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Once upon a time there lived a king.  This king was the greatest and best king in the world, for he had created the world and everything in it.  He created plants and trees to give fruit and grains for food.  He created huge mountains and mighty seas filled with fish and other good food.  He created a sky to bring rain to refresh the earth, a sun to warm the earth, and a light at night to light the way for everyone.  He even created animals and people to live in the beautiful world he had made, and he created the people to have some of the same characteristics as he, their great and good king had. 

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Because the king was a good king, when he created his kingdom and everything in it, he called it “good.”  And it was good!  There were no thorns or thistles or weeds, or any poisonous plant in all the world.  Everywhere you looked, there were delicious fruits, nuts, seeds, berries and more!  The animals walked among the people, for they were not afraid.  There was no sickness or disease. And best of all, there was no death.

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Until—​

 

When the first people of the world looked around them and saw the beautiful world they lived in, and knew their creator was the good king, they lived a good, good life for a long time.  But soon, a day came when they looked around them and let themselves doubt his goodness.  They doubted his love for them, and his providence.  They thought that it would be better to make their own choices, to do their own thing, and be their own masters.  They decided that they were going to be like the good king, so they wouldn’t have to listen to him.  And despite all the beauty they saw, they chose to disobey and go against the king’s good rules, which he had set up for them to rule and to guide and protect them.  And in disobeying, the world changed.

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Suddenly, there were thorns and thistles!  Some plants were poisonous—even the merest touch could give you a rash!  And while there were still nuts and berries and fruit—it was a lot harder to pick them, to grow them, and to keep the trees healthy.  And when people met new people—they didn’t trust them anymore.  Because they weren’t following any rules, there was chaos and turmoil in all the land.  People hurt and even killed each other.  Men became enemies over foolish things, such as who had the most money and belongings, or who had slighted them and hurt their feelings.  It was all really very silly.

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But some people loved the good king.  When they looked out their windows, while they saw sickness and disease, they also saw the beauty of the world.  They understood why the king had called it “good.”  They knew that he loved them, and they loved him in return.  They understood that they had been especially chosen to be his people, not by their will, but by his.  It was hard to understand, but they knew that if the king had not called them, and chosen them, they would still be disobeying him.  They had done nothing to deserve his love or forgiveness.  They knew—oh, they knew alright—that they deserved to be punished for their disobedience!  But the king loved them, had forgiven them and shown them mercy, and they were covered by his love.

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And the people who belonged to the king treated other people and animals with as much kindness and gentleness as they could, for they knew that the people had been designed in the king’s image, and that the animals were a special part of his creation.  And the good king smiled when he saw them, and called them his people.  He made special promises to them, and they knew they could trust him, for he was, after all, the good king!

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Years and years went by.  Some people listened to the good king, and served him as best they could.  Others hated and despised him, believing him to be too strict or unjust because of all the bad things in the world.  But even the people who loved the king were often disobedient to him too, for when the world became broken and sick, their hearts became broken and sick as well.  Despite all their efforts, they could never do all the things the king asked them to do.  There was always a gap between them and the good king, and sometimes, he seemed very far away to the people on the earth.  While he still walked and worked among them, they often could not see him, feel him, or touch him, and this made the good king very sad, for he wanted his people to know him as well as he knew them.  And so, he put into action a plan he’d had from the very beginning—from before he had created his kingdom and before the people and chosen to turn away from him. 

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Even before he had created anything, the good king had existed, and he had known what would happen in his beautiful world and that his people, the people that he had created would cause evil.  He knew they would turn away from him.  And yet despite this, he chose many people out of the world to become his special and beloved children. 

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But we’re not quite there yet!

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One day, as the good king walked throughout his land, he heard the cry of a child.  At first, the cries were from so far away, the king barely even heard them.  But as he walked, he climbed a great hill.  As he stood on the crest of the hill, in the far distance he could see an evil smelling swamp surrounded on all sides by oily water and tufts of grass that bobbed and swayed in the ooze.  In the center of the swamp rose a tiny island, covered with a thicket of nettles and thorns and scraggly trees.  It as an evil place, and no-one ever went there.

