Rehearsing For The King

Rehearsing for the King

…patterns before the throne

Sooner or later,

The King will request your presence.

Not with panic.

Not with explanation.

But with certainty.

And when that day leans into your name,

May your hands not search for what they should have built long ago.

Even now—

Before the whisper travels the corridors,

Before the seal is broken,

Before the messenger knows your street—

Prepare something.

A song refined in secret.

A discipline no one applauds.

A conscience trained to stand upright.

You may never have to unveil it.

Still, prepare it.

Because Kings do not surrender their calendars.

Once, eager voices crowded His chamber

And asked if the broken banners would rise that very hour,

If fallen walls would breathe again on their schedule.

He glanced toward a horizon

Where the sun obeyed a clock only He could read—

A tide that moved without consulting fishermen.

Then He said,

“I decide the hour.

You fix your preparations.”

And that was enough.

Listen carefully:

Every action is rehearsal.

Every kindness, every compromise,

Every truth swallowed or spoken—

A brushstroke on a canvas you cannot yet step back to see.

You may act unjustly

And no lightning interrupts your sleep.

You may wound

And feel no immediate fracture in return.

You may deceive

And walk away untouched.

That delay should unsettle you.

When consequences do not arrive at once,

It does not mean they are lost.

The future is frightening enough—

Not to speak of what it carries unseen.

Because everything forms a pattern.

Patterns are quiet teachers.

They feed the subconscious.

They carve grooves where instincts begin to live.

You think you chose once.

You were training.

You think you escaped.

You were engraving.

Truth settles into muscle memory.

Integrity becomes reflex.

Corruption does too.

And when the King finally beckons—

You will not suddenly become different.

You will reveal what you have rehearsed.

Favor is not an accident.

It is what happens

When prepared character

Meets appointed time.

Call it divine orchestration.

Call it psychological wiring.

Call it mystery.

But do not call it coincidence.

Nothing just happens.

If you cannot see the whole picture,

It is because you are still inside the frame.

So when the immoral appear to flourish

And your quiet good goes uncelebrated,

Do not envy their applause.

A pattern is being drawn.

Your restraint is strengthening unseen fibers.

Your honesty is steadying your hands.

Your unseen obedience is teaching your heart not to tremble.

One day, in the brief breath you stand in His court,

You will realize

It was never about last-minute performance.

It was about daily rehearsal.

The King keeps records.

Not merely of grand gestures—

But of repetitions.

Not merely of outcomes—

But of motives practiced in private.

When invitations are finally sent,

No mask will survive the light.

No improvisation will override years of habit.

Sooner or later,

The King will request your presence.

Before He does—

Prepare something.

Even if no one sees it.

Even if no one praises it.

Because when His hour turns—

You will rise

With what you have rehearsed.

#Poetryhelpedme … Olaife