Those who’d like to participate in Five Minute Friday will write for five minutes on the topic of the week, post it on their own blog and link up the post here (via the InLinkz button at the bottom of the post). Make sure you add the actual permalink to your specific post, and not your blog’s homepage (e.g. http://katemotaung.com/five-minute-friday/ and not just katemotaung.com).
This is meant to be a free write, which means: no editing, no over-thinking, no worrying about perfect grammar or punctuation.
I’m beckoned into the throne room. I’ve been summoned. Trembling is an understatement.
How did His Majesty find out?
I keep my head bowed- that way I won’t have to see the sickle before it connects with my neck.
Is this really to be my end?
My clothes are filthy. My hands and feet and knees… my hair, all filthy from the work of surviving. Of staying under the radar, maintenance free, easy.
But I must have failed.
Because here I am, approaching the throne of the king.
I have not gone unnoticed.
I shuffle in and kneel at his foot stool. I still don’t dare to raise my head.
I see his feet… his perfectly sandaled feet. He has been a good king and I have tried to be a good subject.
But what is in me that is good? What can I offer that a good king could need? How does my sowing and reaping and spinning and living benefit him? And now he must’ve realize how little I’m worth.
The room is silent.
“Rise, good and faithful servant,” his voice booms.
I stay kneeled. He can’t mean me.
“Rise,” he says again. I dare to lift my eyes… and meet his. He’s looking at me. Does he mean me?
“M-m-me?” I barely get the shaky whisper out.
The king rises from his throne. He steps down to me and I cower. I feel his arms come around my sides. Softer now, he says, “Rise, friend. You have been good and faithful.”
I stand to me feet, the kings arms embracing me. I look into his face and find a smile.
“I have watched you. You work hard, care for others, are loyal and true. You give to those in need, though you have little. You encourage your countrymen and comfort those who suffer as you have. When you offend, you seek to make amends.
You don’t think I see… but I do.
I have prepared a feast of thanksgiving and you are the guest of honor.”
I glance at my filthy rags. “Not to worry, I have a trade for you, if you are willing. I would like your clothes in exchange for these robes.”
A servant presents the finest fabrics I’ve ever seen. “A trade?” I ask.
“Yes, all I want in exchange is what you have on now.”
What undeserved grace!
May we all, on that day, though filthy and unworthy, be found to have been good and faithful, and made whole, in the presence of the King who calls to us, “RISE!”