Scent or Smell?

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Have you ever stepped into an elevator with a woman who’s wearing too much perfume? It’s enough to make you step out and head for the stairs. That’s the way Nate wore cologne. His preference was Aramis, a pricey scent introduced in 1965. He was wearing it in 1966 when we met as college seniors and was still wearing it on our wedding day three years later.

I liked Aramis, even lots of it. The problem came when I was expecting baby #1, in 1972. Funny things happen to normal women when they become pregnant, and my hormones birthed a hatred for Aramis. It no longer smelled good; it just smelled. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with it, which presented a major problem for our marriage.

“Pour it down the drain,” I insisted, but Nate loved his Aramis and didn’t understand my turncoat behavior. By baby #3, I’d done so much complaining, he finally surrendered, and I know why. Desperate to get my way, I’d told him, “If you keep wearing it, I can’t kiss you anymore and risk that stuff rubbing off on me.” That did it.

Trying to remain calm amidst the churning emotions of his pregnant wife, he asked, “So, what cologne can I wear?”

“Old Spice.”

I saw him turn up his nose and tip his head as if to say, “Are you kidding? That’s what our fathers wear!”

But he didn’t say it, and soon a stopper-topped, milk-glass Old Spice bottle appeared in our bathroom. The familiar ship on the front was comforting to me, and the scent was pleasing since it reminded me of… my father.

Nate saved his bottle of Aramis for years, hoping I’d eventually warm up to it again. I left it there under the sink, thinking I might enjoy it after we finished having babies, which took 17 years. In the mean time, he got plenty of kisses while wearing Old Spice. Sadly, though, my distaste for Aramis never went away.

But 2005 was a banner year, because something happened that opened the door to Aramis. Our golden retriever had a mental snap, and though she loved me, attacked me with an intent to kill. Snarling and growling, she bit me repeatedly, tore my skin open and shook me like a captured rabbit. Two days later, admitted to the hospital with a serious infection, I was given “the atomic bomb of antibiotics.” It was a last-ditch effort to save my hand from amputation.

“You’ll probably smell something terrible inside your head for several weeks,” the doctor told me. “It’ll be the medicine. And more than likely it’ll take away your sense of smell. But which would you rather have, a hand or a sense of smell?”

I picked my hand, and the doctor was right about my nose. After those antibiotics I couldn’t smell anymore, not even Nate’s Old Spice. So one day I told him, “Guess what. You can wear Aramis again, because I can’t smell you anymore.”

He immediately got rid of his Old Spice bottle, but rather than resurrect the Aramis, he experimented with other colognes. I bought him a bottle of Brut, thinking Elvis Presley’s choice would make cologne-wearing fun again, but amazingly, he settled on Mennen Aftershave, a mild scent bought at Walgreens for $1.99.

Today at the cottage I found three bottles of his bright green Mennen under the bathroom sink. I opened one to sniff deeply, wondering if I might be able to smell Nate, but nothing came. Since our boys had no interest, I simply poured it all out. As I watched his Mennen swirl down the drain, I realized in a new way what a great love Nate had for me.

It’s the refusal to give in to the whims of a spouse that can one day become the spontaneous combustion of divorce. Nate didn’t want to give up his Aramis, and he held on for three babies trying to convince me. But when he saw I wasn’t going to bend, he did the bending for both of us and put it away. At the time I didn’t appreciate the significance of what he’d done. I probably said something like, “Thank goodness!” or “Finally!”

Today I say, “Shame on me.”

My objection to Aramis was valid, but my mistake was in failing to honor my husband for his willingness to give up what he’d wanted to keep. More and more I’m realizing that much of the reason our marriage worked was because Nate acquiesced to my desires. I wish I would have looked for more ways to give in to him, and oh how I wish I could thank him now… for putting away his Aramis, way back in 1977.

“Keep fervent in your love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaint.” (1 Peter 4:8-9)

Facing a Giant

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Looking out our front windows through a grid of icicle-bars, I saw three flashes of color dart past. Cross country skiers, right on the streets. With seven inches of fresh snow, they were taking advantage of winter on our unplowed roads. An hour later, as I was shoveling the drive, they glided by in the other direction. “Spectacular, isn’t it?” one of the women shouted as she passed me.

Once I got to the grocery store, employees chatted enthusiastically about the blessing of a good snowfall. “Please let me take your cart out for you,” the bagger said, grabbing his jacket. “I haven’t been outside for a while and want to get back in the weather.” This was a bagger-man in his sixties whose enthusiasm was impressive.

As a new Michigan resident, I was gaining insight into my fellow Michiganders, people who’ve dealt with the challenge of winter every year. Watching the bag-man wrestle my cart through deep drifts in the parking lot, I coaxed him to complain. “Will you have to do a lot of shoveling when you get home?”

“I love to shovel,” he said, with a dip of his chin. “What would life be without a challenge?”

The man had missed his calling. Instead of bagging groceries he should have been running a think tank. Of course he was right about life’s challenges, although most of us avoid them. That’s probably because taking up a challenge can end badly, not to mention the pain that can be involved. There is also a high probability of failure.

I love the biblical story of the warrior Goliath taunting the whole Israelite army. His specific challenge was for them to send one individual to “come and get him.” It was a double-or-nothing dare after which the loser’s army would become slaves to the winner’s army.

