C.J. Sears's Blog, page 18

The Smiling Man Conspiracy: Available Now (FREE Sept 9th-13th)

The Smiling Man Conspiracy is now available for purchase in ebook format:

Kasey Alexander always gets her way. Reunited with his former partner, Agent Llewyn Finch embarks on a mission to uncover the truth behind a series of abductions.

There’s a hitch: he hasn’t recovered from his last case. He can’t shake the fact that where he goes, death follows.

Someone’s playing a mad game with the lives of innocents. Evidence points to a shadow organization within the government. In a world of deception, who can he trust?

As he and Kasey untangle the web of a grand scheme, Finch knows one thing for certain: when evil is in control, good men die.

The digital edition is $3.99 today, but I have great news: you can get it for FREE on Amazon from September 9th (tomorrow) through the 13th. This is a show of good faith to all my nominators, friends, and family. If you’d like a copy, simply check the link again tomorrow for the updated price.

The print edition (paperback) is still in review. I will notify you when it becomes available for purchase. Personally, I prefer the feel of paper in my hands, so that’s the version I’ll be waiting to get for myself. Then again, the ebook gives you instant satisfaction. Hmm…

If you have questions, feel free to contact me on Facebook, twitter, or through my email: csears896@outlook.com.

Thanks for helping this novel spring to life. I couldn’t have created this sequel to The Shadow Over Lone Oak without all of your support. God bless you guys and enjoy reading.

Labor Day Musings

It’s been ten days since The Smiling Man Conspiracy went into review on Kindle Scout. Whether or not I’ll be selected, I have no clue. But I do know that I will be okay either way. I have faith that whatever the result, God will guide me to the next stage in my life. It might not be a pretty sight. There may even be a fair amount of suffering involved. But it’ll be His will, as it always is and will be.

I’m human, so anxieties and anticipation naturally flare up. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t constantly thinking about the book even while fairly contented by whichever decision happens to be made. I’m at peace, yes, but worries surround the shell of hope I’ve constructed. Thank God it’s not up to me what will happen. I’d probably muck it up somehow. He is perfect. I am not.

Which brings me to the next issue I wanted to discuss: that monstrosity known as Twin Peaks: The Return and its abysmal ending. In an earlier blog post, I dissected the problems I had with the show’s pacing and writing. Those failings held true to the end. There were moments of brilliance, but they were marred by a substandard plot, lackluster characters, horrible self-indulgence by the director, laughable and bizarrely repetitive dialogue, and much unnecessary nudity and language.

I can’t think of a worse revival for an old television show. David Lynch & Mark Frost made their choices, their creative decisions that would shape this unruly beast that I wish I hadn’t bothered to watch. Yet, I can’t find too much anger in it. They were always going to make those choices. The fans could think of a million more interesting and better written alternatives, but they were never going to occur. Why? Because His will be done.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. How can humans have free will if His will is the only thing that matters? Like much of Christianity, it’s a paradox, but one that makes a funny kind of sense. You see, humans do have the free will to make their future. But God is Sovereign and All-knowing. He is always aware of what you’re going to do long before you do it. Thus, we are predestined to make the decisions He knows we will.

Naturally, a great many philosophical questions arise from this basic premise. These questions would merit their own discussions, but I’d save those for another time and a Christian writer with more tact and Spiritual maturity than I currently possess. Someone in the ilk of William Lane Craig, J. Wallace, Lee Strobel, or Ken Ham, for example. Or local pastors who you may be more familiar with.

I’m a young man and an even younger Christian. I’m thankful to Him that even in my youth, I know that truth that His will be done, not mine.

“Not to us, Yahweh, not to us, but to Your name give glory because of Your faithful love, because of Your truth. Why should the nations say, ‘Where is their God?’ Our God is in heaven and does whatever He pleases.” (Psalm 115:1-3)

Thanks for reading this Labor Day blog post. I hope it’s been brief but enlightening. Peace be to you and remember that despite what we dupe ourselves into believing, the only one in absolute control is God.

Contest: Win 1 of 3 Copies of TSOL (Over 9-2-17)

I’ve mentioned a few times over the past few weeks that I’ve planned to conduct a drawing. I said that if you wanted the opportunity to win a FREE copy of my first novel The Shadow Over Lone Oak you need merely share your interest to be entered into consideration. But I was perhaps vague about the specifics, so let me lay down the rules.

