Image of an Outcast

He had worn it ever since the day the priest had given it to him. Worn it under his ragged, smelly clothes, next to his heart—a heart that continued to pump the warm, red blood through a body that had already died. He wasn’t sure why he wore it. Maybe because it represented himself: an outcast from humanity, suffering alone and slowly dying. He wondered what he would do when the thin yellowed string rotted. Would he give it up then, or try to find another string to tie the image around his neck?
He slowly released the small, wooden carving and allowed it to fall against his wasted chest. He couldn’t even feel when it hit—well, perhaps he could barely feel the roughness as it brushed across his flesh. His raw flesh.
He spread his hands out before him so that he could see them. His eyes worked but he wasn’t always sure he was glad of that. It meant that he could torture himself with looking at his rotting body, slowly decaying while he still remained alive. At one time he had thought it was ghastly. But now, he had gotten used to it.
He had become accustomed to his hands, oozing and white, his fingers masses of peeling flesh without fingernails. He knew, from looking at the others in the camp, that his hair must now be snowy white and his eyebrows flaky. They had itched terribly, a long time ago, but even that feeling was gone now.
He never saw anyone but the others. And the occasional priest who came into the camp to preach and bring holy objects.
He had heard that Jesus had healed lepers. He had waited and watched the large crucifix in the middle of the camp. When the blood ran fresh, they had told him, he could touch it and be healed. But the blood never ran fresh. He couldn’t blame Jesus. He had bled once. Why would He want to bleed again?
Still he felt a special bond with the man on the cross. That is why he treasured his small wooden crucifix next to his heart. Not because he hoped it would heal him—he had worn it a long time now, and yet he had only grown worse. But he liked to look at it. He could imagine the man, when he was being scourged and the flesh was peeling off His back. He was so mutilated that He almost looked leprous.
He had heard a priest say that Jesus had touched a leprous man. Touched him and healed him! No one had touched him. Not even the priest who had given him the image. The priest had dropped it from a few inched into the rotting palm. Then he had turned away.
He knew that Jesus’ people had hated the lepers. They were considered “unclean”, driven outside the city and not allowed to touch anyone. They were outcasts. They always had been. They always would be.
But Jesus had been an outcast too. He had been cast out of the inn when He was born. He had been cast out of Israel when He was young. He had been driven outside of the city and killed. An outcast. And so He was very much like a leper.
Even God had forsaken Him. Jesus had said so on the cross. The very words, he himself had uttered “My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?”
It wasn’t fair. But it was fact. He had been forsaken, and Jesus had been forsaken. Both of them were outcasts.
That was why he liked the small, wooden crucifix that he wore around his neck. It symbolized the fact that he was forsaken.
“He who would not save His own Son...” he quoted the words to himself.

The leper slung a pot of water down from his shoulder, splashing water over his hands, He was glad to have a well in camp, even if it only held stagnant rainwater. If he had gone near the village to get water, he would have been driven away with stones.
Now several ragged cats came eagerly forward and he tipped the bucket down so that they could drink. Even if they did consume his food and water, they were good company. And a good protection.
He never felt it during the long, dark nights, when he slept fitfully hoping for dawn, the hungry rats would creep out of their holed and tunnels and come to gnaw on his hands and feet and legs. He had one toe that had been eaten completely to the bone.
But the cats had become his friends. When he would waken in the night to the sound of scuffling feet, he would see the green, glowing eyes of the cats and know with satisfaction that any rat that came within arm's length of him was prey to their sharp teeth. And so he could sleep without fear. In return he shared his water and whatever small scraps of food as the cats might fancy.
Sometimes he was so hungry that he wished he, too could catch and devour the vermin.
He wondered if rats had come to gnaw on Jesus as He hung on the cross. He had asked a priest once—the first one who had come to tell the story. The priest had seemed horrified at the thought of such a sacrilege.
The priest had explained how Jesus did not stay on the cross. Jesus had been raised from the dead and had never “undergone decay”. So they said, but he didn’t believe it.
If that was true, why was Jesus still on the cross? No. He decided he would not believe that part of the story. The priests had made that part up because they didn’t want Jesus to remain an outcast. But he did. He wanted Jesus to decay. Just like he was. That’s how he’s come to feel a close bond with Jesus.
He reached a rotting hand under his tunic, as he seated himself, and brought his crucifix out into the light. The string stuck into the skin around his neck, but he pulled it loose.
It was a small image—it fit neatly into his palm. But it was his Jesus. The flesh peeling off of Him, the body torn and mutilated. The beard was ripped out by the roots, and the eyes looked sad and distant. Forsaken.
He liked the way Jesus looked hanging on the cross. He was glad Jesus was still hanging on the cross. He was glad that Jesus was like him. He liked the image of Jesus as an outcast.
He didn’t want God to raise Jesus. He didn’t believe it could happen. If God would raise Jesus, why wouldn’t God raise him from the dead—heal him?
If God would raise him, then maybe he’d believe that Jesus had raised.
But he could see Jesus still on the cross. And he could see his hands and arms and legs still rotting.

