I relish the eyes of my "coffee" cup with the same memory as witnessing the layers of paint worn on the steps of a Victorian staircase. Young, old, new life, death, laughter and tears, layered memories, each lift, lifting a trace of color, treading on soul, into their daily course.
it's all about the cup...
The retrospection that fills my view, ignites my words, moves my furniture as I nestle in to talk with Him. Scripture clearly says He prepares a table before me, in the presence of mine enemies, Psalms 23:5. that beauty, profound to confound. So, my enemies know what weapon is defeating them.
it's all about the cup...
My weapon is communion. The bread and the wine of intimate relationship. Experiencing the detail and thought of the table my Lord prepares.
It certainly is ALL about the cup...
In color, they cheer the season of my calendar.
In hue, they display my taste to remember the journey.
In-handle, their fit, is gloved weighted perfection.
In-size, they measure more than enough, or just a sip, to temper the tongue.
Not just coffee but the deliciousness of warmth, cupped in my hand, drawing all my attention to the moment, living in the breath. Living out the daydream, the dream-of-the-day.
it's all about the cup...
For an extended moment, I'm raptured beyond the morning chill, captured up yonder to a world more real, set higher than the yoke of yesterday.
it's all about the cup...
you offer me rich choices, such hospitality shared, opening your cupboard celebrating my eccentric bill-of-fare. Because you know this about me, brings me back round'
it's all in the cup of relationship,
here, heaven, treasured porcelain, the cup has a sound.
We ring in the New Year,
We block out winter's cold,
We wait for the secrets that spring surely holds,
We tether the morning before the garden is hot,
it's all about the cup...
a bliss-filled thought, sought, caught, taught, naught! Yum!
just a lifesaver smile, enjoy your day!
more treats to find, TUB-The UnFinished Book, Page 93, Pink!
Musings by Kristen Wambach
I was rounding the exhausting bend of editing with many questions about publishing, self-publish, I talked with a publisher, totally overwhelmed with the magnitude of Media. Yes, Jesus had made a few suggestions. I started to journal and draw, listen and hear the voice of God. Then the day came where I needed His yes yes and amen. I had made this cute little graphic of a Rabbit because as you know I tend to go deep into his trail when telling a kingdom story...I'm His biggest "make it real" fan! So I was in-His-face, overthinking and trying too hard to listen when Holy Spirit smacked me alongside my spiritual head, which He often does to get my attention. Kristen, He said. Remove one of the t's from Rabbittrail Publishing. So, I did! That is all it took, to know the name of His Hand upon the written-works He appropriated for me before the foundations of the world. And I have been following the Rabbi-trail in the Kingdom so close the dust of the hem of His garment covers me.
Isn't that a hoot!
Dictionary.com Rabbi =a Jewish scholar qualified to rule on questions of Jewish law.
Yesterday I had the fantastic opportunity to reconnect with a dear friend. A kindred-spirit-treasure, however, life path's seem to keep you passing. She's coming, and you're going or vice versa. The day was blissful and easy to be entreated. For hours we inhabited an outdoor table delighting ourselves with acorn squash ravioli, fresh garden salads, pitchers of iced tea; Overflowing our hearts and taste buds sharing a decadent taste of tiramisu. We made up for lost time. As the afternoon called us away, I took the opportunity to do a little Portland shopping, refreshing my rural self with the felicity of the city. Flocks of folk were cruising the air-conditioned malls. Malls have changed since my retail days; I was glad to see the Sees candy store still holding her own. Many unfamiliar names of shops and the presence of security guards. Reminds me earlier my friend and I walked into a cosmetic store, and there was a bored stiff, young security guard sitting on a high stool. I asked why did they need that kind of attendant? The sales clerk responded: to protect there $400 a bottle lotion made by some manufacturer I'd never heard of, Two sides of that coin, who buys 400 dollar cream and I found myself apologizing to this young man that his job security reinforced by dishonesty. He thanked me.
