a mainstream trip memory
I was outside this morning with Greta, enjoying an April day. It's getting hotter and hotter around here, and there are very few days left that can be said to be enjoyed strictly on virtue of their pleasant atmosphere. We were running around. She contrives to make me run more than I would like to, but it's awfully fun.
I chanced to smell my hand. I started sniffing the back of it, and my forearm, and the other hand and forearm. The smell took me back immediately to church mission trips.
I then realized why. It's because there've been so few times in my life that I've been awake and outside in the morning sweating. I associate that dewy smell on me in the morning with the only compactly predictable times I've smelled it: church mission trips. That I actually woke up and went outside and did manual labor, year after year, is a testament to the power of the Spirit.
I chanced to smell my hand. I started sniffing the back of it, and my forearm, and the other hand and forearm. The smell took me back immediately to church mission trips.
I then realized why. It's because there've been so few times in my life that I've been awake and outside in the morning sweating. I associate that dewy smell on me in the morning with the only compactly predictable times I've smelled it: church mission trips. That I actually woke up and went outside and did manual labor, year after year, is a testament to the power of the Spirit.
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