Contest Guidelines

You must live in the continental U. S. in order to be eligible. Winner(s) will receive a FREE signed copy of my book which will arrive via a prepaid, priority mail envelope.
Your name will be literally drawn out of a hat. If you want the chance to get a book and are eligible, merely supply this information. You can reach me through Facebook, Twitter, email, or by commenting on this blog post.
The drawing will be conducted Saturday, September 2nd around noon CDT at the earliest. In the event that at least four participants have not applied, the drawing will be postponed until this criterion is met.

If you need further information, please contact me for details.

EDIT (9-3-17): The contest is over! Three winners selected. Congratulations to Michaela, Kellie, and Vicki.

I’ve removed the prologue that was here for participant perusal. But if you still want to read it, the kindle version of the book on Amazon has a quick look feature that allows you to glimpse the first pages of the book.

Thanks for playing. God bless you all. Have a great Labor Day.

Contest: Win 1 of 3 Copies of TSOL

I’ve mentioned a few times over the past few weeks that I’ve planned to conduct a drawing. I said that if you wanted the opportunity to win a FREE copy of my first novel The Shadow Over Lone Oak you need merely share your interest to be entered into consideration. But I was perhaps vague about the specifics, so let me lay down the rules.

Contest Guidelines

You must live in the continental U. S. in order to be eligible. Winner(s) will receive a FREE signed copy of my book which will arrive via a prepaid, priority mail envelope.
Your name will be literally drawn out of a hat. If you want the chance to get a book and are eligible, merely supply this information. You can reach me through Facebook, Twitter, email, or by commenting on this blog post.
The drawing will be conducted Saturday, September 2nd around noon CDT at the earliest. In the event that at least four participants have not applied, the drawing will be postponed until this criterion is met.

If you need further information, please contact me for details. As a bonus, here’s the prologue from the beginning of The Shadow Over Lone Oak to whet your appetite:

Detective James Black turned left off Main Street and pulled into the driveway of his one floor apartment. The white Dodge Charger rolled into the garage before coming to a halt. The shutter closed behind him as Black killed the engine. Darkness enveloped him. For a moment he sat in his car, uncertain if he had the energy to open the door. The numbing haze brought on by a lengthy day spent filing paperwork and interviewing witnesses had taken its toll.

He’d closed the case and put the perpetrators behind bars, and yet he could find no peace, not even in rest. Life as a detective had become a series of still images for him, grotesque frames of mutilated bodies, drug-addled minds, and perversions beyond his understanding. Runaways found mangled in ditches, prostitutes who shot up with drugs; they were all the same, an interchangeable sequence of death and desire. Yet they were still people, born to inhabit this earth same as he, warts and all. He forgot that more than he cared to admit.

The sounds of nature, the song of chirping crickets and bellowing frogs, pierced an intolerable silence. He unbuckled his seatbelt as the distant howl of a wolf beckoned in the darkness. He stepped out of the car with a sense of weightlessness; it was as if some unseen force had sucked his vitality through a straw.

Black meandered over to the door, grasping blind in the void for the light switch. His fingers brushed against a plastic shell and with a flick the fluorescents illuminated the diminutive hole he called a garage. He half-limped the last three steps to the cold brass of the door knob, turned it, and entered the kitchen.

He grabbed a beer from the fridge and slapped it on the counter before collapsing onto the rusted metal chair. He took two swigs from the bottle before setting it back down and pulling up his right pant leg.

The wound was long past its expiration date. An eight-inch scar cut from below his knee to near the bottom of his shin. It had been six, no, seven months since it happened, but he could still feel the knife as it dragged through his skin and muscle and threatened the bone underneath. Nights like this, the ones after he’d buried himself in paperwork and bureaucracy, were the ones where it liked to flare up, liked to remind him of her.

Dark black curls cascaded about her round face, thick eyebrows calling attention to her sultry eyes and blood-stained lips. Her mouth formed no words, only terror. She was nineteen years old, fresh out of high school. Her body was bent inside the dumpster, warmed by cockroaches, used tissue paper, and spent condoms. Black remembered blue fingernails that clutched at nothing in the dank, stench-filled container. The perpetrator had clothed her in soiled bandages as if to preserve her.

The killer had been no one of importance, a vagrant with too little mind and too much on it. He’d been on a spree, hitting up woman after woman in dark alleys in cities across the county. He’d started with robbery and then moved onto assault and molestation. Then he killed. She wasn’t his only victim, but she was the last.

The killer never saw a trial. Black recalled a harried chase through an abandoned tenement, a carving knife embedded deep within his leg and trailing down, then gunshots, one, two, three; the first in the chest, the last two between his eyes and through his neck. The nine-millimeter had fallen from his hands after the body hit the floor. Black had keeled over, unable to hold back tears.

