Thankfully, twenty years and a long, painful road later, He helped me to reach for Him in earnest once more.
Along the walk of my renewed intimacy with Jesus, He walked me back into my childhood, showing me how He had been there, even then. He also wanted me to see that I had always been looking just for him. The first thing He showed me was a scene from when I was four. My father told me the story of the star of Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. So I abandoned my new toys under the Christmas tree and went running to the window, sure I would see Jesus’ star for myself if I looked long and hard enough. I had forgotten that memory until He brought it back to me. A four year old, abandoning a new Wonder Woman doll to look for Him. I was in love already, and I had just learned His name.
Years ago, I made it as far as the floor of His throne room during my prayer time with Him, but never had the nerve to raise my eyes beyond the floor. I opened them often and saw my reflection in the polished gold that made up the tile my nose was pressed against, but I never got any further than that. Sometimes I would open my mouth and sing to Him from there, my loving praise moving like water to pool on the floor of the throne room until it filled the floor and moved like a tide, rippling up to reach His feet. I met Him there many times, but fear and shame that weren’t mine to carry kept me from ever looking up or meeting His wonderful eyes.
I’m blessed now with wisdom and knowledge. After several weeks of visits with Him in my home, I asked where He would like for us to talk and found myself standing in His throne room….yes…standing, for the first time. I could literally feel His smile. Now I can say that I’ve even been up the steps to His throne. Then, to my quiet horror, He moved over and gestured that I should sit beside Him. While I was shaking my head and beginning to sputter, He gave me the patient wry smile He has that says I don’t understand and should just do what I’m told. (He uses that a lot with me.) He smiled and gestured again. Obediently, I sat and turned to look out with Him over His kingdom. Later, I read, “To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne, Revelation 3:21.” I had no idea at the time what He was doing, or what it meant until He led me later to that verse.
That same visit with Him, I looked up and noticed that there were pillars in His throne room, but no ceiling. The sky was a lovely pinkish gold that swirled above Him. But I asked Him why there was no ceiling. He said, “Because Heaven is my throne and the Earth is my footstool.” Again, He was quoting. And again, I didn’t know what He was quoting. It turned out that I would find later that it was Isaiah. “Thus saith the Lord, The heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool: where is the house that ye build unto me? and where is the place of my rest?” Isaiah 66:1. Even He won’t contain Himself. I thought that was amazing.
Sadly, over the last few months, I sat aside these details, pretending that they didn’t happen or were just a fond wish. I believe. I love my Savior very, very much. I long to be with Him and speak with Him for hours every day, but those intimate moments stopped. I had become afraid.
A quiet, scornful whisper had invaded my heart, a memory of the mockery of believing in fairy tales. After all, who gets wedding gowns with veils burnished in gold and silver, golden wreaths of leaves to wear as a crown and marriage to a king? Who are you? Royalty? Do you believe in fairy tales, little girl? The mockery thick in the remembered words from long ago, my hope deflated. (Even typing that makes my eyes fill with tears.) The saddest, most frightening part is that it was all under the radar. I never made a conscious decision that I was being silly and indulging in little girl dreams. It was a quiet, fearful process of pulling away that I wasn’t even aware of….and all the while, I hurt Him.
So, I sat aside my “fairy tale” with Jesus for the day to day. My relationship with Him was still warm and loving, but not as warm, and not as loving as it should have been. I didn’t even know I had done it.
I read someone else’s experience here, on this blog actually that was similar and realized what I had done. So I sat aside everything and went into my room, closed my door, turned off my light and sat down with Him. He will ask me sometimes to sing for Him. He likes for me to sing, I think because it’s something I only do for Him, but I couldn’t. I opened my mouth to try but started to cry instead, which had Him rushing close. I gasped out my apologies and felt the room fill with the sharp pang of the hurt I had inflicted on Him for only a second. I really didn’t know and He was aware of that, and of why it had happened.
Images rushed into my mind. My dress, my veil, the crown that waits for me. The fact that He won’t show me my ring because He says it’s a surprise. He took my hand in His and said quietly, “This is my fairy tale, too, Rhonda.”
His words stopped my fears, stopped the power of the mockery from so long ago. He makes it perfectly alright to not only believe in fairy tales, but to live them, forever.
Shared by Rhonda J.