THE SMELL
You noticed it before you admitted it.
Two apples sat on a plate.
They still looked whole.
From a distance they looked fine.
But they weren’t fine.
DEDICATION
To the Holy Spirit — who never stops shaping me, correcting me, and reminding me that I am still unfinished.
To my wife — for her love, her discernment, and her ability to find what I refuse to see, even over the phone.
To the friends and readers who walk with me — your presence is light in a world that dims quickly.
May this be a blessing to us all as we search our souls and grow.
“A little leaven leavens the whole lump.” — Galatians 5:9 (NKJV)
THE HOOK
You always know when a diaper needs changing.
The smell tells you.
The question is whether you are willing to stop long enough to do something about it.
THE STORY
I’ve been a bachelor for seven days.
My wife is snowed in at my sister’s house. Roads closed. Just me and the quiet.
Enforced stillness.
The kind you don’t choose — but the kind that, if you let it, begins to surface things.
It’s been that kind of week.
Small things resisting resolution.
Fix one detail and another shows up behind it.
Nothing catastrophic.
Just friction.
And somewhere in the middle of it, a smell started.
Day one, faint.
Day three, it had worked its way into the bedroom.
Not overwhelming.
Just persistent.
Something off.
I tore the refrigerator apart.
Checked the pantry.
Emptied the fruit bowl.
Lifted the dog bed.
Opened drawers I hadn’t touched in months.
At one point I wondered if something had died in the walls.
Jasper and Truman would pause mid-step.
Noses lifted.
Even they knew.
Hours over the course of a week.
Searching.
Rechecking.
Circling back.
Sixty-six years of living — and for seven days I was undone by something I refused to see.
THE MOMENT (BAM)
On the phone I told my wife I couldn’t find it.
“Did you check the kitchen table?” she asked.
“I’ve looked at the table three or four times.”
“Look again.”
Two apples sat on a plate.
By then they were no longer clean.
A thin bloom of mold had begun surfacing across their skin.
From a distance they still looked whole.
Still looked fine.
But tucked behind them — almost invisible — was a slice of lemon.
Half an inch thick.
Something once cut to add flavor
had been quietly decaying all week.
THE TURN
As it decayed, it began doing what hidden rot always does.
It spread.
The apples didn’t bring the corruption.
They inherited it.
Simply by being close to what was left unaddressed.
I removed the lemon.
The smell disappeared almost immediately.
Relief.
A little foolishness.
And something that felt uncomfortably like conviction.
THE REFLECTION
Here’s what I couldn’t stop thinking about afterward.
If the house hadn’t gone quiet that week…
If life had stayed loud and full and moving…
I might have grown used to it.
We do that.
We adjust to the smell instead of finding the source.
We light a candle.
Open a window.
Tell ourselves it’s not that bad.
All the while something small and hidden keeps working on everything within reach.
I raised children.
I know this truth in the most basic human way possible.
You always know when a diaper needs changing.
The smell tells you.
The question is never whether you can detect it.
The question is whether you’ll stop long enough to do something about it.
Sometimes our souls are the same way.
Something feels off.
A restlessness you can’t name.
A conversation you keep almost having.
A habit you keep almost addressing.
You can smell it.
But life stays loud.
And loud is easier than still.
And still is where the source gets found.
“Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me, and know my anxieties;
And see if there is any wicked way in me,
And lead me in the way everlasting.” — Psalm 139:23–24 (NKJV)
WALKAWAY LINE
What begins hidden rarely stays contained.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
You already know something doesn’t smell right.
The question isn’t whether you can detect it.
The question is whether you will get still enough — and brave enough — to look behind what still looks fine.
MY PRAYER
My Heavenly Father,
Search my heart and reveal what I would rather ignore.
Expose the quiet drift before it spreads.
Give me the courage to confront what is small now before it becomes heavy later.
Teach me to choose stillness over distraction and truth over comfort.
Clean what needs cleaning.
Restore what has begun to decay.
And let the people closest to me breathe cleaner air because I chose to face what needed facing.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
ABOUT G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender.
His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady.
Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~
Perfect timing. Confirmation.
I had to have a conversation today that I’ve not been ignoring the smell as much as ignoring the need to listen, talk to Holy Spirit and get clarification on. Rather than a smell it was a gnawing. Had I let it go longer it would have started stinking. The stench of disobedience.
Call was made.
Oh the sweet smell of resolution!
Thank you sweet man.
Brilliant and thought-provoking spark. Praise God for humility and discernment which help to combat the insidious invasion of “drift.” Also, how beautiful and invaluable is Christ-centered community in bringing light and awareness into places where I might remain blind and insensitive.