The frail figure shook. Her head was bent downward, and the features of her face were somewhat obscured by her long, brown hair which fell in natural waves about her head. Perspiration stood in small beads on her forehead. Occasionally a drop or two ran down her nose and dripped off her face.
She toyed with a wrinkled pink tissue, unconsciously twisting and untwisting it until it was totally battered, then reaching into her skirt pocket to replace it with another.
Priesthood had been bestowed upon her; but she was also painfully aware of her own failures. She was a member of the Royal Family, but she came in abase contrition.
Being certain of her own guilt because she had fallen out of rank, she graveled in the mire of her own willfulness and self pity. Realizing she alone was responsible for the mega shift in her thinking, she had made confession.
With tenacious determination, she forced her thoughts back to what she needed to do. The power of evil would not hold her.
She trudged forward. The vastness of the room sent chills of insignificance through her.
No, no! That is a lie. I am not insignificant. A great price had been paid for my Royalty!
Rivulets of gratitude began trickling through her mind, ending in massive waves of gratefulness.
Above her a crystal ceiling reflected luminous rays of silver light and around her were walls built in splendor of beauty beyond imagination - below was what appeared to be the smooth richness of glass flooring embedded with large swirls of literal silver and gold.
There was the babbling sound of the sparkling river nearby. With each step that noise increased.
Knowing of the exquisiteness that surrounded her, but not willing to glance up, she smiled slightly, in spite of future danger.
She knew she was approaching might, a right that she did not take lightly.
Fear did not grip her, even though memories of regret snaked about her ankles like thickened vines determined to impede her; but resolution propelled her forward.
There was greatness before her, and she must reach it.
Yet each step brought more shame, more awareness of what she had done and the lives that had been shattered by her.
Never before had she been more cognizant of the difference between the glory she was approaching and her own wretchedness.
She had been a maverick – allowing self to lead her, to do her own thing.
Failure to stand against the Devil’s wiles, she chided herself. That defeat had ended in pain and severe bruising, and not only for her. True, the demonic attack had been sent by the accuser of the brethren; but she had caved in during the onslaught of that fierce battle and found herself immersed in fault finding that knifed a brother.
She had allowed her words to hurt and bring shame upon the Family Name, but she had been forgiven – by her brother and by her Lord.
Yet, looking at her, one saw the type of pain that shows in the eyes and the stoop of the shoulders.
Now she needed strength for the next attack of Satan. She was staunch in her resolve to not fail again. She needed to show love to others in the face of scorn and not react with a tsunami of hostility.
As she approached the throne and a shadow of the Great One fell across her, peace flooded her heart.
Gradually, she lifted her face, pausing at the sight of the hem of the glowing gown whose folds partially covered the throne. She was at the source of the river, but she was also at the source of Power.
Awareness of brimming love for her flooded her soul, and she dared to look up into His eyes. His arms were outstretched and fingers bidding. His smile was broad. He had been waiting.
Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16.
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