The Smell of Cinnamon on Rainy Days
“For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.” — 2 Corinthians 2:15
Rain taps the windows, coats drip by the door, the dog shakes mud across the tiles, and in the kitchen a pan of apples and cinnamon is softening on the stove. The smell moves faster than the sound of rain — it fills the whole house, settles into hair and clothes, and becomes memory before we even sit down to taste it.
Rainy days can feel like interruptions, the light gone too soon, the outdoors closed off. But God did not make them to frustrate us. Just as He scattered spices and fruits across the earth for our joy, He also gave us slower days so we would gather, warm the kitchen, and root our children’s memories in fragrance, happiness, grace and faith.
Cinnamon as Autumn’s Signature
Cinnamon is the first scent of autumn in our home. Not pumpkins on a doorstep or candles in a shop — but the real spice, shaken into bowls, dusting fingers, stirred with wooden spoons. It may sound obvious, even cliché, but not without reason. My children know it by smell before anything else. Cinnamon means cake, soups, porridge, bread, pies, buns, and even spicy curries and rich biryani for our half-Sri Lankan family — though it means much more in our home: warmth, memory, and joy woven into food.
We keep it simple most days. Apple slices simmered with butter, honey, and cinnamon until soft — eaten straight from the pan with spoons. Or pear crumble, bubbling in the oven, the topping made from almond and flour pressed together by little hands.
On the counter, jars of apple curd, pumpkin curd, and even cinnamon curd line up, spread thick over toast or spooned into yogurt. Pumpkin-honey-cinnamon bread rises slowly in the oven, filling the house with a smell so sweet it feels like a hymn.
On days when we have more time, dough is kneaded for cinnamon rolls, the smell rising long before the icing is ready. Or milk warmed gently with honey, cinnamon, cardamom, and a touch of nutmeg — a bedtime drink that calms even the busiest moods. Sometimes we poach pears slowly with cinnamon sticks and cloves, serving them warm with thick cream. And now and then, an apple cake is pulled from the oven, the crust crisp and the center sweet, so that the whole house smells of spice and sugar.
But cinnamon is not only for sweets. In autumn especially, it finds its way into the savory dishes of my husband’s Sri Lankan heritage and passed down to me by my sweet mother in law: pumpkin curry heavy with cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and coconut milk, thick and rich enough to eat with rice or roti. Or biryani, layered and fragrant, every grain steeped in spice — a dish that feels both festive and grounding when nights turn cold and the table is full.
These recipes are not about perfection but presence: sticky hands measuring sugar, flour spilled across the counter, children learning that food is made not just to eat but to gather us. The spice lingers, even after the plates are cleared, in the air and in the memory it roots.
Photos: Found via Pinterest, sources on clickthrough; we always aim to credit photos; if one needs crediting or removal, please contact us with the source.
Rainy Day Cooking
“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” — 1 Corinthians 10:31
Rain outside doesn’t keep us from the great outdoors — nothing can keep my wild children from the outdoors. Under the English sky these past few years, we’ve learned not to let it stop us: wader pants, wool layered close, waterproof shells, gloves, and rain boots — we know the drill. But no matter how long we stay out, we always come back in, and at some point you’ll find us in the kitchen.
Shoes are left dripping at the door, socks by the fire, and the smell of something simmering takes over. Soup is often first — carrot and pumpkin, leek and potato, or lentils bright with turmeric. Bread rises on the counter while little hands push stools up to stir, sprinkle, and taste.
Not always, but often cinnamon is the main spice in this season, and it lingers. A loaf of pumpkin-honey-cinnamon bread baked alongside the soup, or a pan of rice pudding dusted warm before serving. On slower days, stock bubbles low on the stove while trays of roasted vegetables caramelize, the whole house wrapped in the smell of both earth and spice.
Rainy days make the work of scratch cooking feel less like effort and more like rhythm: chopping, stirring, kneading, waiting. Children count spoonfuls, measure flour, ask questions about bubbles in yeast or why onions make them cry. The kitchen becomes classroom, playground, and altar all at once.
Photos: Found via Pinterest, sources on clickthrough; we always aim to credit photos; if one needs crediting or removal, please contact us with the source.
Memory and Meaning
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.” — James 1:17
Smell is the first sense to reach memory. Long before children remember words or stories, they remember the warm note of cinnamon in the air, the sweetness of bread still warm, or the sharpness of rain on coats drying by the fire; they remember the feeling that wrapped the moment. Years from now, when they catch the same scent, they will not just recall food — they will remember home, love, and the God who gave us these gifts to bind joy into our days.
Cinnamon teaches me that God writes memory into the smallest things. A spice scattered into dough becomes the marker of a season; a fragrance rising from the oven becomes a reminder that His abundance is not abstract but tangible. The senses are not accidents — they are His design, tools for remembrance and worship.
Photos: Found via Pinterest, sources on clickthrough; we always aim to credit photos; if one needs crediting or removal, please contact us with the source.
Faith Reflection
“For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing” — 2 Corinthians 2:15
Fragrance has always carried meaning in God’s Word. Incense rising in the temple, oil poured on the feet of Jesus, spices wrapped in linen — scents that marked worship, devotion, love. Cinnamon in our home is not holy oil or temple incense, but it whispers the same truth: God made fragrance to turn our hearts toward remembrance. Just as the air fills with spice and sweetness when bread comes from the oven, so His presence fills our homes when we invite Him in.
It is not the spice itself that sanctifies the day, but what it points to: the Christ who makes every ordinary hour fragrant with His grace.
Rainy days, cinnamon, simmering pots — these are not interruptions but invitations. They remind us that even the smallest scents and flavors are ways God draws us nearer, rooting faith into the senses of our children, and fragrance into the fabric of our homes.
The Last Note
“O taste and see that the Lord is good; Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!” — Psalm 34:8
By the time the rain has slowed and the dishes are stacked to dry, the house carries a fragrance that lingers long after the food is gone. Cinnamon in the air, wet socks by the fire, muddy boots lined at the door — these are the markers of a day well spent. What could feel like inconvenience becomes abundance when seen through His design.
The smell of cinnamon on rainy days will not stay in the kitchen. It will travel with my children into years ahead, reminding them of home, of love, of God’s provision written into the smallest details. Rain is not wasted, nor spice frivolous. Together they are memory, worship, and joy — gifts scattered for us to receive.
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Rainy days may feel like lost hours, yet God designed them as invitations to slow, gather, and fill the home with fragrance. From cinnamon rolls and pumpkin bread to rich curries simmering slow, discover how scent roots faith, family, and memory into everyday life, turning even stormy days into joy. These simple moments, wrapped in spice and warmth, become lasting reminders of His abundant design.