To Hull and Back

On Monday I caught the train to Kingston upon Hull. Getting away for a couple of days allows me to recharge batteries, read without distraction and see new places about which I may write. Furthermore, a widowed aunt lives here whose husband I buried four years ago this month. I sometimes think that one’s grief kicks in only after most people have stopped offering comfort and support.

A man of modest taste, I book single rooms in cheap hotels. The room, at thirty-five pounds a night, had a small, en-suite shower (five pounds less would have secured access to a communal bathroom) which had a strong, ‘damp’ smell about it. It had no window, so I switched on the extractor and opened the little window above the bed. Within half an hour, that rather overpowering stench had gone. Gone, that is, until I returned the following evening. That pong was there again. What brought it back? What persuaded it to return? I rather suspect it never left, but that my nostrils got used to it. And so with sin. Its presence is soon accommodated, accepted and unnoticed by the carnal mind. It even develops an affection for it, having known no different. As one returns from the fresh air, however, the fetid stink is sniffed again. The more time one spends in Christ’s delightful company, the more obnoxious the gasses and vapours of the enemy.

Who is this coming out of the wilderness Like pillars of smoke, Perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, With all the merchant’s fragrant powders? Song of Solomon 3:6

Image by MussM from Pixabay