The Smell of Peace

Isaiah 9:6 For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.

Many years ago, I rode a horse for the first time. It was a little tricky climbing up on his back. I was scared at first. However, once the trainer helped haul all of this butt up there, I began to feel comfortable. As a matter of fact, I felt free and confident.

As I trotted along the path, sitting high on that beautiful black stallion, I found myself in a place of peace. When the ride was over and I plopped down off the horse, I thought, Yes… I could do that again.

As I walked back to my cabin, a strange smell rose up into my nostrils. I quickly looked around, trying to figure out where the awful stench was coming from—only to realize it was coming from me. I smelled like hot poop.

That’s when it hit me. I was carrying the smell of the horse. Because I had sat on that stallion for thirty minutes, I had absorbed his scent. You couldn’t tell me from the horse. I hurried back to my cabin to wash off the stink so I wouldn’t offend others—or myself.

Today, as I was preparing for the Christmas holidays, I began contemplating the birth of Jesus. I pictured myself standing in that stable with Him and His parents. I imagined the horses neighing and the cows mooing. I saw hay falling from the loft, piles of horse manure and cow droppings scattered across the floor, dusty wood shavings, dirt rising from beneath our feet. I pictured the tools, the supplies, the mess.

Then I could almost smell it—the stable’s aroma overtaking me to the point of suffocation. It was a stench so pungent I could feel it. The kind of smell that sticks to your skin. The same kind of smell I carried after riding that horse.

Then I realized something else: Jesus, Mary, and Joseph didn’t have access to a bathroom or a hot shower. They couldn’t wash away the stench of that old barn. Yet I don’t recall a single verse where they complained. I don’t remember anyone commenting on how unbearable the smell must have been.

Suddenly, a thought came to me. We spend so much time trying to fix ourselves up to get ready for God. We work overtime trying to hide the stink of our sin. We lie. We misrepresent ourselves. We cover up with makeup, money, fame, clothes—masking all the ratchetness inside and out.

But one thing we forget is this: Jesus is intimately familiar with the smell of shit.

He was born into it. It clung to His skin. It traveled through His nostrils and filled His tiny lungs. He knows what manure smells like—and we cannot hide it from Him.

This reminded me that God is not surprised by our waste, our trash, or our unpleasant smells. In fact, what is offensive to us can be a sweet-smelling aroma to Him. He knows that, like Mary and Joseph, it’s not what’s inside the barn that matters—it’s the intention of the heart that offers itself as a sacrifice.

That stable was a gift of love to the newborn King.

The animals didn’t tidy up. They didn’t set out fine China or straighten the sheets. They simply gave what they had in humility. And it was enough. It provided warmth, shelter, and welcome. The dust didn’t matter—it was outshined by the Light of the world. The smell didn’t matter—it was overshadowed by the gentleness of love.

So, this Christmas, I say to you: don’t worry about rushing to buy the perfect gift. Don’t stress because your home isn’t exactly how you want it to be. Don’t fret over every detail. It doesn’t even matter if Jesus was actually born in December.

There is a peace to be enjoyed—the same peace I felt riding that beautiful black stallion.

Don’t let the commercialism of the holiday steal the meaning. There is something far greater behind Christmas. Let us humble ourselves, love on our families, and receive the greatest gift we will ever be given.

The birth of Christ.