Inspirational Christian writing

This site is about inspirational Christian writing and self-reflection. It is meant to inspire the chosen and the ones who will be. It’s about everyday life and situations and things we all encounter, and how we react to them or perceive them. I like to write from a biblical perspective. We can all relate to a good story, especially one’s we all have things in common with. Click through, read some posts, and please… Join in the discussion and share your thoughts and experiences! You can even get a FREE book of quotes just for subscribing!


I cussed last week. Which made me even more frustrated at the failing of my frail flesh. It wasn’t out loud, but it was cussing that I kept inside my mind, letting the poison do its work.

I don’t lose the battle with my flesh near as much as I used to, but I got my clock cleaned last week.

I realize that it gets easier to live above the flesh as we get older. One of the biggest factors is age itself.

Another reason to leave the jumping to conclusions and flying off the handle to the younger generations is that we’ve figured out how much energy it takes… not to mention the fact that we’re already plum tuckered.

One of the other reasons that it gets easier to live above the failing flesh is the many gifts we tend to overlook.

I enjoy using my hands. I’ve used them to build a lot of things, but with the decades and evolution of business much has changed. The tools I used to use are different than the ones I use now. These days a computer and cell phone have replaced hammers and saws.

We all get to deal with frustrations, but physical ones seem to have a more immediate effect… which is why I cussed last week before I even knew it was on the tip of my mind.

Maybe it’s more instinct based on the bygone days when cussing and chewing tobacco were just part of the day… along with frustrations.

The crew wasn’t my regular one, good guys, just lacking experience. Especially for “seeing” my vision that the blueprints, for some things, exist only in my mind.

I cussed

The stringer is the center support piece.

The beam saw I used to cut the single glue laminated beam stringer that weighed around five hundred pounds is obsolete. They don’t make them anymore. Those saws lopped off too many fingers, hands, and arms. Yeah, the massive and jagged blade is bigger than a commercial table saw… set in a handheld gigantic cartoon sized handsaw.

After a couple of days of holding the gargantuan saw, focusing on not letting it cut any of my body parts off, my energy and patience were gone like the good ol’ days.

Splinters in the hands, sawdust in the eyes, and ears, blisters, and sweat rolling into my eyes. Back aching from bending over with the widow maker in my hands, I was a man on the edge.

It must have been the thousandth trip over a block of wood that broke the camel’s back. #&*%@!!!, I yelled to myself in my mind, spittin’ sawdust out of my mouth to no avail, giving in and just swallowing it.

We get into our comfortable worlds that are really the gifts from God and we forget the difficulties that others live with daily.

I need to count my gifts and be more understanding when I judge or give advice because I’m no better than anyone else. Just forgiven… even though I cussed last week.


The invisible man died… and I didn’t even know his name. A couple of smart bottoms I told about the invisible man’s passing didn’t quite get it.

They wore the expressions of sarcasm and asked me how I would even know if the invisible man died for sure. I, in turn, flashed them my unamused expression and explained that he wasn’t really invisible – the title was just a nickname for a guy that touched so many people’s lives. I’ll bet including yours, and yet nobody knew him and his sightings were almost as rare as Big Foot’s.

His name was Rod Temperton and it’s likely that his music has crossed the path of your ears more than once in your lifetime.

the invisible man

(Photo by Frank Micelotta/Getty Images)
from boom

I don’t think I ever attended a wedding during the 80’s and 90’s and didn’t’ hear, “Always and Forever”, written and composed by the invisible man when he was part of the group Heatwave.

The same could be said of his next song, except that this one is still being played at weddings pushing forty years later. I’d never have admitted to liking the song back when I was in high school. That’s the sorta thing that could’ve got a kid beat up in my blue collar hood, but I tapped my toes to it.

That song was Boogie Nights and it laid the foundation that the invisible man would use to become one of the most dominant songwriters of all time.

I guess if you are famous, or even an invisible member of the music industry this year; “The Year the Musicians Died”, your spine should be tingling with the presence of the grim reaper creeping up behind.

Rod Temperton was only sixty-six years old, but the cancer took him quickly. His estimated 125 million net worth couldn’t give him even one more precious day.

It didn’t matter that he was obviously a shy or humble man. He wrote a lot of songs for a lot of people. He had a God-given gift… and yet I have no idea if he knew that or God above.

The invisible man wrote “Master Jam” when Chaka Khan was singing lead, “Baby Come To Me” sung by Patti Austin and James Ingram, “Give Me the Night”, by George Benson, “Sweet Freedom” by Michael McDonald, and “Off the Wall, “Rock With You”, and “Thriller”, by Michael Jackson… and those are just the highlights.

The invisible man had an impressive resume… if he was applying to write songs and music, but resumes are for humans – other folks created like all of us and are passing – one day closer to our last with each one.

I have no idea of where the invisible man will spend eternity, but he’s living out his nickname now… along with a lot of other great musicians and songwriters that aren’t coming back in their flesh.

I love music and I admire talent, but the passing of the invisible man reminds me that how we’re measured by this world means zero.


Seven days of soul care

Dolly’s new book!

Sometimes the days in the valley’s of our lives can turn out to be the best things for us… in the long run. All of us have had trials, difficult times, places along the path of life where we reached the pit mentally and physically then reached out to God for help.

None of us are too anxious to go back and relive the dark days of our lives. A lot of us don’t even want to think too long and hard on them due to the pain it reminds us of.

