Encounter in a Forgotten Place

Looking cautiously through the windows of the crumbled-down house, I stood on tiptoes, ears alert, attentive to any sound of company. I heard none, and stared blankly into the dark and dull pale rooms, old furniture covered with white sheets. Dust like a protective cloak upon everything.

Pulling back from the cobwebbed, smeared and greasy cracked window I looked around at the overgrown garden, filled with weeds whose gaudy yellow flowers were far from bright enough to bring the slightest glimmer of hope to the gloom of my surroundings.

Finding myself alone but for secret creatures and maybe the odd moth-eaten, hungry and sorry sparrow, I crept on tentative toes to the back door, and reached for the handle.

It turned in my hand, and I stepped back, startled at the ease with which any person might have entered unbidden.

I closed my eyes as a pang of loss and sadness stabbed at my chest, the realisation, that my worry was unfounded, who would want to enter such a place?

I pushed against the dusty weather-beaten door and looked inside, tentatively, not quite daring to step inside. For an unexplained reason I felt tears well up in my eyes as I beheld the solemn empty room, paint crumbling from the walls, ceiling plaster littering the carpet, already covered in an inch-thick layer of dust.

Trembling, I reached out to one of the sheet-covered armchairs, grasped the dusty covering and pulled with all my might. A burst of dirt and debris enveloped me and I fell to the ground, the sheet still in my hand, spluttering and coughing and sneezing, eyes closed tight against the discomfort of the stinging filth.

As it cleared and settled I gradually let my eyes open, blinking hard, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Once I had opened them wide enough I stared in blank amazement at the wonder I had unearthed: A throne of purest gold, refined by the hottest fire, smooth and sleek, inset with glorious diamonds upon the arms, and upholstered in the richest of purple velvets.

I reached out to touch it, just to make sure it was real, and ran my trembling hand over the cool, flush surface of the gold. It was real indeed. I felt a rush of recollection, something I could not quite grasp, a memory, a drop of knowledge, teetering on the very edge of remembrance, yet not making itself known. Not yet. I let the thought go. It would come in it’s own sweet time.

I turned to the other cloth-covered furniture in the dingy room, noticing as I did so that the room seemed somewhat brighter than it had before, reminiscent of the very edge of dawn, the grey pale light growing brighter very slowly.

I pulled the coverings off two more glorious thrones, each as wonderful as the last, ethereal and unreal in such a place. I stopped to stare in disbelief as each one was unearthed, and as the covering of the third yielded its treasure I noticed with a leap inside me that the room was now perceptibly brighter than it had been when I entered. The light was glowing from the thrones themselves!

I swallowed hard, the thought still trying to make itself heard, almost as if it was screaming out to be heard, but could not be made known. I sat on the floor, looking up at the three marvellous thrones, wondering through it all what it could mean, what was happening, where was I?

I looked down at the floor in my wonderment and noticed to my further astonishment that where a tiny patch of dust had been removed by my fingers on its surface, the floor was not indeed carpeted. My excitement mounting I began to brush away the dust and debris with my sleeve, caring not a jot for my clothing, and gasping as I felt the thought leap inside me once again, shapeless but present, I stared in awe at the marble flagstones on which I sat, milky, pale, and swirled with tiny blue and golden veins.

On all fours I rubbed more of the surface excitedly, removing as much of the dust as I could, clearing a large patch before the golden thrones. As I reached the wall with my polishing I realised to my delight that it too was pure marble, and as I ran my hand over it I noticed that it was inset with gold, in swirling patterns. I rubbed frantically, trying to recognise the pattern, and as I followed it around the wall I realised that it was writing, written in the most beautiful flowing hand, carved deeply and indelibly into the very wall.

I stood back as far as I could and followed the writing, reading the words: “For surely I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

On reading these words I collapsed, crumpled onto the marble floor and wept bitter tears, the thrones, the beautiful marble room it all meant nothing, nothing at all, for now the thought came bursting into my mind, in all it’s horror, I was to blame, I had kept it covered up, I had piled all this rubble and debris on top of it, I had left it to decay! I and I alone was guilty.

I sensed him before I saw him. Sensed the golden glow of his loveliness warm upon my back. Sensed his smile. Sensed his love, the love I did not deserve.

The words of a song rang out in my mind, as if choirs of silvery voices had suddenly rung out around me in the stillness: “At your feet we fall, Mighty Risen Lord, as we come before Your throne to worship You”

Still on my knees, and with the echoing of many voices humming in my ears, I turned to face Him, or rather his snow white robes, and instinctively, like a child who has found her father’s legs in a room full of strangers I wrapped my arms around them and hugged them.

The room was still somewhat dull and dark, but I could see His handsome face clearly as I looked up, by the glow of the thrones and light beaming eerily from his ice coloured robes.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” He said. I saw his hand reach down to me, and as I took it he pulled me to my feet to stand before Him. He directed my gaze towards the centre throne, and at that moment the room was filled with a blinding light and a heavy yet wonderful weight fell upon me, and I fell to my face before the throne.

There on the throne sat someone that I cannot describe. He is. He just is. And He was. Sitting there on the middle throne, an image of glory more wonderful than words can craft.

“Dearest Father” said the son softly. “Your daughter is here at your bidding. She is not coming on her own righteousness, she is here based on Mine. She is here in my name. I’m sure you remember that I have gone between you and her and provided her with access to you.”

“Of course I remember Son,” came the still small voice in reply. Such a soft voice for one so mighty. Yet still the debris on the ground vibrated and rattled at his words, a deep rumbling in the earth shook it softly as he spoke.

He looked at me lovingly. “Come” he said softly. “Has not my son suffered so you and I might meet, not as slave and deliverer, but as Father and Daughter? Come boldly to my throne.”