Meredith Black’s funeral was held three days later, a small affair attended only by himself, his ex-wife, and a contingent of the department. As the casket lowered into the ground, Black’s thoughts turned to the myth of Icarus’s flight toward the sun. There he’d stood, tears bubbling, his daughter’s corpse encased in a casket, and all he could muster was that old fable.

Black let his pants leg trickle back down to cover his scar, the pain having dulled enough he could stand again. The bottle tipped over, spilling liquor over the counter as his arm brushed against it. There were no paper towels. The laundry was still in the washer. Black left the alcohol where it was, another reminder.

The bathroom light was fading when he flipped the switch. He plunged his hands into the sink, splashed icy water onto his face. It dribbled down his squared chin; Black couldn’t help but gaze at himself with haunted eyes as each drop fell upon the floor. His once thick brown hair had grown ragged and thin and graying. Bright green pupils had faded to a dull teal. Wrinkles segmented his forehead as if he had aged ten years past his time.

An unmade bed beckoned to him in the next room. He cast his beige overcoat onto the bed, then kicked off his shoes before struggling to submit himself to the sheets. Black covered himself to his shoulder, flicked off the lamplight and shut his eyes. He had no recollection of how long he laid there, eyes bleary in the darkness. The events of the day swirled before him, a formless collage of meaningless death and pointless cacophony.

The urgent need to relieve his bladder prompted him out of bed and back to the bathroom. Dreary, he urinated and missed the bowl. His hand pushed the lever with some measure of inelegance. Black shuffled to the bed now feeling the weight that had forgotten him. He closed his eyes.

The phone rang.

* * *

The red rays of dawn broke through the darkness as Black drove his car into the vacant lot across from a strip club known as The Nether. His contact had said to be there at four-fifty in the morning. He checked his watch: it was half past four.

With minutes to burn, Black took a second to reconcile himself. The alley where the police found her body was less than a block from here, on the other side of the club. Behind him he could see the fire escape the killer had climbed when the chase happened. The fetid ranks of the homeless and garbage and misery washed over him like the coming tide.

Black didn’t believe in coincidences and knew that his contact had chosen this site for a reason; though he hadn’t deciphered the purpose behind it, he was certain it had something to do with his daughter’s murder. In the early morning hours, there was no scarcity of covert meeting places, not in this city. No, the man on the phone had meant to bring him here. Whether this was a trap or not, Black wouldn’t leave a loose thread like this hanging over his head.

A conspicuous white limousine pulled into the lot beside his Charger, idled for a moment, then quieted. Black hesitated, his hand atop the sidearm he carried at all times. The rear door opened and without waiting for his chauffeur a petite man in his mid-twenties eased himself out of the car. He must have been less than five feet in height and around one hundred thirty pounds. He appeared so fragile in stature that Black was concerned he might break apart by turning his foot the wrong direction.

His apprehension was misplaced: the short fellow bounced over to his car with the vigor of a cheetah. He twirled a necklace as he walked; unable to make out any of the characters etched onto its surface, Black kept his focus on the two mountains masquerading as men in the littler one’s wake. One was dark-skinned, wearing shades. The other was lighter, bearing a trucker hat.

The mismatched trio stopped outside his passenger side door and paused. He’d expected them to either knock on the door or motion for him to get out, but they stood there with the patience of a dozen saints. Black opened the driver’s side door at a pace that suggested he was being cautious but not afraid. He sensed that first impressions might be important to this man.

“Mr. Black, I presume?” asked the white bodyguard.

Black nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. What’s this about?” Once more, his hand drifted to the pistol hidden beneath his coat.

The guard wearing shades answered. “We have received word from our benefactor that you are wanted at a social event being held at his manor later tonight.”

He shifted his gaze between the two men, wondered why they had taken turns to speak to him. The small man was silent, a perpetual smile carved into his face. In fact, looking closer, Black could see that this was the case: someone had cut the man from ear to ear, clean through each cheek. Rudimentary stitches held the remnants of his flesh together. This didn’t aid his appearance.

“Uh huh,” Black said, “and just, ah, who is this benefactor you speak of?” He discovered that he couldn’t take his eyes off the man with the Glasgow smile. Despite being outmatched by the two larger men, it was that poor soul that unnerved him most.

“That you will learn in time, Mr. Black. Suffice it to say that it is as of immeasurable import that you meet with him tonight. This is non-negotiable. If you don’t agree to come tonight, this opportunity will expire,” said Shades.

