Once upon a pleasant afternoon, three maiden sisters delighted to swim in the picturesque river winding gently through the day. Alas, the gentle winding turned perilous and the current commenced to pull terribly until the girls were in danger of drowning.

As providence would have it, said river passed near the sons of the king who, alerted by choking cries, set forth in search of the hapless damsels. Within a trice, all three were plucked from the swirling water and deposited safely upon the glistening deck of the king’s stately river vessel.

***

The first young lady, upon seeing her royal rescuer, thought to herself, At last my toil is ended. I will marry this prince and never again suffer want.

The prince was glad to comply with her unspoken plan, for he loved the girl from the moment he saw her in distress.

His new bride, much delighted, wasted no time in laying her requests before him.

“Oh my darling,” she said. “I want a great, big, beautiful castle on the hill overlooking the river where first we met.”

And it was the prince’s great pleasure to grant her wish.

As the years went by, this eldest of the sisters came to her husband many times a day.

“Oh, my love, I need a new hat.”

“Sweetheart, I want a party.”

“I must have a new carriage.”

Whatever her heart desired, she had only to make the request, and it was granted.

But after twenty, thirty, even fifty years of marriage, if you were to ask what color her husband’s eyes were, she could not tell you. For she did not know.

***

The second sister suffered great embarrassment that she had nearly drowned by her own foolishness. That a mighty prince had pulled her out of the river a sobbing mess—he in his fine clothes on his father’s fine boat—made her blush with shame.

Still, the heart of the second brother was won at first sight of the poor bedraggled creature and they too were wed.

The prince loved his bride and built her a castle staffed with servants to cater to her every need. Evening upon evening he lovingly escorted her to the banquet hall where a savory feast awaited her pleasure.

But the poor girl would only look upon the abundance and say to herself, I am not worthy of such fancy fare. It cannot be for me.

She would turn to a dark corner, huddle there upon the floor, and nibble a crust of bread.

Whenever her husband came near, she, remembering the shameful day of her rescue, would lower her head and say, “Oh, please don’t look upon me, for I am poor and ugly and foolish. Let me never trouble you again.”

And after twenty, thirty, even fifty years of marriage, she could not say how tall her husband was, for she never saw past his princely boots.

***

The youngest sister, dragged coughing and sputtering from the raging river, looked into her rescuer’s eyes and thought, What a wonderful man! I must know him if it takes me an eternity to do so.

This prince, in the fashion of his brothers, was smitten by the girl he had drawn from the river, and joined his life to hers.

As newlyweds they spent hours together making plans for their castle. The young bride would sit every morning at breakfast, gazing into her husband’s piercing green eyes, listening to the rich timbre of his voice as he told of the wonders of his father’s kingdom.

The two would walk hand in hand through the castle grounds, traversing terrain sometimes rough, sometimes smooth. On more than one occasion, she was known to lose her grip and fall. But even when injured by jagged rocks, this princess would only look up, reach for the prince’s hand and travel on. For the pain of injury was nothing compared to the joy of being with the one she loved.

And after twenty, thirty, even fifty years of marriage, she awoke each morning in happy anticipation, wondering, What shall I learn of my husband today?

And they lived happily ever after.

***

A note from the author:

It seems the construction of nursery rhymes and fairy tales often accommodates a series of three, be they pigs or mice or bears or princes. And, as the youngest and weakest often turn out to be the wisest, I wrote this tale with the sad recognition that my after-the-rescue life seems to bounce between turning to God for the things I hope will bring me contentment and the shameful realization that I have already received far more than I deserve. Either way, whether I favor the habits of the first sister or the second, I am looking to myself.

My needs.

My shame.

The problem is not so much my circumstances as the direction of my gaze.

And then there is sister number three. She is the kind of rescuee I want to be.

One who turns her eyes, mind, and heart, not toward possessions or position, but to the Person who not only saves, supplies and sustains but, best of all, calls her to be His.

Which sister is most like you?