the bad in people.

After watching this friend of mine, however, I have determined that, like he stated, people are inherently nice. Everyone has a story to tell, and is usually just waiting for someone to ask them about it, whether it's about their children, their job, their hobby, or anything else.

My goal is to quit talking about myself, and start discovering what other people have going on in life.

Who knows? I might actually learn something.

Keep Sweeping!

I was bored this morning.

I'll admit, that's what started the whole thing; boredom causes a man to tackle those menial chores that seem like they don't really need to be done. Chores like sweeping the garage out, or cleaning the driveway.

However, as I watched my wife drive off to work again this morning, I took a look at the driveway, littered with grass trimmings and mulched-up leaves from my lawn-mowing yesterday morning, and decided it needed to be swept clean. I don't have a leaf-blower (which would have made the task much simpler, I'm sure), so I did things the old-fashioned way: I grabbed a broom and started sweeping.

As soon as I started on the driveway, however, I looked over my shoulder and spotted some stray leaves that had blown into the garage; this led me even further into the crevices, nooks and crannies of a packed-up garage, where I discovered that leaves, grass-clippings, and other debris had mingled with cobwebs and dust to form a generally dirty picture of my garage floor.

I started on the garage...in the farthest corner.

I swept around a water softener, underneath bicycles, between boxes; anywhere I could fit the bristles of that small broom, I swept out trash and leaves. I managed to gather it all out into an open area of the garage floor, then I got the commercial-sized push broom and started nudging it out onto the driveway.

You would think that, doing the sort of manual labor I was doing, I would have welcomed the slight breeze that came along every few seconds. However, instead of refreshing me with its touch, the breeze only served to make my job more difficult; it continually brushed the leaves back into the garage, and I would have to backtrack and sweep again. This struggle to rid my garage of the unwelcome litter continued out onto the driveway, and all the way down the drive, until I finally managed to sweep it out into the street. Once I got it into the street, I took the extra step of sweeping it in a large, scattered motion in the direction the breeze was blowing, so as to allow the wind to take it even further from my driveway, and my garage door.

As I swept, I felt a kindred spirit with the man of God who continually finds himself sweeping the church of unwanted, unwelcome spirits that try to litter, clutter, and dirty up the house and the work of God. It's an ongoing struggle, and no doubt there are times when you feel like you're sweeping “against the wind”.

Perhaps there are times when you struggle with preaching a particular message, or a particular topic, because you “just preached about that”, and you don't want to seem like you're harping. Maybe you're even ready to throw your hands in the air and accept some things or some concepts you've pushed against throughout your ministry, only now it seems futile, fruitless to continue the struggle; they've been there this long, you think, so what makes me think I can do anything to change it?

Man of God, keep sweeping.

Keep cleaning out the spiritual litter that continually breezes into your congregation; keep preaching against homosexuality, fornication, lust, pornography, filthiness of the flesh AND spirit.

Keep telling your youth group that it's NOT okay to go park and grope and do whatever their hormones are telling them is cool to do.

Keep teaching your elders there's still work for them to do, that their prayers are precious, strong, and needed in this immoral society.

Keep telling your Sunday School staff how important their ministry is, how the children of this generation need a godly influence in their young lives more than ever before.

Keep preaching repentance.

Keep preaching that water baptism by immersion, in the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ, is necessary, not optional, for the remission of sins.

Keep preaching that people receive the infilling of the Holy Spirit with the initial sign of speaking in other tongues as the Spirit gives them utterance.

Keep preaching separating onesself from sin, and separating onesself unto Christ.

Keep telling your congregation that we haven't yet “arrived” and that there are higher heights, deeper depths, broader visions, a greater harvest.

The winds will blow—and not necessarily just a gentle breeze, as I dealt with this morning—and there will be times when it seems like the iniquity is coming in faster than you can sweep it out. Keep sweeping, cleaning, preaching, teaching, and reaching.

