The Throne Room

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throneroom

 

I stood at the edge of the room, overwhelmed with the grandeur. I’d received the invitation, but couldn’t believe I should have.

 

As my eyes scanned the magnificent room, it was obvious that royalty presided here. Lofty arches, splendid tapestries, and fresco paintings lined the walls. Gilded sconces bordered the edges, reflecting light from the carefully placed mirrors of ornate gold-leaf. I shielded my eyes from the brilliance as I looked upward to the lofty ceiling where multiple, magnificent chandeliers hung, heavily laden with brilliant diamonds and carefully-cut crystal. Everything within my vision spoke of untold wealth and unlimited resources.

 

Pushed back along the marble walls were heavily carved but unused chairs, crafted long ago from some exotic wood. As I marveled, I noticed that although many attendants stood in hushed tones around the perimeter, only two individuals sat on expansive thrones, presiding in regal majesty and resplendent glory from an elevated platform. Above them, a singular crown hovered overhead, a perfect replica of the ones worn by the aristocracy below. Jewels without number studded their crowns, blazing with flashes of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and topaz as if ignited from their own inner fire.

 

My pupils widened as I grappled to take in the opulence of the scene. Despite the extravagance of the view, the royalty themselves were what soon riveted my attention. Both King and his Prince wore snowy robes that trained into the room, glittering and radiant from a splendid, unknown fabric, stitched with threads like pure gold. Although stately in appearance, the two were somehow personable as well, as if they truly enjoyed one another’s company. Intent together, they discussed matters of state, pausing to ponder and nod before resuming with a touch of a sleeve.

 

I guess there is truth about the power of a gaze, for although I remained tucked into the background, I caught the Prince’s eye and he shifted to look directly at me. The whispers around me silenced as all attention turned my way. Caught inadequate, my knees went limp and I dropped trembling to the ground, in a prostate position. I knew I shouldn’t have come.

 

For the longest moment of my life, I lay quivering, trying to pray. Then a hand touched my shoulder and gave me the strength somehow to stand. Assuming I was being ejected, I kept my head down, to avoid further humiliation.

 

Yet, instead of rough jerk, a gentle hand cupped my chin, raising my face to eye level. There before me was the Prince himself with eyes burning from a flame of love. “Come, My sister,” He said and gripped my shaking hand with His firm, steady one. As if in a dream, we moved toward His throne and He motioned for me to take a place beside Him on His own cushioned seat. Confused and keenly aware of my own glaring imperfections, I looked into the King’s face, searching His for disapproval.

 

“Relax, My child,” the King smiled, nodding His approval. “Bring her a regal robe of wisdom, righteousness, and holiness,” and within minutes, I was clothed like royalty itself. As I marveled at my new position there between the two of them, they leaned forward and continued the dialog of which I was now included. “We were just talking about your world,” the King said directly to me. “Would you like to join us?”

 

“God… seated us with Him in the heavenly places, in Christ Jesus…who is at the right Hand of God, interceding for us” (Ephesians 2:6; Romans 8:34).

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