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And yet, as the king listened, he could hear the faint cries before him, and he knew with a certainty that the child was on the island.  And although the path was treacherous, for the path was slick and unsteady, and a perpetual fog lingered over the swamp, the king was determined to make his way to the island and rescue the child that lay there.

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Hour after hour the king labored through the muck.  The water reeked of poisonous gases, and he was soon covered in filth.  It was wretchedly hot and humid, and scores of insects bit and hovered and harassed him, and yet the king continued on.  The cries grew louder and louder.

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Suddenly the child was before him.  It was a girl child, an infant only a few hours old.  She lay in her own filth and blood on the soil and screamed and screamed and screamed.  She was ugly and unwanted, naked and shamed, and the king took one look at her in her red-faced helplessness and scooped her up into his arms, wrapped her in his royal robe, and carried her far from the forgotten, forsaken place.

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Straight to the palace the good king carried the wailing infant; only she was not wailing now.  She was washed of her filth and blood, wrapped in soft cloths and fed, and as the king came to visit her just before she fell asleep, she held up her arms to him and gurgled with joy as he held her against his heart.  For he loved this unwanted and helpless babe, and determined to raise her as his own.

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The little girl was raised in the safety of the palace and given all that she needed and wanted to grow and learn and thrive.  She was fed the best food of the kingdom, and taught all that was good and just and beautiful.  The wisdom of all the scholars of the world was hers, and every good thing that she could be given was given to her.  She grew in beauty and was a joy and a delight to all who knew her.

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As the little princess grew—for yes, she was considered a princess now--the king determined she should be the bride of his beloved son.  And his son loved her and gave her gifts that fit her beauty and spoke to her of his love for her and of the banquet to be held on their wedding day.  She was to be his bride, his joy and love, and they would walk in the king’s garden together in the early morning and late in the evening; when the dewdrops shone glistening on the petals of flowers and the scent of roses came down at dusk like a benediction on a holy place.  And all would be peace and love and deep, deep joy.

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However, the princess thought the garden boring; the flowers dull and the pathways without interest.  She did not like the hidden nooks or the trees that sheltered and shaded from the hot sun.  From her window, she could see the shore, and the sea before her, and a strange restlessness had come over her.  She despised the safety and restfulness of the castle, and longed to run free along the beach, to climb aboard the many vessels she saw lined up in the harbor and sail to foreign lands.  The wind from the sea whispered secrets and promises of exotic and sultry things, and the princesses’ heart was turned.  She longed to run away from the confines of the walls that seemed to hold her in, and hated the gentle words of the king and the wooing of his son.  Who wanted silks when lace could be had, or velvets so soft against the skin—what were rose oils when there existed perfumes that stirred the senses and spoke of spices and mystery and secret places and sensual things?!  The princess longed for all these things and forgot the tender love that had rescued her and protected her throughout the years.

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One night she slipped from the garden through a little low fence, and ran down the long road that led to the harbor.  Soon before her was the sea; that glinting mystery of light and liquid, beckoning, calling, luring her on.  So on and on she went, until at last she stood with her bare toes on the very edge of the foam of the waves and clapped her hands with joy at the sensation.

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The princess found the docks then, and the vessels that had seemed so curious from the distance.  The sailors on board called out to her, and the things they said were quite different from the gentle tones of the king’s son.  They woke desire within her, and it was not long before she was on a ship, and learned secret things which are not told in the day.  She delighted in the stirring of her senses and was like a wild thing set free from a chain—but oh--she could not see that she was weaving a different sort of chain around herself—a chain that would pull her down into the dark depths of sin and despair if she would only see it for what it was.  But those who are evil know how to disguise evil things in the light so they glitter and gleam and lie to those deceived.  And the princess was deceived.

​The king and his son knew where their princess was.  But the king had given freely to the princess, and the princess had made her choice.  And although the prince arrived day after day and night after night and stood beneath the porthole of her ship and called to her, the princess only scorned and laughed at him.  She threw fish bones and garbage out the window, or poured filthy bilge water on his head.  When he reminded her of his love, and of the love of the good king, she made a lewd gesture and flounced away.  The sailors thought her hilarious.  The king’s son turned away in sorrow.