Incredulous, Black narrowed his eyes at the dark-skinned man. “What opportunity? Look, if this is about my daughter, there’s nothing you can tell me that I don’t already know. Leave me be.”

Trucker Hat shook his head. “This is not about your daughter, Mr. Black, though I must admit the benefactor chose this location well. No, this is an invitation to something greater. Something beyond yourself. Something transcendent.”

The Smiling Man let out a giggle that must have been painful for him. Still no words followed. The urge to smack this man rose within Black. This was a sick joke, had to be. This song-and-dance was pointless buffoonery meant to humiliate him. The grip on his gun tightened.

“So, what, you asking me to join some kind of cult?”

Shades laughed. Black expected it from the Smiling Man, but not this grim-faced goon. “Nothing of the sort, but God is in the details Mr. Black. We cannot share the specifics with you, here, across from the filth that pollutes this city. This is, for lack of a better euphemism, a leap of faith that you’re going to have to take on your own.”

“When you’re ready for something other than drunken nights and broken dreams, come to this address.” Trucker Hat wrote a series of directions and the address of the home on a slip of paper. Black peered at the location: 121 Kennedy Boulevard. That was near the country club. “The party starts at ten this evening. Be there tonight, or not at all.”

With that, the trio turned and strode away. As the white limousine departed, Black made a note to run the license plate through the system. If there was any criminal history associated with N15 TU19 he would know about it. If not, then at least he might have an idea of whom he was meeting.

* * *

Silver orbs of light listed through the night air imprinting a series of circular shadows on the hood of Black’s car. He’d parked across from the monstrous stone gate hesitant to approach and press the buzzer. Years of work for the department had taught him that caution could be the difference between a bullet in the heart and a commendation. Yet the license plate search had turned up clean; failing to pay the parking meter was the only crime associated with that vehicle.

Still, these men weren’t his friends. They had appeared grotesque, had guilt him into agreeing to come here, and were altogether brisk in the manner they had passed this information to him. The men had been careful not to intimidate him. But they had known enough about his past to get him to not ask questions before he got where they wanted him to be.

The mansion was two stories high and measured twice as wide in either direction. An indoor pool could be seen through tall glass on the left-hand side. On the right, a significant portion of the building had been reconstructed as an outdoor amphitheater. Elevated higher than the first, the second floor converged to support a lavish balcony on the roof.

Black didn’t care for the extravagance of the manor. He’d never been fond of wealthy showmanship. He believed that a man could be proud of his success but not to the point of excess. The bells and whistles of extreme affluence created an image that was larger than life.

Trucker Hat and Shades greeted him at the door. “Good to see you, Mr. Black. I trust that our instructions were more than adequate,” said Shades.

“I had no problems,” he replied. Trucker Hat grunted. “Now, which way to your master?”

Shades pushed open the door. “Right this way,” he said, gesturing toward the central staircase. An assortment of socialites danced to classical music in the grand foyer. “Follow the stairs up and to the right. Maverlies awaits you at a bust of William Shakespeare.”

“Maverlies? Is that your boss?”

He didn’t answer, continued to point toward his destination. That didn’t sit well with him, but Black shrugged it off, marched up the stairs. He followed the abundant red carpet to the statue of England’s most prolific author. The Smiling Man was there, arms crossed. Black assumed that this was Maverlies.

“Show me the way,” he told the dwarf.

The Smiling Man nodded and rapped his knuckles against the head of Shakespeare. It plopped backward, revealing a button. He pressed it. The wall behind him moved, revealing a hidden room.

Black walked into the study. More humble than the rest of the manor, the room contained a single oak desk and a table lamp. It reminded him of a bank teller’s workstation. Scientific texts on ecology and biology lined the back wall. A white plastic fan hummed in the corner.

Sitting at the desk was a pale old man of average build. His hair was white as milk and his eyes as dark as black coffee. He was dressed in an elaborate robe, red with gold trim. One of the books from the shelves lay open in front of him. He’d bookmarked a page for study. His fingers shakily tracked the words, line after line. He looked up when Black loomed over him.

“Mr. Black,” he said, “I have to say that I am surprised you came. My name is Jackson Maverlies.”

His voice was raspy. Black noticed the stoma in his throat. He glanced underneath the desk and saw an oxygen tank and a folded wheelchair. A catheter ran down his leg to a pouch on the floor. He estimated that this man was in his last days.

