Princess for a Day

Although this incident occurred a few years back, it continues to bring meaning to the name Immanuel, God with us.

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A few Saturdays before Christmas, I’m browsing some open studios in my town, and find my way to the workspace of Ruth Sanderson, my favorite children’s illustrator, famed for her luminous depiction of fairytales. Rummaging through a bin of discounted prints, my eye is captivated by the image of an auburn-haired princess gazing at her reflection in a pool of water lilies. I lift the picture from the others and proceed to the register even though I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. It’s just beautiful.

On the way home, I stop at Big Lots for an inexpensive frame. I place the print on the counter during check out, and the cashier, whose face appears carved by a hard life, says, “Isn’t that pretty!”

We exchange smiles, and something in me responds, give her the picture. But that makes no sense, I don’t know her, I haven’t even framed it yet, and with a long line of impatient shoppers behind me, I ignore the prompting and leave.

Because of its aqua tones, the print ends up in the bathroom. Its placement on the wall opposite the throne, allows ample opportunity to study the composition. In the distance, a castle on a hill. In the foreground, a pond surrounded by gardens. The focal point, a maiden, her reflection distorted by languid waters. Gazing at the image over the course of a week, it occurs to me that the cashier has long auburn tresses like the princess. On a good hair day, in a perfect world, they’d even look alike.

The next Saturday, I awake with the distinct impression that I’m supposed to give the cashier the print. I shrug it off as I make my tea. How awkward to give a stranger a gift for no reason. Then it strikes me, perhaps this is how God sees the cashier. As his lovely daughter, princess of the high king of heaven. Through the sacrifice of Christ, no more pain or shame marring her identity. In a moment, I realize maybe I don’t need to understand why I’m supposed to give this woman this gift. My part—just do it. Besides, what do I have to lose? Never being able to shop at Big Lots again?

 I decide to wrap the picture like a Christmas present from God, but the only paper I have on hand is more appropriate for a child’s birthday. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I procrastinate until late afternoon.

Finally, heart pounding, package in hand, I venture into the store. My cashier isn’t at the register. I wander the aisles in search of her, bypassing boxes of candy canes, catnip mice, and reindeer sweaters made in China.

At last, I spot a supervisor. “I’m looking for a woman who works here. She has kind of wavy, reddish hair. I don’t know her name, but I have something for her.”

The supervisor squints at the blue wrapping paper covered in puppies.

My eyes read the label on a giant red tin behind her, Poppycock, which suddenly seems to sum up my mission.

Then, she points behind me, “Is this who you’re looking for?”

I turn. It’s my princess.

“Remember me? The picture?”

She bites her lip and nods.

My words tumble out, “I think God wants you to have this. I’m not sure why. I wanted to use Christmas paper, but. . .”

She interrupts, “Do you know what day this is?”

“What?” I’m not following.

She takes the gift. “It’s my birthday!”

Chills race up my spine.

Only God could know I’d end up using birthday wrap, that my hesitation would land her gift right on time, and that for some reason, this woman, needed a tangible expression of His love for her today.

 Back in the parking lot, I gaze into the star lit sky, and like the shepherds, shiver at the mystery of Immanuel, God with us.

Thank you Vincent Guth for the lovely photo on Unsplash