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One day the vessels left the harbor, and the princess left with them.  And so the princess travelled to the exotic lands which she had longed for and met men who gave her gifts that fit their purposes.  She smelled the spices of foreign perfumes and walked the streets of ancient cities.  She draped herself with velvets and scraps of lace and jewels that winked and twinkled in the light.  She loved the men she met—or thought she did—not seeing that every man took away a little piece of her heart and replaced it with a stone.  Gradually, her heart grew hard and cold and though the sun shown warm the princess shivered, for she had become frozen inside of herself.

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The princess wandered about in this manner for many, many years.  She grew bitter and hard.  Lips that had once spoken of beautiful things could only speak with anger and bitterness and hate.  Every reference to the good king was met with scorn, and the name of the son met with a messy gob of spit.  The princess had turned from all that was good, gentle, kind, lovely, and worthy of thought.  Her mind was now filled with lewdness, spite, malicious evil and love of self.  She showed no kindness or self-control.  There was no mercy or patience or faithfulness within.  All was self, self, self and the chains she had wound about herself were heavy and stank of death.

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Deep within, the princess despised herself.  She hated what she had become and longed for the boring garden and the safety and peace of the castle.  She longed to return to the good king and his son, but felt they would never accept her or love her as she was now.  Alone in the darkness of the night, she sometimes cried out against her chains.  But then she cursed the good king, blaming him for the bonds she had wrapped around herself and turned back to her sordid existence the next morning.  There was no help for her.

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One day, the vessels returned to the shores from which she had first run from the king and his son.  And there, waiting in the bright newness of the morning, stood the king, his hands held out to her, reaching for her to bring her home.  And the princess left the ugliness and horror that had been her life, and came home to the castle of the king.

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There, just as she had been bathed as an infant, the filthy garments and trashy jewels of her recent life were taken away and thrown to the pigs.  The princess was washed clean of the scent of cheap perfume, and the gaudy colors on her face rinsed away.  Beneath the makeup the princess appeared as beautiful as before, but older, wiser, and sadder.

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Again the king’s son began to woo her.  He told her she’d been forgiven, and that he would always love her.  He brought her gifts; good books to cleanse her mind and uplift her soul.  Modest gowns that did not seduce, but enhanced her natural beauty.  Jewels that held values far higher than the cheap nuggets of glass which once had satisfied her.  Once again, she was surrounded by all that was good, noble and beautiful.

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But on the night before their wedding, the princess once again ran away.  She ran back to the life she knew, for she was afraid of the peace and love the prince offered her.  Could she really be worthy of that kind of love?  She didn’t deserve it, and she knew it.  And when the wind blew from a certain direction, it called to her the siren call of the sea, and all the desires of old rose within her and she ran—she cast aside the promise of the prince’s love--and so the king and prince and the whole land mourned the princess who danced the night away on the high seas, and did not once look back to the shore that faded behind her.

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She came back again, several years later.  Her heart was harder than ever, and bitterness had worn an ugly frown onto the skin of her face.  She came back because she grew tired of the noise and tawdriness of her life.  She was now despised and rejected by the ones she thought had loved her.  But age had caught up to her.  The princess was older, and no longer the slim thing of her youth.  Her eyes were pebbles filled with hate, like a snake about to strike.  But once again, the king and his son took her back, and for awhile the world rejoiced.

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Just when the kingdom believed she was becoming her sweet self again, the princess ran away for the third time.  Why did she run?  Perhaps it was because she saw her sin-stained self and believed she would never be able to change.  Perhaps the sins of her past mocked her with an evil laugh whenever she was alone.  Only she knew the terrible things she had done.  She had sold herself to the glittering lights of deception until they had eaten away at her soul.  She was worthless, unlovable.  She was as covered in filth as she had been when an infant, lying in her own blood on the cold hard ground.  How could the prince truly love her?!  How could he forgive her—when she couldn’t even forgive herself?!  And so she ran, desperate and despairing, so lost and forlorn that she didn’t know to where she ran, only that the way was horrible and that no-one could follow her.  And when the light of dawn peeked through the fingers of mist that lay about her, the princess found herself on an island. 

