Once upon a time, a magnificent city sat at the foot of a
great mountain. It was an ancient dwelling
with alabaster walls glowing gold in the morning sun, blinding white at noon
and radiating a sheen of rainbow colors in the last light of day.
At city center sat the palace of the king. It was even
whiter than the city walls and seemed rise out of the mountain bedrock. High in
the donjon or castle keep was the residence of the king. Even with windows standing open, few had ever
caught a glimpse of the king. The turret was so high it seemed to be shoved
into the clouds.
Within these high chambers, this gentle but mighty king loved
his people desperately. His heart was as open to his subjects as was the doors
to his throne room. Yet, walking through the market place and shops inside the
city walls, it was difficult to find anyone who could describe their monarch
except in the vaguest of terms. They could only speak of the ancestor of an
ancestor who had supposedly spoken with his majesty.
Many generations before, the king had sent a royal
proclamation inviting his subjects to a great banquet. Regardless of the honor,
only a handful of citizens took pause in their humdrum daily lives to see the
king. These dozen men had chosen to face the ruler because they took pride at
being men of knowledge and wisdom.
Stepping into the banquet hall, the visitors were greeted to
the smells and sight of a magnificent table spread with every manner of food to
more than satisfy the appetite of any mortal. To their left was a wide,
spiraling alabaster stair case sweeping up to the throne room. An orchestra of
trumpets proceeded the descent of the king in his robes of every color in the
palette of the greatest painter.
“Welcome, my friends,” the monarch greeted them in a gentle,
resonate voice. “I have long waited to spend this time with you.”
The king moved toward them, urging them to sit and refresh
themselves. In the presence of their ruler, each man felt overcome, their
self-important knowledge struggling to birth to a response to his majesty.
“I am . . .” continued the king, hoping to express his
appreciation at their coming.
“Almighty,” shouted the first man, cutting the king off in
midsentence.
“All knowing!” called another.
“Powerful!”
“Fearful!”
“Angry at those who disobey!”
“Yes,” agreed the youngest present, “and quick to that
wrath.”
“Worthy of praise,” tossed the last man over his shoulder as
he crowded out the door with his fellow sages. “Worthy of praise . . . from
afar!”
“But what of mercy, justice, favor, and love,” the king
called after them, but the sound of their footfalls in retreat was louder than
his voice.
From safe distance outside the castle wall, the twelve
composed themselves. “We must prepare ourselves to speak to the people,“ said
the eldest of the group. “We were in the presence of the king,” he shuddered
once more.
Like the blind beggars who tried to describe an elephant,
these men spread throughout the kingdom with their limited and short sighted
description of the ruler in the alabaster tower. Soon they were afforded the
reverence they craved as authorities about life with the king. Assuming their
monarch was a man much like themselves, the sages’ messages gave root to rumors
about the king's harsh countenance and manner, which sprouted like weeds in a neglected garden. To
hear it told, a palace visitor could expect to barely escape with his life for an
audience with the king.
Generations which followed the sages thought it wise to
record these rumors. What began as a simple notebook soon swelled into a massive
volume with the speculations of scholarly wisdom about the ruler cloaked in the
clouds. Later generations felt compelled to comment on the comments about the
great and terrible monarch. A class of scribes arose who felt it their duty to
collect these tomes about their invisible ruler: they called this collection
of writings the Code of the King.
From his open windows and castle doors the king could gaze
down on his subjects. He ached to show them his gentle heart. When he tried to
whisper at one who strayed too close to the palace walls, his voice was drowned
out by the cacophony of prophets and priests hawking their Code of the King
manuscripts. Had the king not known himself, confusion would have boiled in his
own mind if he stood in the marketplace listening to the sages denounce each
other.
The ancient city had never fallen to an outside assault. But
what troubled his majesty was a disturbance to the peace and prosperity which
had blanked the land from the beginning of his reign.
One day a blight had appeared outside the city wall. At
first it was a whisper, a question asked behind the closed doors of a peasant
cottage. Like the flame from a match tossed into a hay mound, the rumor ignited
and passed from one ear to another, until it flared into a bonfire past the
bronze city gates.
“I must do something,” thought the king as he watched the
flames of discontent growing in the homes of one subject after another. “I must
show them how much I care less my people be destroyed by a loss of hope.”
A smile crossed the king’s face. The plan was simple. It
would silence the people’s fear and banish the whispers for good. Shedding his
silk and gold threads, he stepped out the postern at the back of the castle.
The morning mists swirled around as the king walk on in resolute compassion.
From deeper in the mists a bland, gray-clad figure watched
the king leave the safety of his fortress.
“We’ll see,” he hissed. “I have much for you planned.”
* *
* * *
(to be CONTINUED)
Part 1 of a selection from my upcoming book: BREAKTHROUGH: Finding The Life God Wants For You 
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