It was midday and there was a hum. Just a steady humming sound coming from down in the camp, near the well. He had been hearing it for some time now, but his own thoughts had occupied his mind, drowning out the hum.
He had thought of the lepers of God’s people. Thought of how God had rejected them. God had said that lepers were unclean. God had ordered them out of the camp of His people. They were the outcasts.
He was sitting with his back against a rock. He knew his clothes were sticking to his back, but he didn’t care. He tugged at the string around his neck and pulled the crucifix from its hiding place. Jesus was an outcast, too. Cast out from God’s presence. Scorned by men. He made good company.
The humming changed to a drone, becoming more insistent. It began to sound like a human voice. Had a visitor come to the camp? Perhaps a travelling priest had come to bring them food, and read them the Holy Scriptures. But not touch them. Never touch them. They were unclean.
Slowly he stood up and ambled down the hill. It was many shuffling steps to the well, and he took his pot with him, so as not to make the trip twice.
A young man was seated on the edge of the well, reading to the ragged lepers grouped around him. What was it the priest was reading? He paused to listen. Only something about John--a man named John who lived in the wilderness and ate insects. He was not interested in john.
Cautiously he picked his way around the others, making his way to the well. He had come the long, dusty way down to the well; he might as well fill his pot before making his way home again.
He noticed that the priest was reading about John baptizing, as he dipped his pot into the well. But he didn’t care about John. John had never touched a leper—he had never baptized an outcast.
“The next day John saw Jesus coming to him...”
He paused as he heard the name of Jesus. What would John do to Jesus? Would he baptize an outcast?
“...And John said, ‘Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.’”
There was a clatter and a slosh as the bucket full of water slipped from his hands and fell onto the edge of the rock well, shattering. He was aware of all the eyes looking at him. Uncomfortably aware.
The priest looked up. “Are you all right, old man?”
He didn’t notice the words. He didn’t notice that the young priest had called him an old man—the young priest who had probably lived longer than he had, but who could only see his oozing face and snowy hair.
“Read it again,” he croaked, his hands still frozen as if he held a jar.
The priest opened the book again and found his place. “The next day John saw Jesus coming to him,” he nodded as the priest glanced up to make sure that was the requested passage. “And John said ‘Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.’”
“Now read about the lepers!” His hands were shaking with eagerness, and he didn’t notice the sticky trickle making its way down his cheek.
The priest looked at him quizzically. “The—lepers?”
“The law for cleansing lepers!” He had heard it before. He had always asked to hear about the lepers—the outcasts.
The priest gave him a curious look and turned toward the front of the book. Slowly he began reading the law for the cleansing of a healed leper.
He waited impatiently for the priest to move on. Wouldn’t the words he wanted to hear come next?
“’And if he is poor, and his means are insufficient, then he is to take one male lamb as a guilt offering...he shall slaughter the lamb for the guilt offering...this is the law for him in whom there is an infection of leprosy, whose means are limited, for his cleansing.’”
“Now read that other again,” His voice was still hoarse as he moved closer to the young priest.
The priest thumbed through the pages and quietly read, “‘behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!’”
Without thinking, he laid his hand eagerly on the young priest’s arm. The priest recoiled.
“Jesus touched me,” he croaked, removing his hand and bowing his head in shame.
“You are right, friend,” the gentle voice returned. “Forgive me. Where now?” And the priest’s hand squeezed his shoulder.
“Read when Jesus healed the leper.”
And he listened.
“’And behold, a leper came to Him, and bowed down to Him, saying, “Lord, if you are willing, You can make me clean.” And He stretched out His hand and touched Him saying, “I am willing, be cleansed.” And immediately the leprosy was cleansed.’”
He got up slowly. “Thank you,” he mumbled and hobbled away. Away to his own space of ground were he could think, and where he could look at his crucifix.

It seemed he had been sleeping forever when he saw a figure coming toward him, and he heard a voice day “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”
“He who believes in Me, even though he dies, He shall live forever, and I will raise him up on the last day.”
He remembered how he had hoped to be raised to life—hoped to be healed.
“Lord,” he said, “If You are willing, You can make me clean!”
“I am willing,” Jesus reached out, he wrapped his arm around him, then slowly let go. “Be clean.” A trickle of blood flowed from His pierced hands, and down the leper’s fingers.
He awoke. A trickle of blood was running down his fingers. His hand had clutched his knife in his sleep, and he had not felt when it cut through his flesh.
It was daylight now. The other lepers were stirring.
He tore a strip from his clothing and bound it around his finger. Then he plodded down the hill to the well to bathe it.
As he dipped his sticky finger into the water of the well, he looked up at the large crucifix that had not bled to heal him, like the priest had said it might.
He could see the marks of the wounds carved in the flesh of Jesus. The blood had flown once to cleanse him. Jesus had become an outcast to make him clean—to take him in. He didn’t need to stay on the cross, suffering shame and slow death anymore.
Lovingly he fingered the crucifix around his neck. He withdrew it from under his shirt and took out his knife. Thoughtfully he set to work.