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The island was covered with nettles and thorns and scraggly trees.  How she had been able to make her way to this place in the dark of the night and the perils of the swamp the princess did not know.  But she knew it was her birthplace, and felt it fitting that it should be her death place.

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Even as she laid herself down to die among the thorns, the prince was carefully finding his way through the swamp and to where the princess had hidden.  It was not long before he was covered with mud, and his skin was torn and scraped and bloody.  Mosquitoes whined about his head in the darkness.  There was no moon; just a thin, bitter wind that brought a ragged mist that tangled about his legs and face.  He could not see more than a few feet ahead.

 

​It was not until morning when he found her.  Lying on a small patch of sandy soil, covered in her own blood from the nettles and thorns, her gown torn and filthy—the princess was a wretched sight.  The streaks of dried tears stained her face, and in the harsh light of early morning, she looked lost and forlorn.  But the prince reached out and gathered her into his arms and began the long journey home, carrying the princess as though he held the most precious and lovely thing on earth in his arms.

 

The princess lay as in a dream, hardly aware of the perilous journey.  And when she awoke—once again, she lay on her soft bed of down in her royal bedroom, an open window spilling the secrets of lilac and lily of the valley into the air.  A beam of light fell onto a small carpet beside the bed, and silken slippers sat side by side, waiting for her to slide them on her feet.  And in the fireplace, a cheerful fire crackled and flashed, and added the scent of wood smoke to mingle among the flowers.

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The princess suddenly became aware of a presence.  Sitting in a chair beside the fireplace was the prince, and as she raised herself, he smiled at her, a smile so filled with love and forgiveness that the princess fell back onto the blankets, her heart torn with sobs.  The frozen heart was beginning to thaw.

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“I wanted to die!” she cried.  “I wanted to die because I’m not worthy of you!  I can’t be your princess!  I can’t!  I can’t!”

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 The prince rose to his feet.

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“You are right, you must die,” he spoke sternly.  “Although you have known right, you have chosen wrong.  You desired wickedness over goodness and love.  There is nothing that can completely wash you free from what you have done.  So come now; for although I love you, I cannot accept you as my bride.  You are condemned to death for what you have done.”

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The princess shrank away from the stately prince.  She had forgotten this side of him and the king.  She had forgotten that although the king showed unfailing love, he also judged those who had wronged him.  And he was just to do so—for he was the great creator, and she the created, and she had wronged him, despised him and hated him despite all the love he had shown to her.

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“I will go,” she said at last, “I will die for my sins.” She slowly followed the prince from the room.

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It seemed as though the whole castle was under a spell.  As she followed behind the prince, the world was hushed; expectant.  There was no-one to be seen.  Yet as they left the castle and began to walk down the long road to the sea, the street grew crowded with bystanders.  As the prince walked behind the princess, the people threw bits of garbage and glass bottles, weeds and mud and rotten eggs at him.  As he approached, the crowd began to roar, and person after person cried out against him, their words denouncing everything that was true and good about the king’s son. 

 

The princess cowered in fear until she realized that they were not jeering at her—they were jeering the king’s son!  She turned back to stare in dismay.  The prince walked with his head bent, a crown of twisted thorns on his head.  A tattered robe of crimson was draped about his shoulders.  Blood streamed down his face and his bare back as he staggered forward.  He had been whipped so horribly he was nearly dead. 

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When had this happened?  Who had done this to him?  The prince!  The good king’s son!  His beloved son!

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Then someone called out against her.  A rotten tomato landed on her foot. 

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“There she is!” someone screamed.  “The one who betrayed the prince!  She must die!  She must die too!”

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Sobbing, the princess began to run.  But there was no place to run to, so she ran through the crowds of shouting people until she was stopped by a bizarre wooden platform built just to the side of the road.  Another tomato hit the back of her head.  The princess cried out and fell into a crumpled heap at the foot of the platform.

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The shouting grew louder as the prince drew near.  As he came to stand beside the fallen princess, a man leaped to the platform.  He wore a black cape that swirled around his knees, and a large hat with a plume as black as the night on his head.

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“Good people!” he cried.  “Good people!”

