Make Way For The King

“There’s a new series called Downton Abbey. You have to watch it with me,” Mum says, patting the space next to her on the sofa.

There are two sofas in the lounge. Dad has the sofa on the right all to himself. Mum and I sit together on the one on the opposite side. We usually hold hands, or I stroke her hair. If there is something emotional on the TV, I can’t look at her. One look and she makes me cry.

Something about her excitement over this programme convinces me that I might enjoy it. Dad nestles into his sofa with a bowl of nuts on his lap and begins coring an apple.

The opening credits roll. A man and his dog stride across the lawns of a large estate to the sounds of violins and piano, providing a sense of urgency and drama. Large wooden shutters open out onto the grounds, flooding the interior of the stately home with light. The service bell rings downstairs in the staff’s dining area. The scene shifts to a giant brass kettle on the stove, to a maid meticulously dusting a chandelier, and to handwritten letters awaiting distribution by the butler. We are reeled into a collision of two worlds. Mum looks at me, and the creases at the corner of her eyes deepen. “Maggie Smith is in it,” she says.

I smile back at her. “I love her. She always reminds me of Nan.”

Mum stifles a laugh. The episode begins.

For today’s post, instead of the usual cuppa, why not grab yourself a proper Afternoon Tea, curl up in your favourite chair and join me as we take this journey together. According to Granny, tea always tastes better served in fine china.

_{Courtesy of Downton Abbey Instagram - @downtonabbey_official}

Granny’s maiden name was Gladys Jolly. I have mentioned her before in an earlier post. I love her name. I love it even more because she was a jolly woman. She did everything with excellence and joy.

Going to Granny and Grandad’s for Sunday lunch was like going to Downton. They had two perfectly polished miniature silver dishes, one for salt, the other for pepper, both with their miniature spoons that always took centre stage on the table. Matching plates and side plates would be laid with precision and the cutlery perfectly aligned next to them. The same precision was applied to polishing the bone-handled knives. I liked to pick up my knife and use it as a mirror.

Granny loved to cook. Dish after dish would be brought to the table. She always asked me to place my order the week before. My answer was always the same: roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, mashed potato and one of her homemade strawberry mousses just for me. She would produce everything I had asked for and more. We would pile our plates high and go in for seconds, even thirds. Jez and I always fought each other over the last serving of roast potatoes.

Everyone else would have gooseberry pie or apple crumble for pudding, but I would guard my strawberry mousse jealously and eat the whole lot. Where did I put it all? I have no idea. I was a stick at the time and had to have extra notches made into my belt to hold my trousers up.

‘Hollow legs,’ Mum said.

‘Hollow legs,’ Granny agreed. She would smile and offer me more.

If that weren’t enough, we would digest for a few hours and return for an afternoon tea of sandwiches with the crusts removed, and homemade meringues with double cream.

Granny hand-whisked everything. Her arms never seemed to tire.

_{I have inherited these two. I think it’s time I gave them a polish!}

Why am I sharing this?

Granny worked in a private residence as a domestic servant. In those days, young women were not permitted to continue their education, so they were funnelled into service at the age of 14. Granny was highly intelligent, extremely academic and applied herself with the same vigour in the domestic field. It wasn’t long before she was cooking in the kitchen, and it’s there that she learned how to produce such a banquet with one whisk of her mighty arms.

She lived the very ‘thing’ Downton portrayed. She was not the one being served. She did the serving. She executed it with excellence and joy.

I am not a royalist. Neither am I an advocate for the aristocracy. What I do find interesting is that innate desire for perfection, for making things clean, perfect and an acceptable standard for the arrival of royalty.

We are not going to invite the king or queen into our home when we haven’t taken out the rubbish, when there is a pile of dirty washing sitting in the basket at the bottom of the stairs. We are not going to invite them into our home until the bathrooms have been scrubbed from top to toe, every room has been dusted, all cobwebs removed, and no layer of dust can be found on any surface. I look up at the corners of my father’s house and realise I still have so many cobwebs to remove. For the last two years I have been looking down rather than up. When I do see a cobweb, I tell myself I will deal with it later and later never comes.

Granny would have dealt with them a long time ago. They wouldn’t have been allowed to cross the threshold in the first place. She would really go to town if she saw the current state of our home. But this is a different era, and this is not the main purpose of today’s post.

• We make such a great effort for people, for hierarchies created by man, for dignitaries and those considered worthy of such honour, but what about the King of Kings?

• Do we roll out the red carpet or ask him to come in through the kitchen door?

• Where is the fanfare announcing his arrival?

• Where is the excitement and preparation worthy of the King?

• Do we give him our best or our sloppy seconds?

• What other things take the throne of our lives?

If we are honest, many distractions juggle for first place in our hearts. It could even be something that started as a blessing but quickly moved to the number one spot. A spouse, children, a good job, fame or recognition often become a good candidate for a seat on the throne. Or it could be that very thing we are using right now to read this post, to scroll through Instagram, to check our messages or whatever else we use our devices for.

I have to be honest. I am very good at treating him as a friend. I invite him into the kitchen for a cuppa, a natter, some breakfast. We hang out. We enjoy a close relationship, but do I always acknowledge his Kingship?

Do I revere him as I should?

The answer is not always.

I’m so busy leaning in, being close, and casting my cares on him that I sometimes forget the most important thing: to make way for the King.

Fortunately for us, He is forgiving. Fortunately for us, He is patient. He gives us many chances to try to get this right.

He also accepts our tears in the middle of the night when we cannot think straight, when we come to him with snot trails collecting above our top lips and prayers consisting of two words: “Help me.”

He is so kind and loving that he swoops in and dries our eyes, cleans up our snot trails and brings the comfort we need to get back up again, but let’s not forget who He is. Let’s not forget to prepare our hearts and minds and give him the honour and adoration that the Most High deserves.

Perhaps I wrote this post as a note to myself. Perhaps I wrote this to remind myself to be more balanced and more respectful as I approach the Throne of Grace. Perhaps I wrote this to remind myself to polish the silver regularly, sweep away the cobwebs, roll out the red carpet and keep my home in order. I want his presence to stay, after all.

One thing is for certain: as I look at the UK and Mexico and observe what both cultures revere, I don’t see preparation being made for the King. If I look at the countries of the earth, I can’t see any that honour the King. In fact, I see quite the opposite. He has been removed from the classroom; He has been removed from policy, from governments, from monarchies and replaced by others. Even in some churches, He is mentioned, but only in name.

As He removes his presence from towns, regions and countries, we must ask ourselves what is coming in his place. What have we invited into our cultures as a substitute?

I saw another post just the other day about a street preacher being arrested in the UK for hate speech. While preaching the good news of eternal salvation to the people of his town, he was accused of spreading hate. The police officer was concerned that those listening might be offended by eternal life.

A Christian country no longer makes way for its King. A Christian country has crowned another king in His place.

This is happening all over Christendom. The takeover is well-advanced. The enemy is actively taking territory.

Let’s return to the basics. If we remember to make way for the King as individuals, then the ripples will be felt in our families, neighbourhoods, towns, regions, cities and countries.

I do not want to see a world that crowns the enemy as king. Do you?

I know, this is where we all let out a deep sigh. We know what is coming according to End Time Prophecy. We’ve all read Revelation and all the other prophetic books.

Based on what we have just covered here, I believe we are even closer than we think.

Are you ready?

_{Courtesy of Debbie Hancock - Pinterest}

That’s it for today.

Drop me a line. I would love to hear from you.

Blessings,

Sally