“What are you doing?” It was the young priest who had seen him sitting on the edge of the well, his shaggy white head bent over his work.
Carefully he brushed the wooden shavings from his lap and held the image up so he could survey it.
“What have you done?” The priest gasped in horror, reaching for the small, now-empty cross.
But he clutched it to his heart, away from the priest’s grasping hand. Calmly he shook his head as he retied the string around his neck.
The priest seemed bewildered. “What have you done to the holy image?” He demanded, taking a step backward.
The leper turned to face him with large, mournful eyes, wiped his knife on a fold of his clothing and put it away. Then he pointed to the large crucifix hanging nearby and shook his head.
“Jesus raised.”

For Your Glory, Lord

~From Ezekiel 36~

For Your sake, O Holy One
And to vindicate Your name
Gather my life together
And cleanse me
For Your glory, Lord

Prove Yourself, O Holy One
Among the heathens who profane
Bring me home to You
And fill me
For Your glory, Lord

For the glory You desire
For the honor You deserve
Soften my heart of stone
Renew me
For Your glory, Lord

Make the nations worship You
And make them sing Your praises
Put Your Spirit in me
And use me
For Your glory, Lord

Not for my own sake, Redeemer
But for the sake of Your name
Multiply fruit bearing
To me
For Your glory, Lord

For Your sake, O Holy One
That those who see may comment
“He makes the barren soul
“Like Eden”.
For Your glory, Lord

Romans 7:19

This is a day of bitter repentance;
For I have sinned!
And every day is the same.

“For the good that I wish, I do not do; but I practice the very evil that I do not wish.” ~Romans 7:19

Romans 12:1-2

“In light of God’s mercy
I plead with you, my brethren,
To lay yourselves on the altar of sacrifice
Set apart to live devoted to God
Which is how He desires to be worshiped
Not in the methods of this world
But in a spirit of truth
Rendering your minds
Transforming your lives
To prove that God has decided to accept you
As perfect.

~Sparrow, Tell Me~

Sparrow, tell me how you live
Each day upon your song
For though you do not gather wood
Or build a fire to cook your food
You are not hungry long

Sparrow, tell me why you sing
When winter-time is near
Do you not fear the winds that blow
With no warm house in which to go
At this cold time of year?

Sparrow, tell me why you fly
When you, in flight, might fall
Is it no worry to your mind
That, struck from heaven, danger finds
Yet you fear not at all.

Sparrow, teach me how you trust
Upon the God above
For it is He that feeds your young
And fills your little heart with song
To show me He is love.

Prayers of Dust

I plead a cause I think is just

With eloquence that man applauds

My guilded prayers melt into dust

Before the mercy seat of God

Is He who formed the mouth impressed

With many words and colored speech?

My empty prayers He sees undressed

And into dust He turns them each

But when I bow my knees and sob

That is a sound His spirit knows

Its measured beat meets with my throb

And cries to heaven overflow

And every word is deeper far

Than all the wells of earthly voice

No sounds of mine could ever mar

The pleadings of that Spirit’s choice

And when my God my prayer receives

It is not empty words He holds

His spirit intercedes for me

And turns my prayers of dust to gold.

Mirror of Truth

James 1:22-25 & James 4:17

I stand before the mirror of truth
With the reflection of my soul before me
I know that if I look
And walk away
I will forget

I am afraid to look and stay
And yet I am ashamed to walk away

I stand before the mirror of truth
I do not want to gaze too closely at myself
I know that if I look
And take to heart
My heart must change

I am afraid to look and stay
And yet I am ashamed to walk away

I want to look upon the surface
But if my eyes are opened I will see the flaws
I know that if I see
A need for change
I am condemned

He who know the right thing to do
And does not do that thing
It is a sin

I am afraid to look and stay
And yet I am ashamed to walk away

I stand before the mirror of truth
Afraid to look

Less Than White

Oh my soul, it is easy to seem godly

When that godliness has not been challenged

It is easy to seem holy

When there is no call to higher holiness

And when compared to all that is unholy.

