Musings on royalty

At the end of the day, the sun having long ago pulled in its last rays of light, the children silently exploring in their dreams, I squat sweeping up the remnants of our day -- bits of waffles, peanut butter sandwiches, chili for dinner, a few Christmas cake crumbs, some ribbon scraps from packages, pine needles from the sought after tree. I try to remember the last real shower I had, one that lasted longer than two minutes, one that allowed time to linger, to cleanse and feel pretty. A hard stare at hands and the realization hits that a manicure was not long passed, a day of pampering was just a few weeks ago but like everything temporal the paint chipped and the time to renew, to correct is a luxury unknown. And I sigh -- a deep heavy sigh, the kind of sigh that hopes to heave off heavy burdens, at least for the briefest of moments. Thoughts enter; dangerous self-talk fills space that I know should rightly be filled with holy words because to hide His word, to hide Him in that space shores up the walls against what is surely evil prowling beyond. These thoughts -- if only, I wish I could, I wonder if I should have or perhaps I shouldn't have -- act as foder for a fire that with every lap of flaming tongue shouts out in arrogance I'm better than this! And then the words, the tiniest bit of knowledge eeks out. From the Psalm of a man much wiser, more eloquent than I could ever be the knowledge that the King is enthralled by your beauty. Breath of fresh air reaches deep and splashes water droplets at the raging fire within, which though dampened only surges more fiercely on as thoughts of entitlement lumber in. Oh how naive am I to think the King would stop before work is done; barreling down on the fire comes the next line of this Holy word army: honor him, for he is your Lord. Instant death to fire. In that moment clarity dawns for, daughters of Zion, is that not what we long to do? To honor our King -- the one who is enthralled with our beauty? And how exactly do we honor him? We emulate. He became flesh, lowly and humble to serve. So then must we. And now as I finish the final sweep of the kitchen floor the thoughts no longer run of jobs more suitable for my stature but rather the mind is filled, overrun with praise for a Mighty King -- one that calls me daughter, one that is enthralled with my beauty, one that allows me to serve Him in the daily doings of life. He asks for nothing less than all of me (including the messy, tired mommy-facet) to worship -- to honor -- all of Him.