Dancing.

Sometimes it feels like you are dancing. Like the world around you is marching in unison with the beat of your heart. Whatever that is. Whatever secrets you hide sit nicely on the shelves where you last placed them. To store them there forever that no one would ever discover. And that everything you wish wasn’t, isn’t. And for a breath… this is your truth. So you keep dancing and spinning down the illustrious path of all the contentment and satisfaction this world can offer.

And when measured by the standard of joy the world offers, your yellow brick road seems to gleam and shine in the sunlight of its deception. Until the gnawing conscience burrows through the facade that you’ve built. And its unwavering reality feasts on your decaying heart.

And suddenly, you find yourself dancing with a lover, masked under a foundation of love and feasts and goodness. One of the most poignant texts I have read over the last few months was penned by my childhood pastor. It made me angry at first. Then gently, with all the grace in which it was written, brought to light the rawest truth of the real issue.

Parable of the King’s Feast {All It’s Meant To Be, Bryan Clark}

There once was a king who ruled his kingdom with a firm hand and a loving heart. Over and over through the years, he had demonstrated care and compassion for this people.

As if this were not enough, he sent out an invitation to everyone in a nearby village to attend a royal feast. The king promised that this would be a feast unlike any other.

On the day of the feast, an air of excitement and anticipation hummed through the streets as the villagers tried to imagine what rare treats might be included on the menu. These poor villagers had existed on simple fare most of their lives and were unaccustomed to the delicacies reserved for royalty. But today they would dine at the king’s table!

When everyone arrived outside the castle gates, they were greeted by a servant, escorted inside and led to a large room. Around the perimeter of the room were tables covered with cloths. The servant explained that the king had given strict orders that the village people were to wait here for their audience with the king. They were not to eat or even to taste any of the food until the appointed hour.

For a while the people waited patiently, but their patience wore thin as empty bellies began to rumble. Some wondered if the king might be toying with them for his own amusement. All agreed that their hunger pangs made the waiting difficult, and wished the king would call for the feast to begin.

Lured by tantalizing aromas, someone, more out of curiosity than mischief, pulled back one of the cloths and found a tempting array of edibles such as the villagers had never seen. Soon all the cloths were yanked off the tables, and great mounds of food beckoned to be tried and tasted.

Some of the villagers reminded the others of the king’s instructions. But most of them were soon persuaded to indulge themselves – and indulge they did. They crammed their mouths full of everything they could get their hands on. “What a feast” they cried as they stuffed themselves in gluttony.

A small group of obedient subjects refused to participate in the eating frenzy choosing instead to obey the king’s orders. But when the food was al but consumed, even these began to wonder if they had missed out on the feast altogether.

Then, just as their neighbors were finishing up the last crumbs, a large wooden door swung open, and a trumpet fanfare announced the arrival of the king.

A tense silence charged the atmosphere as the king’s gaze swept the room, taking in the empty tables and full bellies. Some of the guilty villagers cowered, fearing the king’s wrath. Others whispered defiantly, “Well, what did he expect? It wasn’t our fault we were hungry, and he was nowhere to be found!”

But not one of them was prepared for what followed. There was no anger on the king’s countenance, no condemnation – only disappointment. “What have you done?” he asked softly. “This was food we had discarded and were preparing to feed the livestock. These stale leftovers were not the feast I intended for you.”

Walk out into the light, dear friend.

LIFE awaits you.

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