That afternoon, and the many afternoons to follow were much different. Not that anything had actually changed in the circumstance. The meetings were still the same. The routine was the same. The issues were the same. The complaints and disputes were the same. The political maneuvering and scheming for power and influence were the same.

But I was different. My focus was different. No longer did I look at the mundane details of those meetings as my primary focus. No longer did I consider the content and obvious schemes of the politicians as my main object of view. Rather, I focused on the king. I focused on his demeanor, responses, input, and even his unspoken responses, his nonverbal expressions.

It was not long before I began to notice all that I had previously missed because I was not looking. The attention to the tiniest details that many would view unimportant never escaped his view. The patience and grace he exhibited when his officials would bicker and argue over the finer points of new legislation or laws became obvious to my eye. The refusal to be angered when ambassadors from other nations accused him or his kingdom of violating international agreements suddenly showed brightly in my eye. The keen wisdom and discernment he possessed to see and understand what no one else saw or understood blazed like a beacon to me now. And as I reflected, I realized that I had rarely seen him angry. Stern, perhaps. Firm, for sure. But angry…. I could not recall a single time in the past weeks where I had seen him lose his cool and get angry.

He always made sure to give each of his officials their voice. He took time to hear them, to afford their opinions and ideas an audience and consideration, even if they were eventually discarded. He expressed appreciation and thanks frequently with a sincerity that was not only heard but felt. He treated everyone who came into his presence with a dignity and value that revealed his clear value on life and the worth of a man’s being.

What’s more, this did not stop with his highest officials or the wealthy and influential who came into his presence. His respect and care were not discriminatory. I also began to notice the way he treated each member of his staff with dignity and respect, showing value and worth for them. Any servant who came into his presence, whether it be his high officials and advisors or even those who served food and drink during long meetings, he met their gazes with purposeful eye contact, expressed his thanks and appreciation for their service. He would not tolerate any demeaning of friend or foe.

Even his enemies and opponents, accused and condemned criminals were afforded the same level of respect and dignity. Even in stern rebuke and severe judgement, it was now not hard to see his love and care. He cared about every man, woman, and child under his charge and even those who were not.

This became particularly clear when a resident of the kingdom to the east came with a dispute that involved one of the kings’ own subjects. A disagreement and dispute over a water well that was used to care for their flocks arose. It was on the very border of the two kingdoms and agreement could not be found regarding whose well it was. However, both shepherds had been depending upon it for their flocks. Trouble was, both flocks had increased to the point that the well could no longer be shared. To settle it, the king ordered that a new well be dug across the border in the man’s own kingdom but at the king’s own expense. The man clearly was not expecting this response and was silenced into awe. It took every bit of his will power to dip his head and stammer out an expression of thanks and gratitude before being dismissed.

As the weeks progressed, these observations piled up. My admiration and respect for the king swelled to grand proportions. With every passing day, I was growing more deeply in love with this man who was my king, whom I now had the opportunity to serve.

This passion and love quickly became reflected in my morning training. The intensity with which I would train, practice, and seek to master my knowledge and skills amplified at such a rate that soon, I was as competent, not only in my knowledge but also in my skills as the best of the king’s guard.

I would return at night from an afternoon of observing the kings court and spew the stories I was permitted to tell with the other guards. Lacing these stories with my observations of the king’s person and character, I spoke with admiration of this great man I was growing to know. It was not long before the guard’s former indifference for me and their disregard for me changed. They would acknowledge my observations with excitement and share their own stories to match the truths I was learning about the king.

Even Damian’s anger and opposition began to melt. At first, I would spot him sitting on his bunk listening to our conversation with a blank expression on his face. Before long, he was standing off in the distance, leaning on the foot of a bunk listening as I excitedly regaled the men with daily observations and listening as they echoed their own stories back to me.

The defining moment came unexpectedly several weeks later when an elderly woman hobbled in on a cane towards the end of the afternoon and the king was set to end his audience with his subjects. I found out later that she had only been admitted because she was persistent and refused to be turned away. The king had ended his audience with his final subject of the day. But before he could adjourn, she marched into his chambers with a determined purposed that would not be denied. The king was weary and exhausted, this much was clear. And yet, true to his heart and fashion, he did not turn her out.