Back at the mall: Strolling and watching people I ventured past a center kiosk and was approached by a handsome young Mediterranean sales clerk. He immediately started to point out the wrinkles around my eyes and would I like a "free" sample guaranteed to rectify the problem. I kept dribbling out the, no thank you's, and he followed suit with well-versed sales turn around. I don't think I ever stopped walking past.
Amazingly enough, he caught me again on my return trip; I continued with, no thank you among our now generating conversation. I bent close to him and said, it's rude to point out a mature women's wrinkles anyway, making his co-workers bust a gut laughing. I took charge of the questioning, put him at ease and tuned into Holy Spirit. Listening as he answered my barrage of questions. What is your home country? He responded, Israel, I asked, Jewish or Muslim? A frown creased in his brow as he said confidently, Jewish. I said cool, we have the same Abba! He asked me again, what did you say. Repeating, we have the same Abba; clarifying, I mean Father. Yes, he said, I know it means Father, but you spoke in Hebrew. Yes, Jehovah Elohim, Jehovah Tsidkenu, Jehovah Nissi and a few more.
I should know my Father's names. Shocked with tears welling up in his eyes he shared intimate details that he had not been home for four years, nor had he heard anyone speak Hebrew outside of phone calls with family. We shared more particulars in this refreshed atmosphere, a true salesman voiced just one more time, are you sure you don't want to try a "free sample" I said no thank you.
As I walked away from my acquaintance, astonished at "Abba's" small assignment. Can't say that I considered my small Hebrew repertoire a conversation but the sound/frequency of His name stirred and filled a homesick countryman. He is a good Daddy!
Nothing resembles your previous identity as Jew or Gentile, bond or free, male or female, Billabong or Gucci; now you are all defined in oneness with Christ! He is your significance and makes you stand out!
Galatians 3:28 Mirror Bible
“Then all at once, there was a flutterment and a scufflement and a loud "Squeak!" The other squirrels scuttered away into the bushes.
When they came back very cautiously, peeping round the tree--
there was Old Brown sitting on his door-step,
quite still, with his eyes closed, as if nothing had happened.
But Nutkin was in his waistcoat pocket!
This looks like the end of the story, but it isn't.”
― Beatrix Potter, The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin
(small manifestation of encouragement: at the moment I moved to do the final proofread of this last chapter, a chickadee lands and rings my brass bell from Korea)
Tools I can prophetically act out and use: Practical "going through" applications for the "realms" OUR hearts travel. I went into the garage yesterday. We had used some para-cord to shore up our temporary roofing for our pergola. It was still laying on the bench aside everyday tools that never seemed to get put away. My spirit was searching for an idea: find something that looks like an old leather shoelace. I did not get any suggestions from my angels that I had this on hand at the house. The para-cord popped into mind. It will serve my purpose well. (Para-cord or 550 cord). Many uses: it's what ties the parachute to the parachuter. It makes sense that it would need to be very secure for jumping out of an airplane, release, catch the wind at a fast falling speed, withstanding the up snapping weight of skydivers and being reusable for many jumps.
RABBIT TRAIL: while rereading this encounter for the first time, two months later, I am in the spirit of final descent, writing the rest of the end of the book. How close I am to the “UN” being removed from “THE FINISHED BOOK.” It's Sunday morning, and I am sitting outside underneath our patio. There’s a bump in the pocket of my jean skirt where I happen to have a handkerchief. My son Justin, a cowboy, had let me choose a handkerchief, a couple of weeks ago, from his just received order. He had purchased several packets. The one I prefer is a plaid pattern with tiny crowns on it, the brand "Christian Aujard Paris." Go figure! It’s raining crowns, wouldn’t you say? Oh, how He tags and touches our hearts to deeper levels of believing. I took a picture of it sitting next to my computer with the book "project targets" in the background to post on the link to the website.)