Eventually, you'll look back over your shoulder and realize that your labor was not in vain. You will walk to your pulpit, look across your congregation, and realize those Wednesday night Bible studies, designed to create a deeper walk with God, or those Sunday night messages that at times seemed so scathing and harsh, were not in vain. For you didn't teach them, nor preach them, with a personal vendetta in mind, but as the watchman on the wall, you sounded the alarm against the intrusion and invasion of iniquity.

As the doorkeeper of the house of God, you swept until your hands were blistered, until your back ached from the labor; you swept against the winds of society, of tradition, of immorality, against the winds of Hell that blew hot and furious back in your face.

Yet you continued to sweep.

I have a clean garage, and an almost-white driveway this morning, but that's only because I was bored and had nothing better to do.

You have a Calling, a mission, an unction from God Himself.

My job could have gone unnoticed and undone.

Your job cannot.

The End...of 2009

Looking back over 2009, this has not been a good year. I lost two men that were extremely dear to my heart, men that were both friend and mentor to me, yet neither of which I ever got a chance to really express my love and appreciation to.

Wayne Joiner, Jr. actually passed from this life in February of 2008, yet not having seen or heard from him in a long time, my search for him (including the internet) increased, ultimately leading me to the painful discovery of his death almost a year previous. I met Wayne 20+ years ago, when I was a cocky little 21-year old who just thought I could play the piano. After hearing Wayne, I practically swore off, stating that I would never touch a piano again. Fortunately, Wayne was kind and gentle, never arrogant or condescending, and he took me "under his wing" and shared with me many of the tricks, runs, hot 'licks' and styles that he had developed through the many years he had been playing professionally. Although I last saw him in Nashville, TN in 1991—shortly before my departure from the military—I kept the thoughts of Wayne close to my heart, and his music close at hand. In the time that I had known him, I considered him one of my dearest friends; I always considered it one of the highest compliments when folks, after hearing me play, would ask, "Did you ever know a guy by the name of Wayne Joiner? You play just like him..."

Rev. Carlton Watkins opened his heart and his church to my family and I back in 2001, when we were bruised and bleeding from a disastrous first pastorate at a notorious "family-owned-and-operated" church in north Texas. He never attempted to correct me through discipline or harsh words, but he loved me and accepted me as I was, understanding that God was in the process of molding and shaping my life. He was my Pastor, in my eyes, yet he always treated me as a peer, as a man, as a minister, even when I wasn't displaying the character of a man of God. The internet can be a source of much information, but it's not the place you want to discover that you have lost the man you always turned to in time of trouble and heartache. Reading a "tweet" about Bro. Watkins' untimely death was shocking to me, and when I called his cell phone—frantically hoping to prove someone wrong—and Tommy Craft answered, I broke down into sobs; if Bro. Craft understood a single word that I tried to say, I don't know how, but he acted like he did, and offered his consolation. I didn't know then, and still don't know, whom I will turn to when I need a Pastor, or a shepherd, to speak to, but I always took comfort in just seeing "Carlton Watkins" there in my cellphone name/number list.

As silly as it may seem to many, the pain increased with the loss of my sweet little KitterKat, the furry little darling who had been with me for over 17 years. I know guys aren't supposed to get this attached to animals (especially cats! for some reason, guys are always expected to be a 'dog person', never a 'cat person') but this little sweetheart had been with me since before I married and had children. She was not just a "pet"; she was a member of the family, almost like another child (although certainly less trouble!). My wife and I still laugh (often through tears) at how predictable we had become in our routine: KitterKat knew when it was coffeetime every morning, she knew when it was time for us to watch our Netflix shows in the evenings, and she knew when it was time for bed. She would often lead the way, and if I stayed at my desk past the time when I should have been going to bed, she would often jump up and parade back and forth between me and my keyboard, looking at me as if to say, "Umm, I believe it's your bedtime; you wanna turn this thing off, now?" Not only would she inform me when it was bedtime, but she would follow us to bed, and wait for me to turn out the light, before circling around my head, then nudging the covers with her nose. When I lifted them, she would slip down under the covers, curl up against my stomach, and would spend the night there sleeping against us. Several years before she passed, we purchased one of those self-cleaning litterboxes, the automatic kind that churn noisily after the cat uses it. It was always funny (and still is, when we allow ourselves to think about it) to hear three predictable flushes right at bedtime: first, when my wife used the restroom, then when I did, and the third "flush" was KitterKat's litterbox running its cleaning cycle after she used it.