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

Oh my heart, it is easy to seem pure

When that purity is not as dirty as the mind

It is easy to seem spotless

When I’m fixed upon the spots of others

And close my mind to all that spots my heart

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

Oh my mind, it is easy to seem good

When the rotten thoughts are buried deep

It is easy to sound truthful

When the truth can cover darker lies

And when the truth is easy to bear

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

Oh my life, you must be willing to step

Into the call of greater holiness and truth

It is a hard thing to seem holy

When standing next to the Christ who is

And stepping far from sin

Comparing black to grey

Would make the grey seem bright

But there is a holiness that is nothing less than white

I Draw Near

I draw near to Thy temple door

And cast myself upon the floor

For with the curtain Thou hast torn

A royal priesthood has been born

My incense in my hand I hold

My prayers of dust Thou turnest gold

And pleases to recieve from me

Despite my stained humanity

Thou settest me upon my feet

Before Thy covered mercy seat

And biddest me to raise my head

And seek to know Thee more, instead

No cloud of smoke surroundeth Thee

But only Holy Majesty

Which blinds the eyes of Pharisees

And lightens those who cannot see

In this sacred place and time

Thou bidst me take the bread and wine

The holy blood and body tell

Of a priest who sacrificed Himself.

God Gives Gifts

(Lauren's Song)

God gives gifts to all His own

I know that I am loved

Because He sends me rainbows

From His mercy seat above

Every perfect thing bestowed

Is credit to His grace

And though I cannot touch my God

I see Him in your face

When I hear your voice

I hear God saying “Child, I love you.”

When I see your smile

I know that He has smiled on me

You are like a one-way sign

That points my heart toward heaven

From which the blessings flow abundantly

You are my reminder

That a God who loves me gives

The likeness that I see in you

Reflects that Jesus lives

When I see you face to face

I know that He is there

That heart of yours that seeks His throne

Unites with me in prayer

When I hear your voice

I hear God saying “Child, I love you.”

When I see your smile

I know that He has smiled on me

You are like a one-way sign

That points my heart toward heaven

From which the blessings flow abundantly

There is a bond of blood

That runs deeper than our veins

The Prince who bought you with His blood

Has cleansed me of my stains

The God who so loved that He gave

His Son to bear our sins

Will no good thing from me withhold

So He gave me you as friend

When I hear your voice

I hear God saying “Child, I love you.”

When I see your smile

I know that He has smiled on me

You are like a one-way sign

That points my heart toward heaven

From which the blessings flow abundantly

Gateway to Heaven

You are the way to the Father on high

You laid down the path when You came here to die

And the blood that flowed freely was my ticket in

To the gateway of Heaven and freedom from sin.

Chorus:

So praise the Way, who made the way

To show us the way

Who paid the way, to pave the way

There’s only one Way!

There is only one way, and the way is in You

You are love, You are life, You are spirit and truth

And You’ve opened the narrow gate, letting me in

To the gateway of Heaven and freedom from sin.

Chorus

There is only one path, without You I can’t come

No one reaches the Father, except by the Son

And You’ve gone in between us, so I can come in

To the gateway of Heaven and freedom from sin.

Chorus

For Your Glory, Lord

~From Ezekiel 36~

For Your sake, O Holy One

And to vindicate Your name

Gather my life together

And cleanse me

For Your glory, Lord

Prove Yourself, O Holy One

Among the heathens who profane

Bring me home to You

And fill me

For Your glory, Lord

For the glory You desire

For the honor You deserve

Soften my heart of stone

Renew me

For Your glory, Lord

Make the nations worship You

And make them sing Your praises

Put Your Spirit in me

And use me

For Your glory, Lord

Not for my own sake, Redeemer

But for the sake of Your name

Multiply fruit bearing

To me

For Your glory, Lord

For Your sake, O Holy One

That those who see may comment

“He makes the barren soul

“Like Eden”.

For Your glory, Lord

Flowers of Thought

My mind is fertile ground for thoughts

Which spring from small, unnoticed seeds

Planted by the winds of chance

They grow as weeds

They must be torn up and laid before my King

To preserve the flower of thought in purity

So grows the flower of thought

And to the Son it turns its gaze

Reflecting beauty in the mind

And cultivating prayer and praise

As little birds bring seeds to plant

So little devils bring them too

To choke the thoughts of good

Which would renew

They must be torn up and laid before my King

To preserve the flower of thought in purity

Be careful little ears what you hear

Be careful little eyes what you see

Be careful little mind what you cultivate

Poison’s planted by the enemy

Suggestions grow consuming roots

When watered by the rains of mind

Made fertile by considering

All else they bind.

They must be torn up and laid before my King

To preserve the flower of thought in purity

Sow a thought, reap an idea

Sow an idea and I find

I’ve sown a mindset more than mental

My thoughts will shape my state of mind

While little birds can carry seeds

Little devils brought them too

And planted weeds that grew

Before I knew

The devil knows if I water seeds he throws my way

I won’t be able to offer God a pure bouquet

The Old Ways

I get really sick of fairy dust sometimes. It’s so old-fashioned and it’s forever getting in my food, my bubble bath and clogging up my tubes of lotion. Supposedly it is a gift from my Fairy GodMother, meant to keep me safe and modest—or something like that. I’m told she gave it to me at my christening, along with my Eucharis Lily. That’s what they call it, anyway. It means Maiden Charm, although it’s not very charming in my opinion—kind of stuffy and spinsterish. But since you are a modern audience, I probably should explain a little better. My Eucharis is a silly looking locket, a quaint heart-shape imbedded in a lily, and with a keyhole in the front. It needs polishing all the time. Supposedly, us fairy-tale princesses are to cherish it and keep it shiny until such a time as we meet our Prince Charming, when we promptly hand it over to him for safe keeping. But guys these days just don’t care for grandmotherly trinkets.