When she began talking, it became clear why she had been so insistent. The king was her last hope. Her son had been hired by the kings’ own personnel as part of a crew that was tasked with building an elaborate and ornate garden on the west side of the palace. It would sit just outside the palace wall and would be open to public access. It was to feature a memorial for soldiers who had fallen in service to the king. This in itself, was a statement about the king. But as I listened to her unfold her story, it also struck me that the king could have used conscripted and used forced labor to build the garden. He had plenty of convicted criminals, political prisoners, and even indebted subjects that could have been forced to build the garden at zero cost to him. And yet, he chose none of those. He chose to hire out the work. In his great wisdom, I realized, by hiring workers instead of conscripting them, the garden became an object of personal affection and passion for the people. Rather than being an object of resentment and hatred for being erected through forced labor, it became a labor of love. In this way, it also became a way for the people to honor the loss of their loved ones while they also earned a living doing so.

For this widow, however, it turned to devastating loss and heartache. Her son had been hired as part of the crew specifically to build the memorial tower that stood at the center of the garden. On this tower, the names of each fallen soldier were chiseled. The tower stood 100 feet in the air. An elaborate scaffolding was erected to aid in the construction process of the tower. A freak accident caused a plank of the scaffolding to break loose and dumped her son, Alex, to his death 90 feet below.

Her son had been hard up for work. He had fallen ill the previous year and was all but an invalid for 6 months. The doctors who treated him still had no idea what he had taken ill with, but over time, he began to recover. He lived with his widowed and elderly mother, taking care of her as her health failed. They only survived during this time due the goodwill of their neighbors and friends who tended to them. Six months after taking ill, he was well enough to begin looking for work again. He was still never quite the same, though, enduring lingering effects from the illness. He was often still weak, lacking strength, energy, or stamina and would sometimes fall into coughing fits that left him short of breath. For this reason, he had a hard time finding anyone who was willing to hire him.

After several more months of this, their situation had become desperate. They were on the verge of losing their home. This would have surely resulted in both of their deaths as neither mother nor son were well enough to be evicted into the streets.

They were overjoyed when had been hired to work on the garden. It meant life and provision for them. His fall and death were the final devastating blow. The king listened with attentiveness. His look of compassion and sympathy grew with every passing tale. Occasionally, friends and neighbors, who had accompanied her to assist, would chime in with details she struggled to remember or to clarify details.
For the most part, the king listened. But occasionally, he would ask a question of his own. At times, these questions were directed toward the woman. At other times, he would direct them at those who had come with her. Despite the weariness I saw in his demeanor, a reality that likely few others had noted, the king never faltered in his attention to her case.

When she was done sharing, she stood with her friends awaiting the king’s answer. She had come looking for help. Her son who perished had been her only son. She had no other family. She was alone. She had no one to care for her. She would be cast out and evicted the very next day if some sort of assistance was not given. All of her other efforts to find assistance and avoid expulsion for her home had fallen on deaf ears. She came to the king now in the hopes that he would help her. Her son had perished in his employ, and little had been done compensate for that tragedy.

The King rose from his seat and speaking with such compassion and care, ensured her that he would indeed help. He then called for the owner of the home who was set to evict her and immediately purchased the home from the man, gifted it to her as her very own. He also ensured she would be given enough income to live comfortably during her remaining years. And finally, he made sure that she would have the best assistance and medical care that she needed.

This in itself was powerful and spoke volumes of the king. But he went further to call the judges and officials into his court who had denied her aid, immediately dismissing them from service and replaced them with men who would see the needs of the people with compassion and seek to meet them. To all listening, he made it clear that this woman, now a widow and without family, was his responsibility having been responsible for her son’s safety while in his employ. He would not tolerate any official in his service who neglected so great a responsibility. Addressing the mother once more, emotion caused his voice to break. The specific words he spoke left no imprint in my mind, only his actions. He approached her, not stopping until he stood directly in front of her. She knelt as he approached, tears streaming down her face now. The combination of grief over son’s passing and over the king’s gracious intervention which she had fought so long for was evident in her manner. The king did not skip a beat but simply knelt next to her, placed an arm over her shoulders, and silently wept with her.

As the king embraced this woman, I knew. I knew that I would live and die for this man. Tears unashamedly began to fall from my eyes, and I praised the name of a king who would care so deeply and who would pay such a cost to meet the needs of the people.

That night, the captain, who also was clearly affected by the day’s events, remained and accompanied me back to the barracks. This was not common for him and indicated to me just how deeply he too had been affected. He listened with a solemn expression while I recounted the events of the day. As I detailed the events of the day, my voice reflected an awe and wonder at the kings’ compassion and love for this woman. Unlike my animated and excited tone of other nights, today I was sober. Hushed. Reverent. As I spoke, I saw Damian stand up straight from his leaning position against the bunk, a position that he favored the past several days as I related my stories. He now approached cautiously like he was inspecting for danger. Standing just outside the circle of soldiers now, he stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of his comrades. When I reached the part of the story where I told them of the kings’ embrace of this woman, he shouldered his way into the center of the circle, standing directly in front of me now. The look on his face was one of satisfaction and delight.

