The Throne Room

by Carol Kent

Sisters and friends are God’s life preservers.

Anonymous

My best childhood memories are from the year we moved into the big old farmhouse at the end of Foreman Road. The main road dead-ended at the edge of our property line, and very few people ventured down this country lane without an invitation. It would have been a lonely time in my life, except for one key fact—I already had three sisters (one more would be born later, but we didn’t know about her yet). And nobody could feel alone for long with that many girls in the house.

The farmhouse had a big old space heater in the living room, and that room was connected to the kitchen, the music room, the master bedroom, the bathroom, and the steps that led to the sisters’ quarters upstairs. The house was the commanding cornerstone for thirty-five acres of farmland, but it had one main flaw. In spite of numerous bedrooms, there was only one bathroom in that gigantic old house. That room defied the norm for the period in which it was built because it was a big bathroom, complete with an old-fashioned shower. All of my sisters enjoyed taking their turn standing in the robust stream of water that cascaded from the antiquated showerhead.

Near the shower was the commode—and with so many people in our family, it was often in use. Our mother referred to this popular appliance as “the throne,” and often one would hear a voice outside the door saying, “Is anybody sitting on the throne now? I need to get in there!” Very quickly this room was dubbed “The Throne Room.”

The Throne Room also contained the best mirror in the house for squeezing pimples and putting on makeup, so it was not uncommon to have one sister in the shower, one at the mirror, another with her head propped on a floor pillow in front of the hamper, and another sitting on the “throne,” with or without the lid down. Some of my most memorable talks with my sisters took place in this wonderful, confined space, where all pretense was gone and honest repartee, mindless bantering, and humorous jousting took place on a regular basis. We discussed coming-of-age, boys, church, clothes, and beauty tips. Often, the wrinkled skin on the sister who did her talking through the shower curtain served as a reminder that we had all been in the room too long.

My sisters are grown now, but some things in life don’t change much. Last weekend my husband and I were visiting our granddaughters in Florida. It was the night before we were to leave to catch an early plane home. While in the bathroom removing my makeup, I soon realized I wasn’t alone. Seven-year-old Hannah had slipped into the empty bathtub fully clothed and settled in for some conversation. Chelsea, age ten, positioned herself near the towel rack. Their mama soon claimed the throne (lid down), and our conversation quickly became animated.

Glancing over at Hannah, I noticed numerous unclothed Barbie dolls in the wire rack attached to the bathtub. With a chuckle I said to the girls, “What’s the deal with all of these naked dolls in the tub?”

Hannah immediately picked up one of the dolls. “This is Olympic Barbie and she’s teaching the rest of the girls how to swim, but we didn’t want to get their clothes wet, so we took them off.” My granddaughter hit a button on the back of the doll and sure enough, Olympic Barbie began to do the breaststroke. “She even has a gold medal,” Hannah cheerfully added. We all laughed as they demonstrated the swimming lessons.

My eyes soon landed on the only male doll in the group. Poor Ken was missing both his legs. Evidently Olympic Barbie had worn the guy out with her advanced swimming techniques. The girls giggled as their mommy picked up the physically impaired Ken and used her own fingers to make new appendages for him. Quite unexpectedly he was leaping and running and even looked somewhat normal. Laughter again filled the room.

Suddenly there was a moment of silence and Hannah piped up with, “Grammy, why can’t you stay longer? Why do you have to leave us tomorrow? We don’t want you to go yet.”

A warm, familiar emotion engulfed me as I looked around that room at two little sisters, their mom, and me—Grammy Carol. I realized that girls seem to talk best in the confined quarters of “the throne room.” It felt good. It felt right.

Love one another deeply, from the heart.

1 Peter 1:22 NIV

For more devotions by Carol Kent, check out her book, Moments of Grace for Sisters, HERE.