Sacrificial Smell - The Aroma of Righteousness

 Sacraficial Smell

Last year I started meeting 1-1 with an InterVaristy staff for mentorship and descipling. Our relationship formed from a conversation I had with her under the impression I would see her maybe once or twice more before graduating. I had been introduced to her a few times at different events, but she staffed a different campus and was only at Wheaton for the day. I had recently returned from a very difficult study abroad. I was entirely disillusioned with my school work and felt only stress when I thought about Wheaton’s Christian fellowship which I was leading. I was in need of serious rest. I let the staff know all of these things because I thought there would be no consequences. She however, had a lot more flexibility in her schedule than I was aware of and committed to meeting with me for direction for as long as I wanted up until graduation.

One of the first things we ended up speaking about was Sabbath. I was not aware of the Sabbath as a spiritual practice in a Christian context and only had one friend who practiced intentional rest in any religious/spiritual context. When I felt like I had a basic understanding of why Sabbathing is both required of us and given to us I wanted to know the practicalities. My Jewish friend would tell me about how much she loved Shabbat dinners and spending dedicated time with family and community. But how was I to observe this practice of rest as a single, Christian, college student without any seasoned vets to learn from or first-time practitioners to explore with?

I knew I couldn’t spend all day online; I was already resorting to that level of avoidance when my stress was at its worst. My friend’s Sundays mostly looked like sleeping in, doing chores, and getting started (or caught up) on that week’s schoolwork. I even struggled to be 24 hours off of Jolli’s rhythm! 
The staff and I compiled a list of things I could spend my time doing. I do not have many hobbies. My entire childhood and adolescence were consumed by dance which is hardly part of my life anymore. I love to be in the kitchen, but I pay for a meal plan at school, and considering my eating disorder history, that time would not have been restful. It was still unpleasantly cold outside, and I have never been particularly outdoorsy, so sitting on the Dimple or by the pond was also out. At some point during the frustrating brainstorm, the topic of painting nails came up.  

It really is the perfect practice for me. My at-home manicures usually last about 6-8 days and I do not allow myself to do any work during the time that my nails are wet. It even stops me from falling for the oh-so-tempting after church naps which ruin my sleep schedule for the week. Over the last 14 months, I have painted my nails almost every Sunday. I am at the point where the smell of nail polish feels sacred. A reminder of the gift of rest I am given by God as well as the small sacrifice of time I give back to God trusting and relying on Him rather than my own productivity. 

This year I attempted to expand this personal practice into something I could share with others inside and outside of my religious community. For several weeks in a row at the beginning of the Fall and Spring semesters, I shared a mass invite to my dorm building where anyone could come a rest on Sunday afternoons. I would provide snacks, coloring sheets, good music, nail polish, a reading buddy, and anything we could dream of for a time of communal rest. Unfortunately no one ever really took me up on this opportunity. The reliable smell of nail polish and acetone kept me grounded during the more lonely weekends centering me on why I initially started exploring intentional rest.

I still look forward to the day I can host a full house for Sabbath. Whether that means an apartment filled with other single women sometime soon or one day with my own family, I can almost smell it now.

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