Years ago, when I was just beginning to wonder about Jesus, the phrase “personal relationship with Jesus” was a complete turn-off for me. I had no clue what that meant! Even after I became a believer I still wrestled with the concept of such a presumptuous affiliation with the Lord of the Universe.

It wasn’t until after my Daddy died and the whiff of mustard hit my nose one day, sending me into a spiral of nostalgia, that I realized knowing how a beloved person smelled was one of the most intimate parts of a personal relationship.

Daddy adored yellow mustard and put it on just about everything he ate. I think its odor oozed through his pores.

Instead of perfumed aftershave, every morning he doused his newly-shaven face with rubbing alcohol.  Isopropyl alcohol is also my Daddy.

Recently, when I had reason to be in an old machine shop, the smell of its ancient oil and grease stopped me in my tracks, as my throat constricted with another memory of my father.  He had run a machine shop and its smell clung to his clothes.

So what does memory of Daddy’s smell have to do with Jesus? Well, after a whole lot of prayer and devotional time, I realized I did have a personal relationship with Him – because just as I know what my daddy smelled like, I know what Jesus smells like too!

Before you scourge me as a heretic for intimating such, 2 Corinthians 2:15 kinda backs me up – “For to God we are Christ’s fragrance…” Jesus does have a smell, and God recognizes it! And, a little bit, I do too!

During prayer I often visualize myself burrowing my face into Jesus’ chest. You know what? I can smell my Lord!  And like my daddy, Jesus has different scents at different times.

When I’m happy and just want to climb up in His lap and get a spiritual hug, my spiritual nose luxuriates in the fragrance of clean, starched cotton. Sort of how my husband smells when he puts on a shirt, fresh from the laundry.

When I need forgiveness for some wrong I’ve done, I can almost smell the acrid odor of His blood which has washed away that very sin.

When sadness overwhelms me, I sense my tears leaving huge wet spots on His garments, which take on the salty, tear-soaked smell of a sodden handkerchief that’s absorbed the wetness of grief.

And when, in my better moments, I’ve come to Him, trying to find out how He’d like to use me and my puny abilities, He’s smelled like the good, clean sweat of honest labor – kind of like my mama smelled when she’d work long hours in her garden. (I’ve known then that He wants me to get off my butt and sweat a little for Him!)

So about that personal relationship with Jesus – I absolutely know I have one now! What can be any more personal than nestling against Someone and recognizing the very essence of His own special smell?