Unless you have walked the journey as an aspiring Author you have not had the opportunity to face the questions of self along the way. Wow! I am not the person who began the writing path, I'd say that humble transformation will transpire through the editing process. I am happily down to the wire this month. The manuscript will be complete on July 17th. I will save elation for that day! God is faithful bears new depth and He is faithfully holding my hand. I trust you will enjoy this un"edited" snippet. Read from the heart. Blessings
A taste: introducing the original chapter The Watchmaker
What would happen if I didn't tell anyone I was in heaven?
How would it change the book, change the message?
What credibility of (Heaven) exists if life hasn't been ended, exhausted or stolen and a life returned to tell about it?
But You did!
How much of Your death am I willing to die in-to.
Who would or wouldn't read it if scripture was or wasn't there to reinforce thoughts? But if I were to shore it up with text and verse, inspired writings intended to be full of peace and illumination, many times the understanding of those "words" will spurn argument within itself. Experientially written words will be left on the page orphaned in the midst of torment. Beauty, purpose, and transformation will have been lost at the mercy of accusations that echo theological words, deemed with right standing but distant from true intimacy. If eternity is real, why are there so few places to discuss it, experience it, must Hollywood be the place to display it, argue it, create mystical scenes that give us snippets into redemptive answers?
Can I write just for the sheer pleasure of the pleasure of You? The joy of thought, the invigoration of laughter, the discovery of myself, that You never lost sight of. For years our conversations have happened at tables that kings and dignitaries have never put their feet underneath. Talking to You, I never have my feet on the ground, but I've never been more aware of the ground I walk on.
Not use Your name in the book? I don't know? Its and interesting thought. Tragically, Your name has been defamed and exhausted in breath fore-which air they do not even have ownership. I'm so focused on trying to write the book; struggling for my encounters to make sense that I'm distracted because of sense. How can I write out a map when I'm the map. We each have an internal map. The paths I know, I've walked them, tread them down and climbed heavenly staircases hidden in stories of old. I can step in and out of heaven (beyond the veil) with just a thought, just a focus, a turning. Death's door, obliterated by the very eyes that look from my heart. Life and the living, no longer held in the captivity time lords over them.
Am I OK if others say fiction & fantasy? Are we OK with each other, knowing where the words originate? Knowing witnesses that look upon them, who share their mystery. Who, has counselled and mentored with me until my understanding grasped hold? It's a crazy notion. A painter, is not questioned by the paint he strokes on the canvas, he is caught, impassioned to blend dry medium with liquid color in an expression of his opus, but admirers might wonder his thought or prototype. Am I OK if our words become defamed? What responsibility does the reader have with our heart? Fiction does sound better than false, demonic, new age. I'll be OK since your holding my hand. If our words sing truth, then they will find the ear to hear them like a seed carried by the wind. It will fly until the breeze deposits it home.
I'll continue to gaze at the backside of the pocket watch that has reminded for months of the assignment you have asked.
Tho' fear creeps in,
evidence that something false is in the room,
The Mighty One who carries time,
has invited me into an in-vest-iture of glory,
He, will remind me, my divine adoption is recorded,
where scribes organised heavenly files
mysterious libraries that I have found,
while riding on the back of a royal lion.
Only those who seek will find,
those who ask, will encounter the answer,
those who knock or hear His knock, the door will be opened.
The Unfinished Book; moving towards the presses. Blessings Kristen