As I shared this story in reverence, tears began to stream down my face. As I spoke, the conviction that had formed in my heart and mind in the court earlier that day hardened into an absolute resolve. I knew that I was now and forever a subject of the king by choice. I would die for this man. I knew it. I stated it. I looked back at Damian, still standing before me. That was the look on his face. He knew it. I knew it. We were now comrades. Compatriots. Brothers. We now shared a common passion that bonded us.

And in that moment, a realization flooded over me. Looking at the Captain, I said, “You are wrong about one thing Captain.” He cocked his head at me like I was crazy, the corner of his mouth tipped up in an amused grin. The room fell into total silence as they awaited my revelation of how the captain was wrong. In a reverent tone I asserted, “I am not the banner. You said that I was the king’s banner; that I represented him. This true, sir, that I represent him. But I am not his banner. HE IS THE BANNER. I am merely THE BANNER’s pole holding it aloft for all to see. It is my job to hold the banner as high as I might so that none miss it, and all are compelled to respond to it. But HE is the banner.”

At my words, the silence in the room seemed to deepen. Tears poured unashamedly from my eyes, and I dipped my head suddenly overcome with the privilege I had to serve this great king! The moments stretched and a contented stillness remained upon the room.

I felt a soldier approach my left side. A firm hand rested upon my shoulder, gripping tightly. It was the type of grip that a friend and comrade would give, one filled with the deepest respect and admiration, the grip of greatest love and devotion.

I looked up. It was Damian. Free falling tears wet his face matching my own. He locked eyes with me and in his gaze was a silent but clear affirmation of respect and a newly forged bond of brotherhood. He knelt in front of me, his gaze now level with me. Grabbing the back of my head with both of his hands, he drew my face toward his, dipping his head as he did. He did not stop till our foreheads were touching, his hands still firm on the back of my head. I reach up and matched his action, placing my hands on the back of his head, holding his to mine. I now understood Damian. I understood the scar he bore on his abdomen. I understood his passion. I understood his animosity toward a man whose predecessors were spoiled rich kids who did not really understand or know who the king was. In that moment, I got it. And we became brothers.

Here we were, two soldiers who now shared the same passion, the same object of devotion. We were suddenly bonded with a bond that is not easily broken for we were bonded over a common passion, a common purpose, a common goal…one that was beyond us and so much greater than our mere little lives. A man who upon first meet wanted to rip me from limb to limb. Now, we would die for the king. We would die for each other.

I audibly and loudly gasped, pulling back with from our embrace, my hands dropping, Damian’s ripping free from my head. I drew in my breath so fiercely that the guards in the room all snapped their heads in my direction. The tears that had begun to slow, now flowed in torrents once again. Damian looked alarmed and concerned as I broke away. The guards standing around me had sudden looks of concern thinking that something was wrong. I could not gather myself enough to tell them nothing was wrong. My body shook with sobs and tremors as the realization took hold and the tears streamed freely. After only a moment, Damian’s expression changed to one of understanding and placing both arms around me now, he allowed me to lean upon him as I wept.

After what felt like forever, the tears slowed, the tremors and shaking ceased and I fell into stillness. I felt a pressure on my right arm and looked up to see another solider handing me a towel to wipe my eyes and face with. Damian leaned back giving me room to accept the towel. I took it with gratitude. I waited a moment or two longer to be sure I was in complete control again. Then I spoke.

“I wrestled with why my father would send me away; why he would enlist me into the king’s service. I loved my life on the farm. I was content. We had a good thing going, the two of us. I have struggled since I got here to understand why. Why would he send me away?” I looked up and around at each face in the room. “I now understand. He knew I needed a purpose bigger than myself. I was TOO content. I was made for bigger purposes. We all were. I needed to live for a purpose beyond myself. The king is that purpose.” Tears began to flow again. I thought they would have been expended by now, but here they were flowing again. “My father loved me enough to point me to a purpose beyond myself. The king is that purpose.”

Damian smiled. A big, wide, and infectious smile. Damian never smiled. But he did now. No words were necessary. Tears still flowed but a smile now broke on my face as well and joy erupted in my heart at the realization of both my father’s love as well as the kings. I knew in that moment that no greater honor existed than to be the kings banner bearer. No greater purpose existed than to hold him aloft for all to see. No greater purpose existed than to bring others to know and delight in him in the way that I now did. And as the tears streamed, as we soldiers shared in this moment together, I was determined to do the absolute best job of holding him aloft that I was able to do.