I’m a young ladyso obviously lookingsmelling good still mean the world to me. On this day I was traveling public means. Well then, it was not the most elaborate mode, so at one point in walked a lady (grabby looking) carrying only heaven knows what in a traditional bag (kiondo). Whatever was in there had my hands reflexively open the window next to memy head turnlook out.
We prodded along (for what I had to “endure,” that normal pace seemed to me like snail-speed), amidst my very concentrated efforts on my part to get fresh air for my nose,perhaps save some of my perfume…. It was when the matatu stoppedthe lady had to alight that I realized how meanbad I’d been. It was when she alighted, smiled at the conductorsaid thank you for his help with her load; that I realized that she was barely older than me, perhaps fending for her children. She’d tried making conversation all the wayI’d successfully ignored. But when I saw that last smile on her face as we zoomed off, my stomach turned. I know I had a long way to go. I had hurt her, for my smell conveniences. And I would never, ever have a chance to make up for that.
I don’t know about you, but a smile, to me, has a longer lasting goodness effect that a little perfume inconvenience. Who was more important where I was going that I needed to please with my good smell? The wind was eventually going to lessen the effect of my perfume anyway…as it would of bad temporary contact smell; but in one case my life would be so stuck-upfull of only myself, while in the other I would strum a chord of loveacceptance versus discriminationrejection of someone else that God loves. It doesn’t build my ego one bit to confess that I’m a pastor’s wife,a minister myself.