The man was sickly, impoverished, and defenseless against danger. The local apothecary gave him cordial, but it turned out to be watered down liquor. A rich landowner lent him coins, but they slipped through the holes in his satchel. When wolves encircled his home, he would drive them back with sticks and stones, only to suffer greater wounds each night. And suddenly, his dwindling hope revived when a promising thought entered his weary mind:

“Perhaps the king shall take pity upon me.”

Stories of the king’s wisdom in medicine, abundance of wealth, and vast armory circulated among the villages, and the peasant man heard his fair share, too. More than that, the king had a reputation for being generous. In desperation, he boldly sought the king’s help—something peons would never entertain.

And after journeying three days, he looked upon the king’s towering castle with relief. But then his heart sank into his belly: a moat enclosed the castle and the drawbridge was raised. 

“Alas! I cannot enter,” he lamented. “I shall wait here, and perhaps one of the king’s men will notice me.”

But the sun soon sank behind the horizon, and so did his hope. Suddenly, the drawbridge lowered, and a rider upon a white steed emerged, but galloped right past him. And the drawbridge raised again. 

He began traveling home, his heart sorer than ever. But while on the way, a horseman drew near. “Friend,” he asked, “I saw thee at the entrance of the castle, appearing vexed. What burdens thee?” The man initially hesitated, but finally spoke up:

“I am dying, with no cure. My purse is empty and wolves prowl my fences. I heard your king was kind, and thought he could help me. But seeing no entry, I dared not force my way in.”

The rider nodded and said, “I shall see what may be done.”

The man’s eyes glimmered with hope and he asked, “Truly? And may I ask—who art thou?”

The rider then smiled and said, “I am the king’s son.”

The horseman then disappeared into the dusk, telling the man to return tomorrow.

At daylight, the man returned—and there was the king’s son beside the drawbridge. At his command, the drawbridge lowered, and the prince sat the man on his own horse and proceeded inside until they made it to the throne.

“My lord and king, I,” but then the king’s son raised his hand.

“Father, this man is poor,” he said. “He is sick and beset by foes. And he has come seeking thy mercy.”

Immediately, the king answered, “Let it be done. Fill his pockets with my own gold. Give him the healing cordial I have prepared. And arm him plentifully, that he may ward off the wolves.”

The son lowered the drawbridge to the king, and the peasant was welcomed into his presence, receiving all that he lacked.

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The Scripture tells of another King, another Son, another drawbridge, and another needy man. We are needy sinners who require what only God can give us, and prayer is the drawbridge the Father lowers to those accompanied by His Son, that we may enter His throne-room to receive the grace and we need.

We cannot gain access on our own. We cannot sneak through the back door. There is no way of getting in unless the drawbridge is lowered by the Prince of Peace, Jesus.

And when He brings us into God’s throne-room, we always receive what we need, not what we may want. What He gives according to His will is better than what we want or what we might seek from this wicked world. Our spiritual illnesses cannot be healed by the placebos the world offers. Our spiritual poverty cannot be reversed by earthly riches. And we are defenseless against the wolf, Satan. But through prayer, we enter God’s throne-room, where He heals our soul’s diseases, enriches us, and equips us with the weapons we need to fight in spiritual warfare—so long as the Son brings us inside (Heb. 4:14-16)

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