I walked in the door and couldn’t help but inhale deeply. The rich, deep, comforting smell of coffee both assaults and eases into every part of my olfactory system. The funny thing is? I don’t even like DRINKING coffee. But my body, heart and mind are instantly comforted with the smell…

Growing up, the coffee pot was always on at our house. I didn’t even think it then, it just was the smell as you entered our house. Similarly, my dad always had the coffee pot on in his physical therapy office and I remember my mom consistently wrinkling her nose about “how strong you make it!” when we stopped in to visit. I simultaneously connected the smell to home, my dad, hospitality (because somehow, when adults were together, coffee was ALWAYS offered) and also the taste being “too strong.”

In my young adult hood I was privileged to spend a lot of time in the home of my mentor with his family. They had three kids and both Rick and Mariann were instrumental in these hard to understand years in my first job (in ministry), both had counseling backgrounds and were very accepting and authentic; a tremendous comfort to me. And anytime I walked into THEIR house, was the smell of coffee.

It had a slightly different aroma than what I grew up (Perhaps Folgers versus a coffee house blend?) but was still, the smell of coffee. The smell had come to mean safety, care and just being heard. And still, the taste left me wrinkling my nose and sputtering. I am actually a tea kind of girl, but that is for another day, another post for sure.

In those early days of ministry, I spent so many afternoon and sometimes evening hours at a new (at the time, to our corner of Michigan) coffee shop called JP’s. I’m not quite sure how I landed there, to be honest, being that I was NOT a coffee drinker…I think it was effort to be the “cool adult” in youth ministry and JP’s was my inroad to the goal. I spent hours tucked in a booth, munching on bagels, tea (for me) and hearing intense, beautiful unforgettable stories in the lives of so many teens. I went home with the smell of JP’s coffee embedded in my clothes, all the way to my skin, their stories, tears, laughter growth embedded just as deeply in my heart and my prayers. The smell of coffee morphed again to mean ministry, prayer, hope and a sense of awe that I got to be the person to listen to every one of those amazing kids.

Do you have one of those smells? One that brings you back to a time or feeling the second it hits your nostrils? Our olfactory receptors—proteins in the nasal passages that bind to odors and relay a signal to the brain, are a big connection to both the good and the really difficult memories sometimes. For some dealing with trauma, it could be the smell of gasoline that brings back the difficult memories of a car accident or the smell of bleach and sterilizer at the vet’s office that brings back the death of a beloved pet. I have for a long time, helped people process both the good and the hard associated with smell.

My beloved Gram ALWAYS wore Oil of Olay – a blush pink bottle with an abstract logo of a very serene woman, sitting front and center on her bathroom counter. In searching for a description of the scent, the best I read was, “White floral scent with almond, wisteria, cinnamon.

Her house had it’s own distinct smell too (like everyone’s): the smell of baking, sunshine and HER. Somehow, her Oil of Olay was blended in there as well. When she died suddenly when I was 19, within a few days, I panicked about “not smelling her house again.” Even then, the connection to smell was so important to me. My mom gave me a small little bottle of her Oil of Olay and for the longest time, in my missing her, I would open the small worn out bottle whose label had all but worn off and feel her standing right next to me.

I have listened to countless stories of people who are making their way through difficult losses and while in a store, library or some other completely random spot, somehow catch a whiff of “their person.” I think it can be a comfort and a painful thing to be transported this way. And unexpected sometimes, I have normalized it probably 550 times throughout my career…

For me, I love also to attach a scent to good memories, much like my Gram’s lotion.

My daughter has a special affinity for Tiffany jewelry but last year, begged for Tiffany Rose Gold perfume. We wandered through Ulta and I can still see her bouncing with excitement as we waded through the perfume aisles and cloud of competing fragrances. She handed me the tester bottle and as I sprayed it on a small strip of paper, the scent was a little unworldly. The ingredients list is blackcurrant, blue rose and Ambrette seed. I could not tell you what any of those look like or smell like individually, but I can tell you that my daughter and I sniffed that paper all afternoon between giggles and shopping. The aroma became a memory of spending time with her.

I did buy it for her for Christmas, she wears it often and as she recently traveled abroad with school for Spring Break, she quietly left the bottle on my counter to find when we returned from the airport. I wore it nearly everyday while she was gone, a way to hold her close.

Now, before the bottle becomes “ours,” I gave hers back and ordered my own.

You may think, this is silly or even have a hard time understanding such a connection to scents. Maybe that is not how it is for you. But I think if we close our eyes and imagine a smell of comfort, I imagine an image, feeling, place or memory comes to mind….

In 1998 the Parent Trap (re-make) was released. There was a scene where one of the twins, Hallie who “traded places” with her sister, Annie, met her grandpa for the first time. Annie had described him down to the mints he kept in a pocket and the pipe tobacco that clung to his clothes. Hallie buried her face in grandpa’s sweater, hugged him and inhaled deeply.

“What are you doing?” Grandpa asked.

“Making a memory.” Replied Hallie , tears in her eyes.

Of all the ways our bodies hold all the things, trauma, joy, memories, pain and relief, the connection to scents is one of my favorites. From the smell of walking into the Magic Kingdom, to the memories of my babies newborn “smell,” the way roses remind me of our wedding day or my mama’s lemon meringue pie, I am so thankful of the simple ways God allows us to remember…

Both…and

Psalm 13