Two Princesses

This is the tale of two princesses.  While they are both princesses, and they share many similarities, they also are very different.  Just about as different as the air in a cave is as from the air at dawn.  One is stagnant and smells musty, the other is sweet, and teases the senses awake.

One princess wakes up in the morning, and if the outfit she planned on wearing to school is still in the wash (her Mom servant didn’t have time to wash it last night), she slams doors or sulks all the way to school.  If the milk is old, so she can’t eat her cereal, someone hears about it.  While driving to school, if someone cuts her off, well, road rage might be a bit of an understatement.  I could go on, describe a whole day to you, but I bet you get the picture.

The other princess leads a different sort of princess-life.  She sings like an angel and the birds come and help her clean up a messy house.  Or as she scrubs the floor, all the soap bubbles reflect her face in a romantic-whist full sort of way.  And her mice-friends are sewing her a dress for the ball tonight.  Ha. Just kidding.

No, the other kind of princess has her outfit for school because she washed it herself the night before.  And, even if she had forgotten (it happens to the best of us) it wouldn’t have been the end of the world for her.  If all the bananas for breakfast have freckles, she’s not going to throw a fit.  She can eat cereal with the best of them…even if she wouldn’t prefer to.  And if someone cuts her off on the way to school, she says a little prayer of thankfulness that they didn’t hit her and hope they make it to work on time.

The first princess the “diva” sort of princess; her heart is focused on herself.  The second princess has a “Little Princess” princess heart (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to go read The Little Princess.  It’s a fun book).  The second sort of princess has a heart focused on God and others.

Both of these girls are princesses; they both are the daughter of a king.  They both are incredibly wealthy.

I’m betting you can guess which one you’re supposed to be.  The thing is, it’s a day-by-day choice – especially if you live in a place like America.  When we have everything literally at our fingertips, it gets pretty easy to believe that this is how it’s supposed to be. And that life is supposed to at least be comfortable.  After all, we have tons of servants here in America.  And don’t tell me you don’t.  Chances are you don’t have to wash your dishes – a machine gracefully does that for you.  You probably have a carriage so you don’t have to walk to school (it’s called a car).  You probably even have a washer-maid to keep your clothes clean (she’s often disguised as a metal box that is generally called a wash machine).

So when you’re surrounded by such wealth, it’s a genuine challenge to keep your heart and mind guarded, to keep them focused correctly.  It is super-easy for us listen to the little, brown, slimy creature that sits on all of our shoulders, quietly whispering that we DESERVE a clear road, or non-spoiled milk, or our clothes to be ready to be worn the minute we want them, or for the internet to always be available to us.  That creature is called Entitled.  If you listen to it, if you become the first princess, you will soon begin to look a lot like that creature – pretty gross.

Be the second princess.  Keep guard on your heart against Entitled.  Keep in mind that you don’t deserve anything – especially the quality of life you lead.  It’s a gift; a responsibility you’ve been given.  Use and serve with it well.

 

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s