Princess School Dropout

I have just returned from the Magic Kingdom.

I wish my brain would shut off sometimes.

It never does.

My first clue that I wasn’t a real Princess was the amount of sweat I produced in the “happiest place on earth.”  It is beyond the Princess protocoled “glisten.” It is a downpour.  And the sweat is second only to the frizz. My hair is quite unruly. It does as it pleases.

Hardly princess etiquette.

By the end of each day, my feet were swollen to the point that I could barely waddle from room to room.

Had one of my Birkenstocks been pried from my sausage-like toes, and Prince Charming was to try to return it… it wouldn’t go back on my pudgy foot. Under no circumstances would my form fitting shoe go back on my own foot.  I would be cast to the kitchen to spend the remainder of my days, scrubbing floors and talking to squirrels.

 

The last straw in the delusion that I might be of royal blood involved my butt.  On the drive from the condo to the park, I hopped in the 15 passenger van and buckled the baby and the vandals, our two-year-old and four-year-old sons into their car seats.  It was 8:30 in the morning, and I was already hot and sweaty and less than princessy. I flopped onto the seat, exasperated.

When our chariot arrived at the parking lot, I stood up to begin the unloading process. It was only then I realized I had been sitting on… a muffin.

Y’all, an entire Sam’s Club, giant, crumb topping, blueberry muffin.

I sat on it.

I smooshed it, with my butt.

And then I rode thirty minutes to the Magic Kingdom in complete comfort with a mutilated baked good under me, and I never flinched.

I am not a princess, that was not a pea… it was a muffin.

The basic precedents of Princess decorum is a daintiness, a tiny femininity – delicate.

It was quite fun to see the young girls eager to be dolled up at the Princess Boutique. My nieces had a delightful time… and I coveted the fairy tale.  It is fun to pretend. It is fun to imagine. But what is the fascination with the Princess life?

 

Ease? Sure.

Beauty? Definitely.

Glamor and prestige? Probably.

However, this is what I am most convicted of as of late: Happily ever after is the grandest of fairy tales.

Furthermore, I think… I am okay with this.

Well, that isn’t completely true. I wish my butt were bony enough that I noticed sitting on a mammoth pastry. Alas, I am well padded with plenty of junk in my trunk.  But, (no pun) I intend to continue to seek a firm and slimmer toosh. When I achieve the stellar bum, I seek… that still isn’t happily ever after. There will be maintenance and more trials.

The statement “there is always something,” is without a doubt the most literal of truths. The place of peaceable perfection is not of this world.  And…

Thank goodness.

 

This place, where nothing is ever an emergency, there is never a struggle, there is never need, is a place where I am without communion with the Provider of All.  I am not interested in this Utopia.

Certainly I do not crave drama. I would love for there to be a break in the madness, but here steeped in the lunacy, I find rest in the King of Kings.

Today, as I flopped onto my very own bed for the first time in 10 plus days, my phone alerted me to troubles.  A schedule for our move, a struggling student/son, an unreturned book, my credit card cancellation notice from my missing wallet, and a sick friend.  I cuddled up with my favorite pillow, breathed in the familiar detergent smell of home, and cried like a child.

In this place, tears are not wasted. I treasured the release and the heartfelt prayers. I prayed prayers of mercy, intervention and help. And I believe they were heard.  And I don’t believe this is a fairytale.

The fairytale is the belief I will be happier or more fulfilled “if and when.”

 

I serve a God of the here and the now.  I believe He longs for me to relish in His company right where I am.  I am unearthing something new… His desire to be known individually, to be sought after without pretenses.  A dawn of discovery by each of us, free from preconceived notions, fallacies, and half-baked theology.  More and more I hear Him asking me to simply be still and let Him be God.

Stop figuring, day dreaming and wallowing in what ifs. 

And in my current condition, sitting upon my throne of baked goods, I am a hot mess. I am not dainty, I may not be the fairest of them all, but I am seeking, I am finding, and I am a daughter of the King… a true princess.

Royalty of the grandest kind.

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” Matthew 7:7

May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami

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