For six delightful weeks, my work-worn hands winter hands were graced with fingernails fit for a queen. I basked in the delight of  two back-to-back, shellac, french tip manicures…a Christmas gift from my dear hubby. Alas, that isn’t a monthly priority on our budget…so here I am again…trying to gracefully wear my broken and stained nails, dried out from cleaning agents, and smelling faintly of last evening’s fragrant dinner ingredients…onion and garlic.

But I am not a scullery maid, though you may think so if you see me…and even if my hands bespeak it otherwise. And my sister is more than a round-the-clock-nurse and fatigued school marm…and my neighbor more than a harried slave working third shift. Don’t let appearances mislead. And that lady behind the register isn’t just another faceless cashier, nor is the one standing in line only a hopelessly broke college student…and the lady hanging out on questionable street corners, what about her?

To the person that cares enough to look close…there is a princess peeking through. Behind the bruising shadows of care, there is all the possibility of royalty.

Treat the feminine soul well…for you are addressing an heir to a throne…a daughter of a King.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hear, O daughter, and consider, and incline your ear;

forget your people and your father’s house,

and the King WILL desire your beatury.”

Psalm 45:10

“You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,

and a royal diadem in the hand of your God…”

Isaiah 62:3