Nachmu the Younger deigned to bless us with His Majesty’s Presence this morning, fully clothed in the Royal Clothes designated to be worn only by Grace to be King of War.
I asked him, “What crown does Nachmu the Elder wear?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said dismissively, “The King of the World, I guess.”
He had been outfitted by his personal aides, no doubt, starting with his very kingly Fiery Garments of the Wrath of War (which double as his winter pajamas since they’re made from snowman-print flannel fabric), his Purple Robe of Royalty (which serves as his blanket, too), and topped with his magnificent Crown of Majesty.
He carried for arms nothing ceremonial, but only weapons readied for battle: his trusty Nerf-dart five-shooter and his exquisitely safety-scissor fashioned cereal-box-cardboard shortsword which was sheathed in an equally exquisite cardboard scabbard which was hung around his neck by means of a length of priceless scarlet yarn.
Somewhere along the line in the conversation, he said something like this: “And I saw that the bad guy was dead, so I cut off his head!”
“You cut off his head?”
“Yeah,” he said, with all the earnestness of the King of War, “I really hate the bad guy.”
Now, I know that our culture has turned totally Mr. Mackey on us about the use of force (“Guns ‘r bad, mmk?”), but I took comfort in Nachmu the Younger. We’re not a terribly martial family (I don’t think the Nachmu boys have ever seen my rifle and shotgun), but he is sprouting toward becoming a man who is willing to fight and conquer in behalf of Good and Right and Just.
History teaches, of course, that he is more than likely to be caught up in a horrible conflagration, despite all our efforts to bring down a Heavenly Peace upon a world that has been cursed by Heaven so that the kings of the earth constantly rage, so I’d prefer it if he knew how to distinguish good from evil, and then to be confident enough in his conscience to defend good from evil.
Long live the king, that is, until the King Shall Come At Last.