It's been a...painful...year, albeit with some new friends and wonderful memories made. We were blessed, miraculously, to get a week-long vacation in Jackson, Wyoming at the home of some friends (a dear young lady whom we'd known for years, and her husband whom we'd never met). We also met a precious church family who become "our" church family, although we're miles apart. Bro. & Sis. Neal, and the Star Valley Apostolic Church of Alpine, WY, have become wonderful friends, and I feel that a connection was made that, hopefully, will last for many years to come.

We came home from our trip to Wyoming feeling as though God had given us clear direction for the future of our life, and even went so far as to start packing the house for what we thought would be an immediate move. Unfortunately, God's timing is not ours, and we still sit here in Austin, TX, waiting on God to open all the doors. He has told us He would do so, however, and so we know it is merely a matter of being patient, and waiting on His timing. In the meantime, stacks of U-Haul boxes sit in the garage, waiting to be moved to a much nicer climate (sure, it's a bit chilly there right now!) and unpacked, hopefully for the final time.

"There are many adversaries..." This was prophecied over my wife and I some eight years ago, in December of 2001. I believe the portal has been revealed to us, and I believe that, as Paul stated, it is a "great door, and effectual" to what God hopes to accomplish in me. However, the adversaries have been many, and they have railed against us continually, almost from our arrival back here in Austin, after our trip to Wyoming. I confess that I have fallen; I have failed; I have stumbled; I have been wounded in the battle, yet time and time again, God sends an encouraging word telling me to rise up, and I hear the cry, "To the battle yet again!" Do I ever think of giving up? Of course; I am human. But God is supernatural, and He is Almighty, Omnipotent, All-Knowing, and "able to do exceedingly, abundantly above all that we can ask or think". It is not my battle unless I choose to make it so; if I lean on Him and allow Him to guide my hand, my eye, my sword, I will win this fight, and I will be an effective minister in His Kingdom.

Yes, it's been a rough year. My blog is proof of that, for the scribbles in my heart have been few. It seems the well has run dry. But God will anoint me, and will pour in His Spirit of refreshing, and I will continue the battle.

I will run the race.

I will finish the course.

There is laid up a crown for me, but before I reach that eternal crown, I believe there is a task, an opportunity, a field, a ministry, that will be effective to many, and will be effective in the Kingdom of God.

For God has said, though the mouths of multiple witnesses: "Beyond your greatest imagination..."

And I believe God.

While You're In The Palace...

Nehemiah was the king's cupbearer, living securely in the palace of Shushan, ever close to the King's presence, always at His beck and call.

Meanwhile, his fellow captive Jews were "in great affliction and reproach" because the walls and gates had been destroyed. Walls were a city's chief defense against enemy forces. The gates, in addition to being a defense, were also a city's identity; in some instances, the gates even represented the "glory" of a city.

With no walls to defend her, the former Jerusalem was easy prey for marauding armies. With her gates burned, she had lost her identity, indeed, her glory. No doubt Jerusalem had brought upon herself this tragic fall from Jehovah's graces; yet there was a man whose heart was not calloused to her downfall. Nehemiah received word about the reproach of his brethren, and his heart was broken. He sat down to weep, to implore God for the plight of his own countrymen, and even to repent on their behalf.

I wonder, while you're in the palace, can your heart still be touched with the plight of those who have brought about their own ruination? Or are you so secure, so comfortable in your own calling as the King's servant, that you scarcely remember those whom you once called "brethren"?