Knights Becoming and a Lady in Waiting

Fosterling

A queen has a daughter, a beautiful young daughter without defect, blemish, or fault.  Although she loves this daughter dearly-- because she loves this daughter dearly-- she sends her to one of her poorer subjects to be raised.  As she tearfully kisses the baby's face goodbye, she says softly, "You will always be a princess, no matter where you live, but you can only truly be royalty by learning to live away from court."

The young woman who agrees to be the foster-mother is appropriately awed and honored at being chosen to raise a child of royalty.  She takes the small instructional scroll the queen gives her with reverence, vowing to read it daily to keep the very basic requests close to her heart.  "She is my daughter," the queen says gently, "but she will be your daughter as well.  These instructions are for both of you.  I have raised many children before this and I know this will help you."

The new mother keeps her word and reads the scroll daily.  She cherishes the sweet daughter given to her, making note of every smile, gurgle, tear, and advancement.  Every night she sends a letter to the queen, reporting on the daughter's behavior.  She asks for advice.  She reiterates that the child is not only hers, but the queen's as well.

Time passes and the child, as most children do, grows up.  She turns one and toddles around the small hut her mother calls home.  She turns two and learns to say "no" to everything her foster-mother says.  The mother is sharp with her, then penitent, shedding tears as she holds the royal toddler close.  Hoarsely she repledges her promise to raise the girl to the scroll.  In soft whispers, she reminds the girl of her true heritage.

More time passes and the sweet-faced child is now six.  She is a verbal dynamo, requiring far more energy than her foster-mother seems to have to keep up.  The queen sends assistance at times, usually so subtly that the young mother isn't aware of where it is coming from, but still the mother falters.  The letters reporting on her daughter's progress become fewer and farther between.  The little scroll is neglected, dusty, and then forgotten.

Still more years later and the princess is nearly a teen.  She no longer remembers that she is royalty, nor does she act like it.  She is rude and inconsiderate to her mother and others alike.  Her language leaves much to be desired.  Her weary foster-mother watches her with a kind of despair.  The little scroll has been untouched for years. 

On her sixteenth birthday, the princess demands a party.  Although she doesn't have the money for the party her daughter asks for, the foster-mother hopes this will be a turning point in their relationship, so she pulls everything together to give the girl her desires.  Spoilt and greedy, the young woman throws the gifts aside, stages a massive temper tantrum, and runs away, leaving her mother standing in the midst of the rubble of her dreams.

The girl vanishes.  Although the heartbroken foster-mother searches everywhere, the girl cannot be found.  She is simply... gone.  Wretched and guilt-ridden, the foster-mother finally takes herself to the throne room of the queen.  Not ever looking up, she throws herself prone on the ground, her care-worn face streaked with tears, dust, and sorrow.  "I have failed you, Your Majesty," she sobs out, her words nearly lost to the ground.  "I have forgotten your rules and neglected your daughter.  I didn't raise her like you asked.  Now, she is gone.  You gave me one precious charge-- a sacred trust-- and I failed."

There is a rustling and a gentle hand lifts the dejected woman's face.  The queen is down on her knees, affection and forgiveness in her countenance.  "Dear child," she says gently, "I have waited years for you to come and tell me.  Had you come to me when the princess was two, you would have been spared so much misery.  Had you come to me when she was six, there would have been pain, yes, but it would have been brief.  Even if you had come to me when she first approached womanhood, she could have been restored to you.  Now, however, the damage is done.  I have brought her home.  She had a very difficult time when she ran away, but some part of her remembered she was mine.  She came to me-- and here she will stay."

The heart-broken foster-mother closes her eyes in anguish.  "Will I never see her again?  I do not deserve to raise her, but I love her as my own."

The queen's voice is soft, loving, but firm.  "One day, dear child, you will come to live here, too.  Then you will see your daughter again.  Until then, you must live the life you have."

With an emptiness where her heart still beat, the foster-mother trudged back home.  For long years she worked... until the day she could once again hold her daughter in her arms.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I am not a perfect mother.  Worse, I am not a very good foster-mother.  I do not want to do things God's way; I want to do them mine.  But these children, these sweet, frustrating children that tug my heart in so many directions-- these children are not mine.  They are God's.  I am a foster-mother, given the awesome and terrifying responsibility of raising the children of the King.   He gives me everything I need to raise them-- if I will take it.  He gives me every instruction I need to get through the hard times-- if I will read them.  He wants me to tell Him their every action, to ask Him for advice concerning their every move, and to listen when He tells me exactly how things should be-- but I fail to listen.

If I fail long enough, I may lose them.  I may lose them to the world.  I may lose them to teenage rebellion.  I may lose them in death-- and only see them again, God willing, in Heaven.  Oh, how a part of my heart dies when I think I might lose them!

Math, science, reading, writing... it is all "meaningless! Meaningless... utter meaningless!" as the prophet says in Ecclesiastes 1:2.  Or, as it says in Matthew 16:26:

 For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

Instead, I should

 Train ^[a] a child in the way he should go,
       and when he is old he will not turn from it.

Proverbs 22:6

and

Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.

Ephesians 6:4

Isn't it amazing how many of us parents quote Ephesians 6:1 at our children ("Children, obey your parents in the Lord"), yet we neglect the parents' command to raise our children in the training of the Lord?

My children are still young.  God hasn't taken them from me yet.  There is still time to throw myself down, unworthy, at the feet of the King to beg for a second, third, hundredth chance.

There is time to change.

There is time to read the scroll, to drink in His wise and experienced instruction.

There is time to learn.

There is time to spend hours on my knees, kneeling before the Most High, not only reporting on how I am raising His sweet children, but taking in His guidance in their lives.

There is time to pray.

Amen... Omaine.  So be it.

Untitled Comment

6:42 AM, Sep. 4, 2006 .. Posted by MarlaMom

I loved your story. Did you write that? Maybe you should use it as an entry for the writing contest that TOS is doing. Just a suggestion.

THANK YOU!

7:54 AM, Sep. 4, 2006 .. Posted by wakeforestmommy

I am in tears reading this today as I start our first day of K-5. It is so easy to get wrapped up in the formality of everything and miss the essentials. Thank you for this reminder of how important these blessings are to the Kingdom. They are not mine. They are His.

Thank you!