The words struck me deep, as in on one gigantic wave of gratitude and joy I leapt up and embraced Him tightly. He returned the embrace fondly, and when I pulled away, embarrassed that I should have dropped my guard and dared be so familiar with the King of Kings, he held me still, very gently, looking at me with those intent eyes that told me not to fear, for He had chosen to come down to my level, because he wanted us to be friends, and he wanted me to have a relationship with Him.

Jesus stroked my back lovingly and smiled towards the Father, who smiled in return and nodded. My redeemer then turned me around slowly and took me by the hand, his warm hand enveloping mine, making me feel just like a child again; a favourite daughter, a privileged princess.

He spoke again, softly and still smiling. “What shall we do in here then dear heart?”

The question seemed strange, because I felt like I should know the answer, but I wanted him to make the decision for me.

I paused to think, and then a thought came to me. “We could open the curtains to give the garden a little light from in here.” I had felt sorry for the garden as I had walked through it, and felt sure that by opening the curtains it too could shine with the Glory of I AM.

The son smiled at me kindly, and walked towards the windows, with me still by the hand. Letting it go he reached out and swept away the curtains in one swift movement, and all at once the room was filled with yet more blinding light, that when added to the light coming from the throne was so dazzling I had to cover my eyes with my arm, and reached out to hold his arm involuntarily in my shock and surprise.

He took my hand again. “Do not be afraid darling. Look.”

I opened my eyes slowly and looked out of the grimy windows, and as my eyes got used to the light my mouth fell open at the sight of dozens of bright angels clamouring at the back door of the tiny house, smiling, laughing, falling over one another in their eagerness to come inside. And they were singing. A song that started soft and low, they sang it slowly at first, almost in a sombre tone, which contrasted sharply with their overall demeanours. Then the song grew louder and more soulful, turning quickly into a veritable eruption of praise, and as they sang their words became clear to me, even through the dirty windows and the crumbling walls of the house:

“Worthy is the lamb that was slain to receive power, wealth, wisdom and praise!”

The words blasted into my heart and seemed to purge it of all heaviness, all discomfort. Every doubt and fear was gone, and I looked up at my Lord happily, singing those words of praise with the angels, to His face, right beside Him, whist tears of amazing joy welled up from within me and trickled down my face.

He said nothing but looked at me still with those intent and gorgeous eyes, smiling down on me and sharing my joy. Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead, and leaned close to my ear and whispered “Aren’t you going to let them in?”

Taken aback at first, but not needing to be asked twice by my beautiful saviour, I half scrambled, half ran to the back door of the crumbled-down house, and with some difficulty, opened the door.

I gasped as I saw them. A mighty host of angels of all sizes and shapes, still singing the praises of the Almighty, and yet they came into the house in single file, and though their brightness as a whole was great indeed, each individual’s glow did not come close to the light that came from my Saviour who was already inside the house.

Yet what a sight when they had all gathered, and stood in ranks facing him, awaiting orders.

He smiled wide at his servants and simply said “It’s time this forsaken was clean again”

They did not move, they did not even stir, and this surprised me, as I had expected them to jump to attention immediately he spoke the directions.

Instead, I became aware of a shift in their gaze. They had all turned to look at me.

“You must give them permission, dearest” He said benevolently.

The penny dropped, and the thought that had been struggling for so long erupted in all its fullness: this was my heart! The throne room of my heart, left so long abandoned and so unkempt. Shame filled me and I hung my head, blushing furiously as I felt a hundred pairs of angel eyes bore into me.

I felt the warm fingers beneath my chin lift up my face to his gaze and looked into those handsome eyes again.

“I died so that you could be forgiven. And you are. All you have to do is speak the word, and I will be your King again. But no one can make you.”

I chocked back the shame inside as I realised that swallowing my pride was nothing compared with what this man had to go through to allow me this privileged. To reign over my life fully. So that I need fear nothing. For he is in charge forever.

I nodded to the host of angels who promptly began to cleanse the house from floor to rafter, merrily undertaking their tasks with singing voices lifted in praise of Him.

In seconds the throne room was restored to its former majesty, and the Son, smiling like a child excited beyond measure, sat down beside the Father, and both smiled down upon me. I bowed down before them again, my heart filled with gratitude and praise.

“Yet a throne still lies empty sweet one.” Said Jesus after a while. He turned to the Father and spoke in hushed tones for a moment, then he turned back to me and continued. “My Spirit never left you, but since you pushed us out of the throne room he was banished to the basement by your neglect. He is still there, but His power in your life has been diminished. Now we are back in charge He will be restored to full power, but you have to ask Him to return and to take His place with us. Once seated He will ensure that you do not neglect this precious place, this wellspring of life. He will help you to guard your heart and will direct you to administer Our power in this world.”

I leapt up at these words, eager to let this third person in, and a large angel carrying a flaming sword led me to the door of the basement. This shook and quivered as if some mighty creature was behind it, straining to get out. I barely touched the handle before it was flung open and I was enveloped in a racing wind, that swept me off my feet and violently winded me. It rushed through the room, making the air quiver with joy and excitement and making the assembled angels shout aloud, and the Father and the Son cry “Come!” through chuckles of delight.

The Holy Spirit in the wind beamed at me through a face of blazing fire, and his eyes gleamed at me with satisfaction and even, I noticed to my astonishment, admiration. He sat down beside the Father and the Son, and at that moment my heart erupted in songs of ceaseless praise, and again I prostrated myself at the feet of Him who loved me first. I could have knelt there forever. I will kneel here forever. I am still kneeling here and always will.

For there is no safer place, and He will never leave me.