Maverlies saw where his eyes traveled. “The doctors have given me about six months to live.” He seemed at peace with that fact.

“Why did you want to see me?”

The old man sighed. “There’s no changing my fate. I know that. But I find myself whistling the sorrow of a bygone day. That’s where you come in.” Black waited for him to continue. “Years ago, my father owned a facility in a nearby town. It was quite profitable and endowed my family with the riches you see before you.” The hole in his throat pulsated with each word he breathed. “But one day, his workers stumbled upon something they should not have. The business collapsed. The wells dried up. My father was finished and his efforts nullified.”

There were holes in this story, missing pieces; that much Black knew. “I would appreciate it if you cut straight to the point.”

Maverlies coughed. Black looked away. “I have brought you here because I need your help to find this plague on my history. I have worked for years to trace the source of this menace, but every time I get close, victory is snatched from underneath me.”

“And?”

“You are a magnificent specimen of law enforcement. I know your story and I, too, have known loss. I seek an end to a misery that is relentless in its desire. If you would permit, I would like to hire you, privately, for the purpose of solving this mystery.”

He thought it over for a moment. “No.”

“Come now, Mr. Black, you and I both know that beneath that drunken facade beats the heart of a man desperate to prove he’s still capable of righting wrongs. You are not a man of money, so I won’t offer it to you. You are a man of soul. Mine, like yours, is restless.”

Black paced across the study as Maverlies’ words needled at him. His leg twitched.

“I cannot promise that this will bring you happiness, Mr. Black. Nothing can bring your daughter back. But I cannot believe that you will deny an old man his last request.”

Staring into the wall, Black gave his answer.

“Where do I start?”

A Key West Encounter

Two months ago, when I was on family vacation, I suffered from a second degree burn on my shoulders. Any second in the sunlight was agony and being indoors wasn’t much of an improvement either if I had to move an inch. Foul, pus-filled blisters dotted my raw and red skin. It made me pretty darn irritable.

This went on for several days. On the day before we departed, I stopped at a grocery store and wandered in the refreshing air-conditioning for a good twenty minutes. While I was browsing, someone called out (apparently to me) something along the lines of “hey, what’s up handsome.” Naturally, I didn’t think they were talking to me. And when I saw that it was a man who said those words, I really hoped they weren’t talking to me. This was in Key West, after all.

The man, an older black fellow with who I presume was his wife, told me that I should always respond when someone says the words that he did. I got the joke, but that didn’t make it less weird. Then he asked me how I was feeling. Being honest about my burns, I said that I wasn’t doing too good.

And he decided to clasp one of my injured shoulders. A writer couldn’t have crafted a better continuing narrative. It didn’t feel that bad, which was weird in itself. Had a short conversation with him and he took off. I shrugged away the strange encounter and continued browsing.

Later, as I was checking out, the man and his wife came up behind me in line. They recognized me from earlier and started talking. I wasn’t expecting to hear what he said next. He told me that even in my pain, I should remember those who have it worse. He said that if I ever needed a reminder of how much more difficult my pain could be, I should visit a trauma ward. He told me that I should always be grateful to God for the time I have, because I wouldn’t know when it might end.

As he was saying these things, his hand was on my shoulder again. And again, I felt no pain, not until they were gone. After that discussion, when I was done with the awkward encounter and said the word “amen” alongside them, I thanked them and left.

The next day, I started feeling a lot better and my blisters began to burst. But I think I realized even as I left the grocery store the significance of what I had experienced.

That man and his wife were no chance encounter. They were either:

A prayerful couple moved by the Holy Spirit to comfort me and remind me of my fortunate life.
Angels with a specific message for me to hear.

Of course, the secular world might chalk this up to chance or coincidence. But I believe in God, the living Lord, not in the nonexistent pagan deity of luck. There is nothing that happens that He doesn’t design or allow.

I’ve been meaning to share this experience with my readers and other members of my family for some time. It’s difficult to put an event like this into words and ensure that it sounds honest and genuine. I made sure not to embellish any detail. If I’ve captured it with a reasonable amount of accuracy, I’m thankful to Him.

“The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. It is good to wait quietly for deliverance from the Lord. It is good for a man to bear the yoke while he is still young…For the Lord will not reject us forever. Even if He causes suffering, He will show compassion according to His abundant, faithful love. For He does not enjoy bringing affliction or suffering on mankind.” (Lamentations 3:25-27 & 31-33)

While the context of these verses is the subject of Israel’s demise, the hopeful message is one that resonates to all Christians and in particular those experiencing any kind of pain, great or small. The Lord doesn’t promise us a perfect life, but He guarantees His love will prevail.