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The crowd began to settle.

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“We have here—"  The man leered at the princess.  “We have here a once beautiful princess who was loved by the king’s son!  But she despised and hated him and ran from him!  Every day she committed sins worse than the ones of the day before!  She was given the best of everything—a fine home, a good education!  The finest of things to eat, the best of things to own!  Three times she ran from him!  She hated him, mocked and scorned him!  All he had done for her she cast aside to live a life of pleasure and self-interest!  She has rightly agreed that she must die for her sins!  See her!  Do you agree?!”

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The crowd roared its approval.  The princess buried her face in her hands, tears of remorse streaming down her face.  Oh, why did I treat him so badly?!  Why did I do what I did?!  Now I know—now I know!  All he ever showed me was love!  A love I never deserved!

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Yet even as she laid there, the prince, who was near collapse, quietly rose to his full height.  Something about him commanded the crowd to be still.  The prince raised his head, and smiled, a sweet, clear smile of love and joy, patience and compassion.

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 “Yes,” he said, “Yes, she deserves to die.  All of you deserve to die.  There is nothing you can do that can cover your sins which stain you even this minute.  Again, there is nothing you can do! And to condemn another is to condemn yourself, for you are all guilty like the princess."

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“But the king’s good law says this: that if there is one who is clean and pure as the creator—then he can become the sacrifice for the ones who have sinned.  And so, today, I offer myself.  I am worthy.  I am the son of the king, and am equal to him in power and glory.  Please do to me as you would have done to the princess—as each of you deserves to have done to yourselves.”

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And so there was blood.  Horrible blood.  The life blood of the good king’s son was drained out upon the stage.  The crowd grew strangely silent, and one by one they slipped away, until only the princess and the good king stood beneath the grumbling grey sky.  One final breath—a cry—and the prince was dead.

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“Come,” said the king to the princess.  “Come, child, come home.”  And the princess followed her king.

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The night had come, bringing with it a cloud-filled sky.  Rain drenched them as they approached the castle.  The princess could barely see in the dim light, but the king steadied her with his arm.  As they approached the castle, a bright light flashed, as though a lightning bolt had lit the night. 

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When they entered the castle, the princess began to hear a crowd once more.  But this time, there was cheering, cheering and laughter and the sound of triumphant music.  Astonished, the princess dropped the king’s hand and ran into the throne room.  To her amazement, there stood the king’s son beside the throne.  Before him lay table after table down the length of the room.  The hall was decorated for a banquet, for a great feast of which no-one had ever seen the likes.

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Then he saw her, and he smiled.

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“The bride!  The bride!” The people shouted, and the princess was caught by the arms and pushed and squeezed and ducked and pulled through the crowd--until she stood before the shining prince—her beloved.

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“You are alive!” she whispered.

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“I am!  Death has lost its hold on me. I am the perfect lamb, and because I chose to die for you, you have been washed clean of your sins and made new.  Today is our wedding feast—the feast of the Lamb, and you are my precious bride.  You are forgiven, you are loved, you are mine.”  And his joy lit the room.

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And so  the good king gave his beloved son to die for us, his chosen children.  There is nothing you have done or will do, nothing you have suffered through or despised yourself over that cannot be forgiven.  He is the great king who makes all things knew.  When you know the king, you become his precious little princess.  He suffered for you.  He waits for you.  He loves you with an everlasting love that will never fade or grow old.  Nothing can make you worthy but the blood that Jesus Christ sacrificed for you.

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Tonight, you came as beautiful princesses all dressed up in your finest.  But we all know that there is a great deal of ugliness hiding beneath the surface.  No-one else may see it, but we know it’s there.  Yet God loves us before we are loveable, cleans us up from our filthiness, and woos us as his beloved bride.  If you are here tonight, you are a daughter.  You may also be a mom, or a grandma, but whatever else you are, when you know Jesus, you are God’s precious little princess.  His desire is for you to know him and the love he has for you, and for you to bring him glory in all you do.  You are a daughter of the king!  Let’s praise him tonight!

 

The End

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Note:  I read this story at the Mother-Daughter Banquet at First Baptist Church of Matawan in the Spring of 2023.