Under the Tutelage of The King
Before I could walk, my heart had already been imprinted with the words, “Jesus loves me.” Faithful nursery workers rocked and sang on Sundays the truths I heard at home all week.
I have always known I am a daughter of The King.
And like any princess of position, I enjoyed mostly comfortable days unfettered by the worries of the kingdom — and largely ignorant of the happenings outside its safety.
I flitted about carefree in the courtyard without fear of intruders. Or snakes. Or storms. I was blissfully confident in my Daddy’s ability to keep all things well.
And while this may be the proper place for a child, an heir must eventually invest herself in kingdom itself.
To step in the footsteps of His forgiveness in order to learn His gait.
To listen carefully to His words in order to speak in His dialect.
To receive His grace abundantly in order to cast its residue on others like He does.
It’s time to learn the family business.
Lord, tell me your ways.
Show me how to live.
Guide me in your truth,
and teach me, my God, my Savior. (Psalm 25:4-5)
I come close and study His moves. His words. His patterns. His rhythms.
Linking up with Kelli and the other lovelies at Unforced Rhythms.