Whatever else you take away from this blog post, know that He is there to listen, love, provide, and correct His children whether they realize it at the time or not. Praise and glory be to Him.

The Good Shepherd: Psalm 23

“The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack. He lets me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He renews my life; He leads me along the right paths for His name’s sake. Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for You are with; Your rod and Your staff—they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Only goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord as long as I live.” (Psalm 23)

Christians and non-Christians alike are familiar with at least some version of this passage from the Book of Psalms. Perhaps the translation you read is a bit more poetic, but the meaning remains the same. Let’s take a closer look.

Verse 1 outlines one of the many roles of the Lord in our lives. He is our Good Shepherd, our protector, and in Him there is nothing we could ever need that He cannot provide. Note that this doesn’t make Him a magical wish-granting genie or that you’ll never suffer, but merely that the Lord provides the necessities for each member of His flock.

Verses 2 and 3 are about the peace and salvific effect the Lord brings upon His people. With God, we shall never starve for His instruction, His word. We are content in Him and should delight in His presence and His power. In Him, we are reborn for His glory and are lead away from sin to righteousness.

Verse 4 implies that although we will suffer through dark times and dangerous places, He remains with us. In Him, we are to fear no danger, no evil, because He is there to guide the way. The Shepherd assures the safety of His flock. With rod and staff, correction and support, and with a firm, loving hand, He delivers us into salvation and apart from the evils we endure.

Verse 5 shows how gracious our Lord is that He has prepared a table (a seat) for us. Although the enemy is on all sides and within, the Lord cares for us so that even in the midst of this noise and darkness, He has made the way for us to His side. He is so loving, in fact, that He fills our cup to overflowing. He does not deal in half-measures, partially empty glasses, but assures of the full recompense of His love and His sacrifice.

Verse 6 demonstrates the totality of what it means to be in the warm embrace of the Good Shepherd. For all the time that we are in Him, we can expect to be supplied with His grace, His mercy, and His love. The Lord is not merely leading us in this life, but into the next. The temptations of this world and the evils within it are temporary; the love of the Lord and His light are eternal and everlasting.

We would do well to remember David’s testimony in this Psalm throughout our lives and hold to the promise made by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The Good Shepherd will always be here for His flock.

Many thanks for reading. I hope this has been an informative (or at least enjoyable) read and breakdown of Psalm 23. If there are any errors with this elaboration of the text, please let me know. God bless, have a great Monday, and have fun with the solar eclipse (but don’t go blind).

A Year in Review & An Offer

I’m late. I’m late. For what? A very important date!

Yes, somehow I neglected to realize that impromptugameof52.wordpress.com celebrated its first birthday on August 5th. What kind of careless parent am I? My baby boy (or is it a girl?) is one year older than when I started and I didn’t even throw a party (or make a post)!

We’ll have to rectify that, won’t we? Behold, a year in review…in the form of a dull list of statistics:

771 Total Views

380 Visitors

155 Likes

20 Comments

37 Followers

66 Blog Posts (now 67)

Most Views in a Month: November 2016 (102)

Least Views in a Month: June 2017 (13)

Most Viewed Post: Don’t Work Yourself Into a Shoot (Really?)

Least Viewed Post: Deception & Sneak Preview #3 (Huh…)

Time doesn’t just fly. I’m pretty sure it has a rocket strapped to it at this point. So what do I think about my year of blogging?

I’m glad I’m no longer the man who barely concealed his bitterness behind humor. As well as I might have hid it at the time, it’s clear that my initial volley of posts (until September 24th) were at least somewhat motivated by my growing dissatisfaction with life and my existence. I was in a horrid, miserable, nihilistic place until I came to know the Lord Jesus Christ.

https://impromptugameof52.wordpress.com/2016/09/26/a-public-confession/

As I recounted in the above post, I’m truly grateful to be a changed man and to have real faith in Him. I like to think that the turn in my posting efforts toward evangelism reflects that. No, I’m not a perfect man. Nor do I claim to be a biblical authority. I don’t think I ever will be. But I love and appreciate Him for His sacrifice and rescuing me from the all-consuming darkness of sin. In this crazy, topsy-turvy, and evil world, there’s no better hope or cure for the ailment that affects us all.

