PJ asks this question of every one of our program applicants. It throws most people for a loop because no one has ever asked them that before--or never told them God had a smell, or allowed them the spiritual contemplation to consider such a possibility. In retrospect, I'm kind of bummed she didn't ask me when she interviewed me to direct the program; since this week is an interview blitz, I was thinking about it.
I smell God in a lot of places.
I smell God in the salt air of my hometown, after I've been away long enough to adjust to a salt-free place.
I smell God in the subtle mix of detergent, deodorant, and Berkeley that is Jonathan's shoulder when I hug him hello.
I smell God in the deep warmth of masala chai.
I smell God in the pine and baked goods of my mom's house, just before Christmas.
I smell God in the untouched pages of a new book.
Tell me, where do you smell God?
I smell God in a lot of places.
I smell God in the salt air of my hometown, after I've been away long enough to adjust to a salt-free place.
I smell God in the subtle mix of detergent, deodorant, and Berkeley that is Jonathan's shoulder when I hug him hello.
I smell God in the deep warmth of masala chai.
I smell God in the pine and baked goods of my mom's house, just before Christmas.
I smell God in the untouched pages of a new book.
Tell me, where do you smell God?