A couple of hours ago my husband Don texted me. He asks: "Are you going downtown for National Day of Prayer? I answered his text. I was oblivious; of the date, I'm having my own national day of prayer here at home. I was not facetious! I screenshot it in my journal and shared it on the website. I haven't missed a National Day of Prayer for years, but this time I was sincerely oblivious; except that I got a special invitation from heaven. That is what I call a National Day of Prayer!
I am passionate about heaven. Why? Before God rested "They" - together in the work of His hands - made all things with redemption in mind. Love eternally expanded. Perfect love casts out all residue of fear. He loves His children so much that He created an absolute, sure way back to Himself. No weakness, ignorance, hate or fear could run or ruin His Fatherly plan. Free will stands eternally. Not in time or outside of it. Our doctrines of understanding have strangled the Good News from a limited perspective. That is why He is God! Kew.
Outworking Heaven and the Chicago Cubs
Oct. 8th, 2016 was the first time I encountered "Council Room of Windows" or "The Destiny Room" where I first saw The Unfinished Book.
1. Its origination: authorized from the Mandates room
2. Redeemed by the Lord's mediation and sacrifice in the Court of Accusations, both lenses of the mandate appeared to birth, "combine and marry," on a heavenly path, fused together in a dance of light, released on the earth.
Next, I step into the Angelic court with the mandate in hand, while passing out multiplying "copies" of personal angelic assignments to deliver and support writers.
3. Released on earth; heard and seen, declared through His prophetic vessel.
I have continued, multiple times, to encounter "The Unfinished Book," in heavenly places. God is not short on encouragement, nor lacking to get me or anyone of us off our duff and walking into your destiny.
Ascertaining how to be consummately fitted with my "royal" destiny:
receiving, wearing, understanding, transforming.
A crown for "casting." K. Wambach
"There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they'll take you." - Beatrix Potter
The first time I encountered this place/room, just walking inside took my breath away. The small room was no bigger than a storefront. A small-framed man was sitting at the back of the "shop" working on a table. I melt each time visiting this lovely suite. Stationed in the center lies a square, bakers-height table/cabinet, white painted wood with carved moldings, four drawers on each side. Hung above the cabinet there is a piece of framed latticework for display, laid and arranged with cream ribbons, white ribbons and draped antique laces. Set on the counter-top of the drawer case were different size bowls; marble urns; open metallic boxes containing pearls, diamonds, and gems, all sparkling clear. There were white on white, cream to creamy, velvet's and bows and hand beaded things. Built into the far wall to the right of the entry, from floor to ceiling, were large drawers with beautifully painted words in cursive writing identifying the items within the drawers: No handles or knobs, just slight cutaway handholds like an old flour bin. The room reminds me much of the ribbon shop (Millinery) in the movie “Pride and Prejudice” where the Bennett sisters ran into Mr. Wickam while shopping for ribbons and notions for the upcoming ball at Netherfield Park. It felt like I had been there many times, before.
Crazy fact, not months after I finished the manuscript of this book I found myself walking some very familiar paths in England.
Arrive in Lacock village and you could be forgiven for thinking you've just entered the scene of a recent battle or turned up to meet Mr Darcy for a dance at the assembly rooms.
World war II reenactment; P 38 Lightning
"International" haulers (H5) lined up in a row. Faithful herding dogs on hospitality duty, Binder stealing the show in his olive green Sargent's shirt. Situated behind Matt's display are the hardcore re-enactors with their set-up military city; tents, flagpole, cots, bedding, baseball mitts, "playing radio," supply tents and gear, authentic signs, medallions, and badges, including their attire. History well represented, girlfriends dressed as Rosie the Riveter.
"Tangerine" (on the song charts in 1941, written by Johnny Mercer & Victor Schertzinger; see fun lyrics and link on the reference page).
