Refined by the Fire

 

fiery sky (2) qoute 2

Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6

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Enough Is Enough!

The choice to be made is not whether to be sinful or not sinful. The choice is whether we will seek God, love and follow Him, or seek the pleasures of this world. Having sought both, I can tell you the world has one very needful thing missing in its repertoire of earthly offerings: peace. No matter how much wealth, power, and love the world might offer you, none will bring you the peace God can offer. It has been proven time and again that the more earthly possessions one has, the more one seems to want. Enough is an elusive thing.

enough

Peace is more valuable than gold, and it can’t be bought or sold. No man can give it to us, but God holds handfuls of it out to us for the taking each and every day. All we need do is accept it.

The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace. Romans 8:6

The above is from my latest book, “Just A Man”. Please click on the links below to take a look at it and two more of my encouraging books. If you already have any of them, please take a minute to write a short review about them on the Amazon link. Thanks!

Just A Man

Be Still

Juli

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March On

March weather in east Texas is almost as unpredictable as a writer’s mood. It can go from hot to cold quicker than a fleeting thought. When I opened the plantation shutters to let some light in this morning, the cold air rushed past the slats like I’d turned on the A/C. I thought maybe I should close them, but figured, what the hell, let the heater run. Next week the windows will be open, and the gas bill will even out by the end of the month. The older I get, the less these things seem to matter. It’s almost always the same temperature in the house, and there’s nothing going on outside that can’t wait for a better day.

All good quote

Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.  Philippians 4:11
 

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The Concept of Angels

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of angels—guardian angels to be more specific. In the late ‘90s I was writing poetry, short stories, and novels, and I wrote this poem in February of 1999. It was one of my first poems, so I’ll let you be the judge as to whether I should have kept my day job.

Someone Passed By Today

 

little angelSomeone Passed by today

As I struggled along my way

Through this life with all its trials

And too many lonely miles

 

That someone stopped to say

They’d walk with me a ways

Said, if I wanted, we could talk

If not, well then, we’d just walk

 

I paid her no mind for a while

Then I looked and she gave me a smile

Without words she said she was there

With her eyes, she said, I care

 

After some time and distance

I slowly let down my resistance

Told her I was glad she came

I asked, by the way, your name?

 

Angel, she said, with a grin

Gave me a little chuck on the chin

She said, it matters not where you go

I’m always with you, you know

 

Then she waved farewell and faded from sight

Carried upward on a bright beam of light

Another friend who happened my way

Someone passed by today

 

Copyright © 1999 C. Mashburn

Here’s a list of links to my published works:

Just A Boy

Just A Man

Be Still

Juli

Shelter

The Devil’s Dust

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Beautiful Exiles

beautiful exiles

Beautiful Exiles

I’m currently reading Meg Waite Clayton’s, Beautiful Exiles, a novel about Ernest Hemingway and his third wife, Martha Gellhorn. Gellhorn, also an American novelist, travel writer, and journalist is considered one of the great war correspondents of the 20th century. She reported on virtually every major world conflict that took place during her 60-year career.

I’m paraphrasing the following from a passage in the book, simply because it rings so true to me. Especially regarding my autobiography, Just A Boy: When a writer, more so if he’s an amateur like me, lets go of a book, he does so, knowing all the wrong in it will forever be wrong. And even the bits—and it truly seems it’s only bits—that are good and right leave your soul ripped out of your chest and placed on the page to be examined by anyone who cares to read them.

This—to me anyway—rings even more true today than it did in the days of Hemingway and Gellhorn. Thanks mostly to the Internet, which has given license to “perform” to anyone—me included—who dares take their shot at writing, singing, comedy, art, et al. It’s a good thing but also a very bad thing. Good, in the sense we can take our shot, but bad in the sense that so can millions of others, and the odds of being “shot down” are high.

I’m not complaining, or excusing my lack of success, I’m merely trying to convey how this feels—this writing thing. I’ve often said that to write, one must be either very intelligent or somewhat insane. I’ve decided I’m just smart enough… to be fool enough… to write.

Here’s a list of links to my published works:

Just A Boy

Just A Man

Be Still

Juli

Shelter

The Devil’s Dust

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I Can’t Stop the Bleeding

At that moment I was twelve going on twenty. I’d jumped so far forward in life my head was spinning but, in a strange way, it was all starting to make sense. But it was making sense in a way that made no sense at all. As I looked across the table at my mom, her tears dripping onto the Formica-topped kitchen table, I wondered about love, I wondered about God, I wondered what life was all about. And as all these things raced around in my mind, they began to form the new me—the soon-to-be-a-man me. I suddenly realized, and I admit a tinge of fear accompanied the thought, that I had to—somehow—protect my mom, my brothers, and my sister. From my dad.

~~~~~

The above is an excerpt from a book I began writing last November. I abruptly stopped writing the book, due to a very unexpected circumstance. Most of you are aware of what happened but if not, you can read my post, The World Stopped Turning, for the details. But there’s more to it than that. I simply didn’t, and still don’t, know if I can write the rest of this story.

But, a few days ago, I began reading a book, not by but about, Ernest Hemingway. As I read it, I was inspired, not by his talent, or his person, but by his pain. He was a tormented man, and he was not afraid to display his frailty to the world. He said this about writing:clouds and mountains HemingwayI’m certainly no Hemingway, but I bleed, and I cannot stop the bleeding. I’ll let you know when the book is finished.

Just A Boy

 

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This… Is How

This… Is How

 

She told me it was okay

To not be okay

And so

I told her things I’d told no one

 

She listened

She spoke softly

Saying only good things

With compassion that was real

 

When the conversation was over

She said she was always there

I could talk to her any time

I hardly know her

 

So, I asked her why…

Why would she want to talk to me

She said

Because you need someone to talk to

 

This…

People who care

This… is how God

Can be everywhere

 

 Copyright © C Mashburn 2019

sun and rain - verse

 

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