But that’s not the only life-changing event of last year, is it? While not nearly as important (and nothing can be as important as one’s salvation), I also released my first ever novel in December of last year: The Shadow Over Lone Oak.

https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Over-Lone-Evils-World-ebook/dp/B01MZ2SB4W/

One year after I started this blog, almost a year after coming to Christ, and eight months after releasing my debut novel, I’m currently in the last week of my Kindle Scout campaign for the sequel: The Smiling Man Conspiracy. If you still want the chance for a free ebook (if Amazon’s editors select it for publication), it’s available for nomination here:

https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/2ISVGY4MGES30/

With all of this in mind, a new question arises: how do I celebrate such an occasion? First, by thanking Him for everything at all possible. I couldn’t do a thing without Him. He’s my Rock, my Lord, my God. May all the glory be His forever and ever. Amen.

Second, by offering my readers the chance to receive their own print copy of The Shadow Over Lone Oak. That’s right. I have three FREE copies of the original print run available for anyone who wishes to have this horror/thriller on their bookshelf.

The Rules:

There are no rules. Just kidding. You must live in the U. S. to receive the pre-paid priority envelope containing your copy.
I will pick at random in the interest of fairness. This will not be a first come, first served thing.
The winners will need to supply their mailing address once they’re chosen. I will contact you via either email or Facebook message, whichever you prefer.

As supplies are limited, I wouldn’t expect the offer to last long. I won’t set a strict time limit, but it’s probably better to err on the side of sooner rather than later. You can post here, on Facebook, or even get hold of me on Twitter (@CJSearsAuthor) if you like.

Thanks for reading and supporting this site and my work for over a year. I can’t express my gratitude for how this experience has shaped (and will continue to shape) my life. Peace be to you and God bless.

The Lord’s Prayer: A Breakdown

“Our Father in heaven, Your name be honored as holy. Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us today our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.” (Matthew 6:9-13)

Many of us have spoken some version of this prayer at some point in our lives. While instructing the apostles, Jesus told them that this is how they must pray. He did not want them to repeat the false righteousness of the Pharisees, who often prayed in the public eye of the synagogue. Instead, he said to them that it was best to retreat to privacy and pray in secret. They were not to babble like idolaters, but to be succinct and purposeful in their prayer.

Examining the prayer in detail, I think we can summarize the points of it as thus:

Honoring the Lord your Father. The first four lines and the final line are all about loving God, His will, and praying for His kingdom to come and persist.
Feed on the Word. The daily bread can (and should) be taken to mean consuming the instruction and discipline of the Lord.
Forgiving your fellow man as you expect to be forgiven. If you can’t be bothered to set aside vendettas and make amends with other people, how can you ask God to forgive you?
Lastly, the Christian prays to be delivered out of the hand of sin and the evil one (Satan). Such a basic request, but an important one. Without His hand and His love, we are lost.

These four points clarify what is meant by the words of the Lord’s Prayer. We see that it is not simply a matter of reciting verses, but a fundamental representation of many of the basic tenets of the Gospel.

Living up to this prayer is easier said than done. Loving God: what does that entail? Following His commandments is difficult enough, but truly loving Him? I can’t imagine a more arduous task. But as Christians, it’s our highest calling.

Consuming the Word and/or other facets of the Lord’s instruction is in itself a hardy endeavor. I know that I don’t always read the Scriptures like I should. But again, this is an essential part of the Lord’s Prayer.

We can forgive our fellow man, at least, right? Yes and no. All too often we fall prey to pride and arrogance. Grudges come and go even after we’ve long forgotten them. To really pardon others and ask Him to pardon us, we have to be willing to let Him change our hearts.

Deliverance from evil is something we should always be praying for. Even with our changed hearts and renewed souls, it’s possible for the evil one to tempt us into sin. Scratch that; it’s not only possible, but almost certainly guaranteed. That’s when we seek His forgiveness, His love, and His resolve to persist against the forces of evil both inner and outer.

The Lord’s Prayer is a part of my nightly ritual and my explanation of the passage is not the most in-depth or complex. But it’s one thing to say the words. It’s another thing entirely to want to live and abide by them.

With His love for us, all things are possible. Thanks for reading, God bless, and have a wonderful week.

Walking on Water: Undeniable Truth

“Immediately He made the disciples get into the boat and go ahead of Him to the other side, while He dismissed the crowds. After dismissing the crowds, He went up on the mountain by Himself to pray. When evening came, He was there alone. But the boat was already over a mile from land, battered by the waves, because the wind was against them. Around three in the morning, He came toward them walking on the sea.” (Matthew 14:22-25)

Most of us are familiar (whether we’re Christians or otherwise) with the image of Jesus walking on water. It’s so iconic that it pervades culture across the world. But why is this idea so popular? Why has this image, like the parting of the red sea by Moses, stood the test of time?

