Illegitimate Children of Prosperity / Oh, To Smell God's Shirt

Several years ago, I had the honor of sharing in the lives of some very special children in a densely populated area of a large southern city. Primarily poor minority communities shaped these secluded ghettos shrouded by interstates and skyrise structures. Tiny deteriorating wood framed houses and brick duplexes occupied almost every foot of city plot. Young men and women clustered together in small groups on empty lots and behind overfilled trash bins--while dilapidated porches and crumbling sidewalks bore the weight of old men with flyswatters and old women with hand held fans. Voices of young boys with tattered footballs and little girls skipping rope camouflaged the stench of despair that seemed to fill the decaying human backdrop. Bareboned canines scavenged for food. Sickly kittens nursed on the necks of children, while green bottle flies swarmed their bowls of stinking clabbered milk.

This was the life of the invisible, the bypassed interstate secret of the proud and self-righteous…the illegitimate children of prosperity.

These are the faces of God.

Thank you Heavenly Father. You have filled the empty places of my heart with riches this world could never have afforded me. You have shown me your eyes, your smile, your spirit and your love through those of these little ones. For that, I am most endearingly grateful.

Anyone who sets himself up as “religious” by playing a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world.

James 1: 26-27 The Message (MSG)

^~~~

Oh, To Smell God's Shirt

We were discussing the story of Abraham, one of the ancient historic figures from the Bible. During the discussion, a little hand went up and one small boy asked what kind of neighborhood Abraham lived in.

"Did Abraham live in the white neighborhood or the projects?"

Wow! I didn’t expect that one. Talk about a loaded question. I decided to stick with the subject at hand and tackle the topic of race and ethnics at a later date. To answer his question, as it reflected the historical setting of Abraham’s time, I proceeded to discuss what it might have been like to live in a desert. None of the children knew what a desert was. I could have just shown them a picture book photo of a desert and been done with it. Instead, I asked them to close their eyes and imagine a desert as I described it.

So, I described the sun, the sand, the animals, and the people of the desert. With their eyes still closed, I asked them to tell me what they were seeing, smelling, touching, hearing and tasting. I heard responses like:

^{“I smells a camel! A}^{nd he sho do stink!”
“I feels the suitcases on the camels back and they feels like Mama’s shoes.”
“I feels the sands in my socks and they’s hot.”
“I hear Abraham tellin’ stories about God to his children.”
“I sees lots and lots'o sands, and a snake runnin’ from the camels.”
“I taste the wind and it taste like salt in it.”}

And so they continued. One right after the other, descriptive imaginings of the neighborhood and community Abraham called home filled the tiny room. And then my eyes fell on little Brandi. Sitting quietly (a feat she rarely accomplished), Brandi’s face was filled with the most peaceful, reflective smile.

“Brandi, would you like to share with us what you are imagining?”

Brandi took a deep, full breath of air and with eyes still closed and her little heart full of imaginings, she stated:

^{“Oh Mitt Dahling}^{…I smells God’s shirt and it sho do smells purdy.”}

I was dumbstruck. Wanting to be certain of what I had heard, I asked:

“Brandi, what did you say, sweetheart?”

^{“I smells God’s shirt, Mitt Dahling…and it sho do smells purdy.”}

I felt my eyes tear up and spill over. The room was bathed in seraphic silence. My heart was awash in awe. A reverent quiet filled my soul. My tear blurred eyes scanned the circle of soft tanned faces, statuette and reflective. With eyes closed and contemplative, I replied:

^{“You know Brandi, sometimes when I am sitting beneath my favorite tree, or walking in the woods or a park filled with flowers, I think I smell God’s shirt too. It is like he just walked by me. And his shirt does smell pretty, doesn’t it Brandi?”

“Uh huh, Mitt Dahling, it sho do’s”.
She continued to smile.}

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Oh, to smell God’s shirt

To experience the Father’s presence so divinely intimately

To breathe in the fragrance of Love

The “Purdy”

To feel safe

To feel peace

To smell God’s shirt

*The "Purdy"* image copyright of Hope - of Hope's Hollow in partnership with

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