By now I’m sure you are wondering why this story didn’t start out “once upon a time”. Truth is, I’m not a very traditional fairy-tale princess. Never was. Don’t care to be. My parents want me to “walk in the old ways”, but I am quite convinced that satin slippers are a little more than slightly out of style. So are silk gowns and pointed princess hats.

And princes are extinct.

You know how parents are. They just don’t seem to realize that times have changed since the day my Mom kissed a frog. Imagine me telling my friends how my parents met!

“Yeah, my Mom was sitting by an abandoned well crying because she lost her gold ball...”

“Her what?”

“Her gold ball. Princesses have always played with gold balls.”

“Sheesh. That is so weird. I mean, if I were a princess I’d be going to gold balls, not playing with them.”

And you can see how it would progress.

“Sick! Your Mom kissed a frog?”

“She had to. Her dad told her to.”

“So? I wouldn’t have done it. That is so, like totally weird. There’s plenty of cute guys out there without needing to go around kissing frogs.”

Yeah. Like I said, being a princess isn’t cool anymore. Everybody’s got their own ideas about what a princess is or does, and my parent’s ideas don’t match up. Of course Mom and Dad are totally oblivious. I guess they're still lost in their “happily ever after”. But “happily ever afters” just don’t happen anymore. And “once upon a time” was way to long ago. I am just totally ready to get out of my parents fairy-tale and into my own reality.

Of course, like any dutiful princess, I tried talking to my Fairy GodMother to see if she would fix the problem.

“Be content,” she said. “Most girls have it much worse than you do. You have a long family history of happy endings, you are as beautiful as the dawn, as sweet-smelling as roses and if anything ever goes wrong a charming prince will come rescue you.”

“What good is being as beautiful as the dawn, when I’m stuck in a dress that looks like all of my friend’s curtains sewn together, and covers me from neck to toe-nails, plus a veil. And why in the world would I want to smell like roses? Only old ladies wear that kind of a scent now days. Vanilla and coconut are much more culturally acceptable. For crying out loud, what in the world do I want a charming prince for? To fix his dinner? If I get into any trouble, I’ll just get out again on my own. When I want to get married, there are plenty of good-looking boys to choose from.”

“But Rosebud,” my Fairy Godmother looked so distressed as she paced the room, scattering fairy-dust everywhere. “You can’t just marry anyone. You have to wait for just the right prince to come and sweep you off your feet.”

I sniffed and turned my back on her. “Those kinds of princes died out with the dinosaurs.”

“Some people still see dinosaurs every once in a while.” She laid her hand on my shoulder. “Just be patient, Dearie. Hand on to that Eucharis Lily I gave you and I will help you find a prince.”

“Keep your stale fairy-dust to yourself,” I snapped. “Along with your out-dated advice. Both of them make me sneeze. As for that stupid locket, I’ll give it to the first guy that asks me for it.”

“Oh, don’t do that!” Fairy Godmother cried. “If you do, Rosebud, you’ll never get it back again!”

“Why should I care?” I turned fiercely on her. “I don’t want it. The only thing it has ever done for me, is to mark me as a behind-the-times stuck-up snob."

“No. No,” Fairy Godmother soothed. “A reserved princess, of much too fine a breed for these insolent young curs.”

“What if I want to marry one of these ‘common curs’ as you call them? I’m tired of fairy tales, and I am going to write my own story, my own way. You’ll see.”

There was silence for a second as my Fairy Godmother looked at me anxiously. “You really are going to write your own story, your own way? May I see it?”

“No,” I shut my lips tightly.

“How does it start?” She asked wheedlingly. “Just tell me how it starts. Does it start ‘once upon a time’?”

“No,” I answered again.

The Fairy Godmother covered her face and moaned. “It’ll never come out right, Rosebud. It won’t come out right. Get off to a wrong start and you can never get it to end right!”

I tossed my golden head, and my tiara flew across the room and slammed against a wall. “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t believe in ‘happily ever after’, That’s a fairy-tale for babies and old people and it just doesn’t happen anymore. Now life is all ‘happily right now’ and a lot more exciting that way. If I ever meet a dragon I’ll just fight it myself. Maybe I’ll even rescue some wimpy remnant of a prince. I believe in equality of the sexes.”

Fairy Godmother stood aghast. “How can you say that?” she gasped. “Such a thing is treason against the very fairy tale into which you were born!”