Living from eternity on earth. God, You are stunning! Don's mom Mary, was standing next to her beloved brother and we all hugged. She looked just like the pictures from her younger years that I had seen: intelligent, slim figured, full of wit and beauty. I noticed Harry reaching into the shirt pocket of his flight suit and then, with a grinning gesture, he handed me his wings. Through most of this encounter, my cheeks have been wet, as King Jesus unravels my heart. Heaven and earth have met with me inside the cockpit of that P-38 Lightning. I asked the Lord if "mantles" were given via marriage covenants. He just smiled at me as I said "Duh"! We do not fathom the realms of relationship and responsibility that He very much desires in our maturity. Unless He shows us, we agree and obey.
It has taken years of fighting the good fight of faith and believe in the spiritual realm He opened my eyes too. In times like these, it is difficult not to feel a bit of soulish sense of regret that wouldn't serve me very well. The humility that I am finally following through, following my scroll, using the perceptions that Jesus gave me, is worth a thousand lifetimes.
Item #6 Pilot wings added to my Valentine Window Box collage.
Framed and hanging in my husbands den. A familiar part of our household, I've dusted it many times.
2nd Lieutenant Harry Dowd: his & other brave hero's story is found in this book
July 17, 2017
A tiny Trail off the Rabbit Trail: Connecting all the little dots in the spirit takes nothing less than a “spiritual” company of help. Back in Chapter #8 Vulnerable Focus: Within the pages of the inner library encounter, Jesus and I were sitting on the face of time, He asked for the little book and had me to turn to page 93. I read, July 17, 2017, Completed. (07/17/17) Written in red. Do you remember? For those of you detailed people, you didn’t forget. One of the hidden purposes of the Lord for me to have my manuscript completed by that date was so that I would be available to take a crazy road trip with my brother Matt. Spending time with him at the reenactment open the door for an invitation of a 6-day trip to drive across country to deliver and pick up more World War II memorabilia. I completed the manuscript task well on time and was traveling that day in the heart of the US with two herding dogs at my feet, spending quality time with my brother. Make sure you catch some of the pictures on the website blog. Guaranteed to put a smile on your face. I have an unusual family and to tell the truth I blend in with them quite well. At times!
Armored order of angels: wakey wakey continues. My husband Don is a master technician. One-side to the benefits of having a mechanic in the house, acquiring cars is never an issue. The other side, is timely repair, versus "infinite" storage. At the time, I was driving an adorable old white Saab convertible. The top was a little worse for wear, and it had a great sound system, with an iPod adapter. Pinch me I'm in heaven. Year round the top of my car was open if it wasn't raining; during the winter, seat heaters turned on high. Tunes cranked. I was born a convertible girl. It was a beautiful late spring day in Oregon, with my faithful little Yorkshire terrier companion, Nikki. Early in the morning, a friend of mine had invited us for a walk along the Willamette River. I gathered my checklist: water, snacks, beach chair, and Nikki and I were on our way across town. I was cruising southbound through downtown Corvallis, music loud, top down on the car, just about to pass the historic Benton County Courthouse.
The last time I hollered Wakey Wakey!
Family Camp, Timothy Lake, The Spirit of Moses
And there is the annual "family camp": Providential or sending chills down your spine, five days, no showers only outhouses, campfires, sleeping in a tent; well those of us without an RV. More dogs than family members, an overdose of cured pork, and grandma always wants us to move the gazillion-pound park tables closer together. Families are an ever-changing foundation we call love, with a few other emotional tics in there. My folks, through there RV-ing "Recreational Vehicle" years, have graciously reserved a group campsite at Timothy Lake (Mt. Hood range,) closing in on twenty-seven plus years. It has been a re-occurring event ever since "Bob" was in a box! That's an inside joke for when my niece, Geordie, was a wee babe on her first camping trip. Her folks put her in a cardboard box because there was no elbow room next to the fire. It was raining cats, dogs, and elephants and all the young moms were holding toddler size jeans and boots over the fire which was covered with a fraying blue tarp. Oh, the memories. As a family, we have tried, off and on, a few other camping locations but returned to the peaceful, non-motorized lake with so many activities accessible in the shadow of magnificent Mount Hood.
