royal {why every person needs a stack of crowns}
I see them in Riley’s closet when I open it to get her shoes, that stack of crowns in every style–gold and silver, jeweled and plain, some with ribbons, some with combs, some with adjustable bands. The stack teeters, a proud tower of hats, trying to blend with the rows of walked-in shoes, the every day belts, the bin of bundled socks.
Briefly I touch the crown on top, the one someone carefully placed on Riley’s glistening head just days ago at Night to Shine, the one she wore as she left the party and all the way home. They crowned her in the dance hall. Silvery confetti glinted all over the floor.
The room had erupted in cheers as Tim Tebow’s face appeared on the big screen. Not all of the kids know Mr. Tebow for his athletic accomplishments, but they all know him as a man who loves. “This is all for you,” he told the quieted room, “because you are loved and important, and because this is how God sees you every day of the year.”
The confetti whirled; the kids cheered; their parents–I—cried. “And now, it’s my great honor,” Mr. Tebow continued, “to declare that each and every one of you are kings and queens of the prom!” I looked out over the crowd, watching the royals twirl and bounce and grin, watching their volunteer friends reach out to give them hugs or pat their backs or offer them congratulatory fist bumps. I had found Riley in the swirl of dancers when we walked into the room; I watched her now, nodding, beaming as though light spilled from the strands of her hair, her eyes, her smile. One by one, and patiently, the crowd of kids moved toward the stage to receive their crowns.
I lift the crown from the stack now, remembering, tracing the scrolled edges with my fingers.
They called each child by name, announcing them to the room as they were crowned. Kevin and I waited, watching as Riley and Josh slowly moved closer to the stage. We clapped until our hands stung. Finally, after I had lost sight of Riley, an announcer with a booming stage voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Queen Riley Henegar!” I swallowed a rising flood, pressing my hand against my chest, shattered by the truth. I watched with my mama eyes as God’s children, glittery and lit somehow from inside, paraded past us as royalty. An aching sound escaped my lips; I pressed them closed. The crowning happened as their grand exit, as if to launch them out into the world and on the journey home understanding who –and whose–they are. It seemed right; God readily proclaims His lavish love. He wildly acknowledges that we, with all our scars, belong to Him.
We joined Riley as she left the dance hall. A red carpet snaked through the lobby, marking the path for our departure. All the way out the door, they cheered us, volunteers standing like stones in Kingdom walls, our witnesses surrounding (Hebrews 12:1). I walked with Riley and lowered my eyes; I find it harder than she does to accept the truth. Beside me, my daughter floated along the carpet, laughing. Her confident stride held no pride, only the honest receipt of grace. The volunteers called out love and significance and blessing as they had all night, tossing the words like flowers at our feet, laying the truth like garlands about our necks. And I swelled with tears, recognizing the reign of Christ.