“Well the fairy tale is over. Reality is here.” I sat down and pulled off my satin slippers. “You can tell Dad that he won’t be able to trace my dancing habits to the holes in my slippers. From now on it will be flip-flops for me! And as for you—get out of here and quit messing up my life with that irritating fairy dust.”

I never saw my fairy godmother again. She went out of my life in a poof of purple smoke, shaking her head and muttering, “It’ll never come out right. Get started all wrong and you can’t ever end it right!”

Flip-flops did make life a lot easier. And my room was no longer inches thick in fairy dust, which meant that they didn’t get dust-logged as I walked from the bed to the bathroom.

I went to the beach one day with some friends and they helped me shed my exaggerated princess gown for some hotpants and a tank top. I felt a little bit naked at first, but I’d always wanted to make the change, so it came pretty easily. No longer was I “as lovely as the dawn”, but now I was right down, nitty gritty hot. Or so they said.

Bleached my hair a more trendy color of blond. Golden hair isn’t worth what it used to be.

Came home and sat down to watch the new reality TV show.

Enter Mom. “Rosebud, honey, why don’t you read a book or something.”

“Like what? The Princess and The Pea? Hanzel and Gretel? Rapunzel? That stuff isn’t even real!”

Mom looked at me disapprovingly from underneath her princess hat. “That stuff you’re watching isn’t real. If you don’t want to read, you could go for a walk in the garden.”

“No thanks,” I yawned. “With my family history, I might get attacked by a dragon.”

“No such luck,” my dad (a.k.a. The Frog Prince) sighed, coming in from the other doorway. “I’ve been out everywhere looking for one.”

“What do you need a dragon for, Love?” Mom asked, kissing my dad on the end of his nose.

“Am I getting warts again?” Dad chuckled. (Parents have such outdated senses of humor.) “Well, I was trying to think of a good test of skill for the winning of Rosebud. You know she’s fourteen and I haven’t had a single marriage proposal for her yet?”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not in trouble,” I sneered.

“We can fix that, if you don’t fix your attitude,” Mom countered. I had to admit the kind of prince who would save me from grounding would be just my kind of guy.

“What have you been up to?” Dad asked, twiddling a strand of my hair. “Looks like we need your great grandma’s friend Rumplestiltskin to come spin this straw back into gold.”

Suddenly Mom looked at me hard. “What has become of your gown? Flip-flops were one thing, but this is another. Honey, do you know how long that princess gown has been in the family?”

“Too long,” I muttered.

“Rosebud, Rosebud, what has gotten into you?”

“Reality has hit,” I snapped, jumping to my feet in anger. “I am sick of this stupid fairy-tale way of life. It doesn’t work anymore. Got it? I hate having fairy dust inches thick in my bathtub, and polishing this stupid Eucharis Lily and wearing clothes that look like they should hang from my windows, and waiting for a prince that’ll never come and always having to do things the same old ways they’ve always been done.” I was in tears by now. “Do you have any idea how old and stuffy the name Rosebud is? It’s so long and there’s only one way to spell it!”

Mom and Dad exchanged worried glances and sat down on the couch, pulling me down between them. “Honey, Rosebud is a beautiful name that dates all the way back in our family....”

“To the time of Sleeping Beauty. I know. She slept for a hundred years and the name got stale.”

“It also has a meaning,” Dad added. “We picked the name Rosebud because it means Innocence and Purity. All fairy-tale princesses have names that mean something.”

“Oh yeah,” I retorted, “Like Cinderella. Real attractive name there.”

“The names these days are so trite,” my dad continued, ignoring me. “Jordan—boy or girl. Nicki, Sidney, Britney, Britni, Britny and Brytni. And the boys! Every other one is named Josh!”

“It’s better than being named Cuthburt the Green,” I muttered under my breath.

Mom looked hurriedly at Dad, afraid I had hurt his feelings. He hadn’t heard his name.

“Your Mom and I just want what is best for you. Times are changing for the worse, and we want to preserve our little princess so that someday we can give her away to the right prince.”

“Meanwhile I’m supposed to just lay back and go to sleep for a hundred years.”

“Did you lock the attic door?” I heard Mom hiss over my head. “Remember that old spinning wheel is up there!”

Dad nodded, then turned back to me. “If that’s what it takes, yeah.”

I stood up again and tossed my head. “Well, I’m not really into hibernating, so I’ll pass this time. Sorry, but I don’t really feel like being an old fashioned princess anymore. You can lock me in a tower if you want, but I will just cut off my own hair and climb down. Just get off my back and get real. Things aren’t the way they were in the days of knights and fair ladies. And don’t call me Rosebud again. The name’s Riley.”

“Which spelling?” Dad asked dryly. Then he took me by the arm and marched me up to the tower and locked the door on the outside.