Benjamin Angel testimonies
My Garden with Father
I was enjoying a season of cultivating a Kingdom that I was no longer in denial of or hiding its glories. I came out of the spiritual "closet." If someone asked me honest and hungry questions, I shared my encounters freely. Church, though significantly smaller, was walking through a season of repentance and change. We had a tremendous mess to clean up: a spiritual mess. Areas we had partnered with man's design that had nothing to do with the kingdom. Leadership, finances, coverings that didn't look anything like what we were now experiencing in heaven. In my personal "spiritual" garden I sat with the Father on the front steps of a grand brick home. Two stories, white shutters, right out of my love for all things Jane Austin. It was my gateway of first love, where the temple door from Ezekiel's vision exists. I am the gate, and my head is lifted up. Your garden and dwellings are kindred to your likes and dislikes. We'd talk, Father God and I, Jesus would show me other places in heavenly realms, I'd bring the encounter back to talk with Father and plant it in my garden. This Kingdom within me was growing and building my confidence in the spirit.
Then one encounter day, I was treading water and who do you think comes walking on water towards me? Jesus! Sometimes you just have to laugh at the similarities of Jesus acting just like Jesus in the Bible. He is a living Type and Shadow. Haha! He offered me His hand, pulled me up out of the water and now I'm standing on the water with Him in the middle of what seems like an ocean. I can barely see the shores on the horizon. Well, what's a good question to ask Jesus now? I asked Jesus about my "Destiny Scroll." Seems a bit pertinent after flooding your spiritual near and dear (treasures,) I'd say? Asking, “can you remind me again of where I am going,” Jesus reached into the invisible sky around us and pulled a glass screen, as if it had been hidden in a secret envelope all this time, and set a window for the scene. Mind you, we are still standing "on" the ocean. But there it is, my own private, ocean-side-view, "spiritual" white-board. He had my undivided attention. Then He, Jesus, reached over, putting His hand inside my heart, and pulled out my scroll. So similar to an architect spreading the blueprint open to view the plans. He proceeded to pin "my scroll" to the white-board/screen. Joining in, we uncoiled and spread this rolled up parchment, Jesus queuing me by grabbing my hand to hold up the opposite side. Brilliantly it stuck like paste, with I-don't-know-what, and it adhered to the transparent white-board. "In the middle of the sea, and my garden flooded." Aah!
Rungs on a ladder
Perspective revelations: I opened my computer the other morning, and something caught the corner of my eye, an insignificant gem, hidden in the beautiful architecture of historical library pictures I chose for screen-savers. Not an encounter, yet? My Screensaver. I did a Google search to see if I could find the name and location and was unable to retrieve information about this historical photo, regal library room, dusty old books housed on cherry wood bookshelves, floor to tall ceiling. Each aisle of shelves had a portable ladder, attached and able to slide on ladder-tracks connecting to the roof of the gallery. There is a white bust of an outstanding individual set as a marker between isles. As daily sitting at one's computer, maybe I had not noticed in the screensaver picture the rungs on the ladders. Imagine climbing to the top in search of a particular book. But there aren't any more rungs at the top! The last two steps in the rhythm of the design were missing. I'd never noticed that before. Makes sense in the practical way of things: what use is a stair or rung on a ladder if you run out of head-space? What sparks a gem of a moment, even though in this "library" it appears that you are at the top of the ladder:
The living memory (50s kitchen) I'm describing is familiar just like the farmhouse I grew up. Quaint, painted white cabinets, a window over the sink with gingham curtains, chrome-trimmed, grey and white table with four chairs. Vintage refrigerator with rounded corners, mud room leading to the back door with slamming screen door, Small kitchen garden out back attached to a large farm field, with a line of oak trees on the north boundary. Small intimate cottage to meet with the God-head. Where does one start, I spent a little over two years sharing communion here with all of "Them." The gate of first love, my fellowship place: as a transformational altar.
Along the editing trail...
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