David couldn’t believe any Israelite would shrink back from Goliath’s challenge. After all, Almighty God was on their side! He didn’t even have to think about it but went after Goliath with fervor. The Bible says, “As Goliath moved closer to attack, David quickly ran out to meet him.” (1 Sam. 17:48)

Since he was just a “ruddy-faced boy” (v. 42), we could conclude he was motivated by the foolishness of youth and didn’t know any better. But David knew enough, that the God of Israel controlled everything, including a nine foot tall ogre.

We all know the happy end of this story, how David’s one smooth stone embedded itself in the evil giant’s forehead, knocking him flat and giving David time to rush in and kill him with his own sword. A giant-sized challenge was accepted and dominated, and for the rest of his life, David was a hero.

Although I never met David, I do know another hero I very much admire, my husband Nate. He was presented with a challenge few people on this earth are given: militant cancer along with a death sentence that would conquer his life in a few weeks. Most men would have run from this enemy like the Israelites ran from Goliath. Some might have exited the fight altogether by denying reality. Others might have railed against God for allowing the battle in the first place. Nate did none of these.

In my eyes he was a hero in that he squared off with the challenge presented to him. Although he responded to the appalling cancer news with shock and revulsion, before long he said yes to the challenge. Throughout his combat with disease, he was required to move in and out of acute pain physically, emotionally and mentally, as well as bear up under anguish of heart. Yet he didn’t shrink back or even ask why. Instead he asked, “Why not?”

One morning about half way through his 42 days of cancer, I asked him how he was feeling after a rocky night. Instead of answering me directly, he answered like a man in the midst of a battle. “Well,” he said, “we soldier onward.”

Some might say, “Yes, but he lost the fight. He died.”

To them I say, Nate won the ultimate prize, knocking death flat just as David knocked Goliath flat. He used death as a stepping stone into a joy-filled eternity, conquering his giant-cancer-challenge in the process. He won, and he is my hero.

“I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:14)

Trusting in a Chariot

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Nate was not mechanical and couldn’t fix cars, but in every other respect, he took care of our vehicles. He did the insurance research and payment, had the oil changed on time, made sure the proof of insurance was in each glove compartment, bought new tires, had maintenance check-ups, put the city decal and license plate sticker on each one, became best friends with the man at the body shop and had a strong relationship with the mechanic who kept our cars in working order.

Now that Nate is gone, some of that car-stuff is drifting my way, although Nelson has been intercepting much of it. Today I spent time on the phone developing a bond with Geico Insurance, trying not to sound stupid with my questions. When previous phone conversations are followed by contrary paperwork in the mailbox, its time to get close and personal. I chalked it up to another example of what my widow warriors refer to as the “endless paperwork of widowhood”. But even I know its important to get papers in order for the season of high-risk winter driving.

I grew up in Chicago where we had plenty of snow and ice, but living now on the east side of Lake Michigan, I’m in the path of what weathermen call “lake-effect snow.” This adds new depth (and density) to the word “blizzard.”

My game of slip-‘n-slide with an old minivan after our first snowfall (Dec. 7 blog) convinced me I should begin hunting for a four-wheel drive vehicle. Taking my own poll as our neighbors have driven by, I’ve seen that nine out of ten drivers have chosen crossovers or SUVs. With hilly dunes beneath our asphalt, which is beneath our snow, that makes good sense. In this neighborhood, slippery roads can cause even a quick trip to the post office to be put on hold.

Nelson and I concocted a plan to sell both Nate’s car and mine with the hope of purchasing a small, used 4WD vehicle. Nate’s car sold on Craig’s list in one hour. My van was more of a challenge, its glowing “check engine” light having been on for 4000 miles. Nelson and I began looking at 4×4’s, but everything was too pricey, so I decided to slide through the rest of winter in my van, hoping to buy something ahead of next winter.

But when I tried to get out of the neighborhood, I got stuck on the exit road with its ever-so-slight incline and a stop sign at the top. Even backing up for a running start didn’t work. Heading back to the house on the least hilly streets, I felt like Ma Ingalls. Just like her, I’d probably have to stockpile errands for the first thaw.

Little did I know that God-the-husband was about to solve the problem through my caring brother-in-law Bervin, who is always willing (eager!) to be used by the Lord. On Saturday he drove into our driveway behind the wheel of a big, black Dodge Durango saying, “How ‘bout we go on a test drive?” He and Mary were offering their SUV.

Climbing up into the driver’s seat, I felt ready to conquer any dune! With no effort at all we backed over mounds of snow left by plows and headed for the entrance road, which was a bunny hill to this powerful machine. I felt surrounded in safety. No more slip-‘n-slide games for this girl! “You can use it indefinitely,” Bervin said, “because I won’t need it through the winter.”

Scripture says we’re not to trust in horses or chariots to win our battles, but looking out the front window at my “new” Durango, I’ve got a lot of faith in that chariot. There isn’t much doubt it’ll conquer every snow-challenge winter spits out.

The real security, though, beneath those monster-size tires (Could they be three feet wide?!) is a brother-in-law and sister who are looking out for me, putting my needs ahead of their own. As Scripture says, “Each of you should look not only to your own interests but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:4) This is very difficult to do, but on Saturday, it got done.

“May the Lord answer you when you are in distress; may the name of the God of Jacob protect you. May he give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed. Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.” (Psalm 20:1,4,7)