Guess I’d talked a little too big, because when I hung my hair out the window it didn’t even reach halfway down the side of the wall. Not even one sixteenth of the way to be honest. In fact, it only reached about two feet down the wall, which meant the idea of climbing down it was pretty ridiculous.

So I sat in my room and stewed for about an hour. And I choked on fairy dust and got to feeling sorry for myself. That’s when I decided to run away. Or move out, which really sounds a little more modern and mature. And the thought hit me that my bedsheets would probably be long enough, if I tied them together, to reach to the ground.

So I stripped my bed cheerfully for the first time in my life and began to tie my sheets together. I was so interested in what I was doing that I didn’t hear my mom come in. At least, not until she was standing right behind me. Then she said, “Rosebud, what are you doing?”

And I stood frozen to the floor, like a guilty nave caught with my hand in the Queen’s tarts. Slowly I turned around and swallowed hard.

“Just taking off my sheets so that I can wash them,” I answered, and for the first time in my life, I lied. I don’t think Mom could tell I was lying, but she looked very hard at my Eucharist Lily and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” I ventured, wishing she would either leave the room or tell me she’d figured me out.

“Your Eucharis Lily looks a bit tarnished. Have you been cleaning it every morning?”

“Of course,” I lied again.

I was sure I must have been blushing. My parents always told me that princesses are always truthful, and if I ever lied my tongue would split in two halves and be forever forked, marking me as a liar. But I could feel that my tongue was still in one piece.

Bot Mom was looking harder than ever at my necklace. “If it weren’t’ too foul of a thing to do, I would swear that I just watched your Lily get a rust spot!” Her face was very puzzled. “Rosebud, are you sure you’ve been polishing it every day? You know that if you let it go to pieces by not taking good care of it, it won’t be worth much to your Prince someday.”

“Mom, I already told you I polish it every morning.” I could feel it burning against my chest. Whew, would Mom ever stop making me tell lies? Of course I couldn’t stop myself, once I’d told one, so it was up to my Mom to quit asking me questions that I had to lie to. And she wasn’t taking the hint.

“Well,” she said slowly, reaching out a hand for my sheets. “Hand me your linens and I’ll take them downstairs to be washed. Meanwhile, I brought you some sewing to do.”

I must admit that I detested sewing more than I detested anything else. And I detested it more than ever when I saw what my Mom had brought me to sew. Of course, I shouldn’t have been surprised, as upset as she was about me having “lost” my old princess gown. Now she wanted me to make a new one.

“And I can’t let you out of your room, until it’s finished and you have something more decent to wear.” That’s what she said. And I knew she meant it. Not only that, but she was carrying away my ladder down the steep walls of my prison.

There are many things my mother doesn’t understand. Like I said, when she grew up millions of years ago, being a princess was fashionable. And wearing princess gowns meant you were cool. But not anymore. Kids were constantly stepping on the edges of my gown to make me trip and tugging on my sleeves and teasing me about my clothes. That was before I picked out my own clothes. After that, they seemed to accept me a little better. So I had no intention of ever putting on a princess dress again.

I thought fast. Just as Mom was heading out the door with my fire escape, an idea came to me. Pretty obvious, but it waited to come till the last minute anyway. “Mom,” I said sweetly. “I might take a notion to sleep a hundred years after all, so could you please bring me a clean set of sheets?”

Mom looked at me sharply. “Have you been in the attic?” She fussed, bundling the old sheets into a tight ball.

“Not today,” I answered evasively, “but I do feel terribly sleepy. Please won’t you bring them? I’ll make my bed all by myself.”

Mom nodded, closing the door behind her. I heard her mumbling to herself as she went down the stairs, “Maybe she’ll turn out all right after all.”

Of course Mom was wrong. Mother’s usually are. No sooner had she brought the clean sheets then I tied them together and looped them out the window. I wasn’t really sure what to take with me—everything seemed too royal and too big to get out the window, so I just tossed down my flip-flops and started to climb down after them.

“Funny thing” I heard my dad’s voice coming through the window. “Funny thing, but Rosebud sure doesn’t seem to understand that we are trying to help her. Wonder why she thinks of us as the enemies? I wish she knew all of the evil things that lurk out there, just waiting to grab her.”

“No you don’t, dear heart,” Mom argued gently, “That’s why you won’t let her find out for herself.”

Halfway down the wall, the knot I’d tied at the top gave way and I spent the rest of the descent getting wrapped up in yards of sheets and finally landing with a thud on the ground, in my mom’s flowerbed. That was not a good thing to do, so I quickly jumped up and looked around for somewhere to run.

It was then that I noticed a guy standing by the garden wall, laughing at me. So I blushed, and tried to tilt my head up and look dignified.

“Quit laughing at me, I am a princess.” For some reason, I had forgotten for the moment that I didn’t want to be a princess any more.

The boy looked at me amusedly. “Sure, and I’m the knight in shining armor come to save you. Looks to me like you’re a run-away if anything.”

