It happened to her in the middle of the night. Mal-ja smelled heaven.
Mal-ja was a live-in housekeeper for a family with two young boys where the parents were almost never home. The boys, as any normal kid that age, were impossible. They were always running around with their muddy feet on the carpet, breaking glassware, windows and even wooden furniture. She’d clean up the mess saying, “Oh Jesus, please forgive these little devils and save them from eternal flames of hell.” She’d cross herself with a sigh.
She talked a lot. Usually about her life’s hardships to the deaf ears of those two rascals whatever chance she had; her poor husband passing, her ungrateful daughter who ran away, her mother’s failing health and most importantly, how much she loved Jesus. “It is all meant to be,” she’d say. “ The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
Food was her salvation. Whenever she felt down, she’d eat and all her life’s problems would melt away. There were no blues that a good marinated pulled beef or thinly sliced grilled pork or sweet and spicy noodles or broiled octopus or stuffed peppers or steamed meat dumplings or sweet bean pastries or other delicacies couldn’t fix.
For some reason, maybe they were too tired horsing around all day, the boys found themselves in front of Mal-ja, listening to her story one day. It was meant to be.
It was in the middle of the night. An indecipherable smell that was so strong, it woke Mal-ja right out of her bed. She didn’t know what it was but it was fantastic. Indeed, she had had what the believers referred to as religious epiphany.
The boys had a different opinion as to what that heavenly smell had been. It must’ve been the new all-night fried chicken take out joint across the street. For flavors, they had sweet soy garlic glaze or hot pepper.
“Praise the lord!” she exclaimed. Then she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to remember the heavenly scent.
The boys nodded in agreement. “Sweet soy garlic glaze.”