Then there are those that have lived through the tribulations and are willing to share what they’ve learned with others. Dolly M. Lee is one of those people.

In her new book, “Seven Days of Soul Care”, Dolly shares stories from her own life and her personal struggles with anxiety, depression, and PTSD, and how God’s grace and love transformed her… and still is.

I’ve read this book personally and I believe there’s something in it for everyone. Dolly’s genuine heart and caring nature come through in her honest writing.

One of Dolly’s goal is to raise enough money from the proceeds of this book to support and donate to the charity that she’s passionate about. The name of the charity is International Justice Mission, or IJM. Their mission is to stamp out the horrific business of human trafficking. I’d say that’s a worthy charity to support.

You can click the link here to support Dolly and her efforts to help all people really, especially the children. You can also click this one to catch up with Dolly at Soul Stops .com where she shares her heart and wisdom regularly.

Excellent work, sister.


Certain days stand out among the masses we’re gifted to get. I had one of those today, and not just because I got presents. I met with friends over a late morning cup of coffee – friends I’d never met before.

Although we’d never laid eyes on one another, I knew them, especially Mary. I knew her warm personality and caring nature. Yeah, words are that powerful.

I met Mary via our sites, hers is Piles of Smiles, aptly named, by the way. We both call Arizona home, Mary, and Tom in the high pine country, me in the sweltering Valley of the Sun. The “I-17” connects us, but before it was blacktop, it was the internet. Kinda reverse how it used to be.

I walked in a few minutes late only to be greeted by Mary’s brilliant blue eyes and contagious smile. Then the hug, despite my slightly sweaty shirt, to let me know I was among friends… family really.

Tom, Mary’s husband, reminded me of my cousins; a Vietnam veteran at ease in his skin. The type of man you look up to, and not just because of his imposing stature.

We chatted about life, family, of course, writing, and God, along with our mutual understanding of His sovereignty.

Here’s the thing about real friends; they give it to you straight. They warn you upfront that they’re being honest, which I’ve come to figure out the only kind of honesty there in in this world is what we call the “brutally honest” type.


A Hillbilly Memoir

Over the years I’ve had a lot of friends, and family for that matter, discard my words, had more than a few unsubscribe from this site for various reasons. I’ve learned or instinctually developed calluses when it comes to feedback regarding my writing.

But writing and editing are different than asking an acquaintance, “How you doin’ today?” The obligatory, “Fine, how are you,” expecting the same generic response won’t do for someone trying, as Mary says, “to polish their writing.”

Of course, Mary’s words have merit. She’s kind, generous, and gifted with wisdom from God. Mary spent so much of her gift of time on my words that she spoke in detail about the manuscript that she edited for me. The good stuff first… followed by the truth.

I left my pride and ego in my truck. Funny how those traits distort hearing… then understanding… and finally wisdom.

Mary’s edit is going to cause me a boat load of work… but I do believe the manuscript will be better because of her work and honesty.

A good friend will do everything they can to deliver truth as gently as possible. I didn’t even need a Kleenex. Of course, Mary and Tom’s gifts of cookies, pumpkin biscotti, and a book for my new grandson helped.

Isn’t that just like a good friend? Even if I did just meet them today.

Stop by Mary’s site here. Tell her that her friend Floyd sent you.


I think about Dave Dudley from time to time. And yes, usually when I’m on the road.

It didn’t seem like it, but Dave Dudley was a bad influence for kids way back when. Mr. Dudley was in a hurry to get home and was unashamed by the fact that he was breakin’ the law to get there – post haste.

With my driving record, I try to be more mindful of the speed limit these days. I learned in traffic school, over and over, that cops on a highway, generally speaking, give folks about a ten mile an hour leeway. After that, you’re throwin’ the dice.

On my way out of town on business, I set the cruise control right at ten miles an hour over – feeling pretty impressed with my willpower to do so. There was a time when a gas pedal, any gas pedal, owned me.

Sleeping in a strange bed and eating in restaurants, usually by yourself, has a way of making most of us a tad homesick. Or at least sick of not sleeping and crummy food.

When work was done I was like an antsy dog desperate for a walk.

It was windy and raining. The sky was black, grey, and brown. The Arizona desert was getting a rare break, the saguaros, creosotes, and mesquites were drinking up the sky.

I set the cruise control to ten over, cranked the satellite radio to trek the lonely blacktop that’s so far out in the middle of nowhere that an A.M. radio airwave couldn’t find it back in the day.

I waited for oncoming traffic to clear before I passed the stray eighteen wheelers, justification for speeding, pulling back to ten over less and less with each pass.

The speed felt like an old sweatshirt.

Speeding is a lot like parking; park in the loneliest part of an empty lot and it attracts others like flowers do bees… and speeding does cops.

The Nissan, desperate to catch this Dave Dudley disciple, didn’t see the cop hiding behind the creosotes in the median. My stomach shot a little bit of poison when I saw that cop pull out with his lights flashing.

The cop could have had a red light special; two for one, but he settled for the trailing Nissan.

Bending the rules isn’t like adding a little bit of white paint to a big bucket of black. In their purest form, there’s only black and white, right and wrong, there is no grey. And trying to justify our actions to suit our emotions reveals the hypocrite in us.

I throttled it back to nine over. And when the miles were counting down from being on the road, Dave Dudley, and his famous tune, came back to me for an encore visit.

“My home town’s uh-comin’ in sight – If you think I’m-uh-happy, you’re right! Six days on the road and I’m-uh-gonna make it home tonight.”