“Well, yes.” I admitted. “And you do look like you could be my knight in shining armor. Can you tell me which way to go?”

He looked annoyed. “Don’t know that I want to be your knight in shining armor. I don’t fancy chicks that wear old lady jewelry. I suppose your pretty particular about that old-fashioned piece of metal, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. I’d like to get rid of it. In fact, if you’ll show me how to get out of here, I’ll give it to you.”

“You can go any way you’d like to get out of there. Come over here and I’ll help you hop the fence.”

So I trotted over to the fence and my new acquaintance grabbed me under the armpits and helped me jump over. When I was standing on the other side next to him, I couldn’t help imagining him in a visor and plume.

“Now where?” I asked eagerly.

“We can head down this alley,” he answered and took me by the hand. A chill went up my spine. I could hear my mother saying: “A prince should never take you by the hand until he goes down on one knee.” By which she meant, he shouldn’t touch you until he is ready to marry you. But times have moved on, and guys these days can’t decided whether or not they want to marry you until they have touched you. And then I got excited, because I was thinking that maybe I would have my own style of happily ever after without my parents help or rules. And without my fairy godmother’s fairy dust.

And the thought came to me that if I gave this guy my Eucharis Lily, perhaps he would marry me. It seemed reasonable. After all, my Eucharist Lily was supposedly the greatest thing I owned.

“What’s your name?” He asked, as we passed through the crowded alley. I’d never been back in so dirty of a place before, but I assumed he knew where he was going.

“Riley,” I answered promptly. “What’s yours?”

“Josh.”

“That’s a nice name,” I smiled sweetly at him, hoping I was looking as winning and beautiful as was necessary to capture his heart for ever after.

“Hmmm,” he said. “It works at least.” Then he eyed my necklace again. “I still can’t believe you’ve still got one of those mummified locket things. All the girls I know lost theirs a long time ago.”

That stung, so I said quickly, “Well, its not because I didn’t have opportunities to give it away or anything. I just haven’t found the right guy yet.”

“You one of those antique-style girls that actually plans of saving that thing for Mr. Right? What makes you think he’s gonna be so excited about it anyway?” He stopped and turned to face me, a sneer evident on his face.

“My parents always wanted me to hang on to it, but it does make me stick out like a sore thumb, doesn’t it?” I sighed, toying with the chain.

“Yeah, really. Well, I don’t have any time to waste here. If you want to hang onto that silly necklace that’s your choice, but I’ve got other things to do.” And he started to walk away.

“Josh, wait!” I cried, running to catch up with him. I realized that I’d forgotten to pick up my flip-flops when I came down the wall, and now I was barefooted. “Josh, I’ll give you the Lily. I’ll give it to you if you’ll stay with me!”

He paused for a minute. “What do you mean if I’ll stay with you?”

“Just that. You can have my necklace if you won’t go away and leave me by myself.” I was on the edge of tears. I guess I thought he was my Prince Charming, and I couldn’t imagine what I had done wrong to chase him away. Unless it was that I hadn’t offered him the necklace yet.

“Give me the necklace first and then I’ll decide.” He reached out a hand, and I tremblingly unhooked the silver Eucharist Lily and laid it in his hands.

And then I felt helpless.

He turned it over and over in his hands, examining it, and I saw with shame how dirty it was.

“Be careful with it!” I cried, suddenly apprehensive.

He looked at me scornfully and then tossed my locket on the ground and stomped on it.

And that’s how my Eucharis Lily came to be trampled and so dirty it wasn’t even recognizable. That wasn’t my idea of taking care of it. Nor did he exactly fulfil my idea of staying with me. After grinding the necklace into the dirt, he stuck his hands in his pockets and strode off. I ran after him and tried to keep up with him for a while, but he didn’t even seem to hear me when I called his name. And when he stopped to talk with another girl, I stopped trying to make him remember me.

I went back and tried to salvage my mutilated Lily, but it was too late. There was nothing left worth having.

And now I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I could go see if I can find another prince—maybe eventually I’ll find one who will stay with me ever after. I can’t give him anything—I don’t have anything to give. I don’t want to go back to my parents. They won’t understand, and they will probably just tell me “told you so”. I guess things just don’t work the way they used to. New methods breed new results.

I hate for my fairy godmother to read my story. She always said that if I start it wrong, it would end all wrong. And she’ll tell me that I shouldn’t have scorned her protective fairy dust, and cast off my princess gown and slippers.

I can’t believe that following all those old stuffy rules would make my life come out right. I don’t want to live like a cobwebbed princess, and I don’t care if it is too late to take it all back. Guess I’ll just keep trying on my own.

________________________________

Jeremiah 6:16

Thus says the Lord:

“Stand in the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths

Where the good way is, and walk in it

And you shall find rest for your souls.”

But they said, “We will not.”