Not long after we moved to Tyler our neighbor called to ask for help, from our side of the fence. She was pulling honeysuckle vines off her newly planted bushes. Killer honeysuckle, she called them. Their slender tendrils were choking her delicate young seedlings. We joined her in eradicating the culprits.
We did not tell our neighbor we were actually cultivating our own honeysuckle, fortunately in a bed far from her fence. Nor did we mention we enjoyed its sweet aroma.
The aroma of Christ is like the fragrance of the honeysuckle. A reminder of death to those who are not saved. A heavenly bouquet to those who will share eternity with Him.
As women of God, we carry that fragrance with us wherever we go. Some bless us for it. Others ridicule us when we speak of Jesus. Yet the aroma lingers.
Sweet Jesus, I pray that the aroma of my example might penetrate the souls of the perishing so that you might become, to them, the fragrance of life.
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