It’s because it’s a supernatural, mesmerizing, and promising event in history. Why have I called it promising? Let’s read a bit further.

“When the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were terrified. ‘It’s a ghost!’ they said, and cried out in fear.” (Verse 26)

Imagine that. They were so shocked by their Master’s appearance on the water that they mistook Him for a spirit! They had already seen Him perform miracles, but this was something else altogether. This demonstrated His command over nature—a sign of his Godhood.

“Immediately Jesus spoke to them. ‘Have courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.’ ‘Lord if it’s You,’ Peter answered Him, ‘command me to come to You on the water.’” (Verse 27-28)

Here the Lord assuages their fear. But Peter, trembling, needs more convincing.

“‘Come!’ He said. And climbing out of the boat, Peter started walking on the water and came toward Jesus.” (Verse 29)

How courageous would Peter have to have been to attempt such a feat? At the command of his Lord, whom he and the others first think is a ghost, Peter steps out onto open water. The amount of faith that must’ve required…

“But when he saw the strength of the wind, he was afraid. And beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Immediately Jesus reached out His hand, caught hold of him, and said to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’” (Verse 30-31)

Alas, Peter’s conviction wasn’t yet enough. The Lord must save Him from drowning as he does us all. But this is a heartening story nonetheless. Even though his faith wasn’t quite where it needed to be, Peter’s belief in his Lord allowed him to walk on water for a short time. That is something admirable and worthy of aspiration.

I don’t know if any of us could fathom what it must’ve been like to see Him in the water. Perhaps the impact of that sight would even cause us to deny reality itself or faint from surprise. Whatever the case, it’s clear that this event is one of the most important in the lives of the apostles.

“When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. Then those in the boat worshipped Him and said, ‘Truly You are the Son of God!’” (Verse 32-33)

The timing of this proclamation seems key to understanding the passage. The ministry had already begun. Jesus had healed a paralyzed man and spoken to large crowds with the Good News and the Truth. But this occurrence, this miracle, results in this undeniable fact that Jesus is Lord and the Son of God.

Perhaps up until this point, the disciples may have thought their Master was a mere prophet and teacher. When you see a man calm the sea and walk on water, there’s no more room for doubt. And even when those doubts crept in, when Peter’s faith faltered, still the Lord received Him with His extended hand. That’s love. That’s Jesus.

And you know what happened next? A multitude of people were healed of sickness by merely touching the tassel of His robe. The rapid-fire succession of these performances, these revelations of His light, must’ve been overwhelming to the layman and to His disciples.

So when you’re having doubts about our Savior, when you’re unsure where you’re going or why you believe, remember that He rewards even those with imperfect faith as Peter had. Even when you fumble, when you find yourself going overboard, He’ll be there to catch you.

That doesn’t mean you won’t suffer. It doesn’t mean you’ll never doubt again. After all, Peter goes on to deny Him three times after Gethsemane. But it does mean our Lord is forgiving and that He truly is the Son of God.

May we never forget the Truth even as we walk and dwell in the darkness of the times we inhabit. Amen.

Senseless Sin, Good Fruit, & a Few Words

A few weeks ago, someone decided to play a rousing game of baseball on our mailbox. We don’t know who the culprit was or why they committed such an offense. Frankly, we don’t really know anyone in our neighborhood (as much as such a thing exists in a rural area) enough for folks to hold a personal grudge. A random act of violence. Senseless; that’s all it was. That’s the word, the description I keep returning to when I think about it.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel any anger over what happened. It’s infuriating to see your personal property carelessly attacked by people you don’t know and for no reason. All a person can conceive when that happens is justice and vengeance. Mostly the latter.

Your mind turns, whirring with the possibilities of how to get one over on the perpetrator. Do you do the same to them? What happens if they don’t (and they won’t) consider it even? How do you even confront an unseen force with expectations of coming out ahead? What good would it do to instigate a feud with the person(s) who did the deed?

It would accomplish nothing but more destruction, more heartache, and possibly bloodshed and death. Again, senseless.

But how does one cope with the realization that nothing can be done to stop or prevent such obnoxious assaults on a person’s space? That’s what damage to property often feels like: an invasion or penetration of the sanctity of a person’s home.

The best option for overcoming this kind of attack and the ill motives behind it is to ignore the whims of the darkness of your inner self. They already caved into their own selfish and evil desires; why sink to that same level or worse?

Some of you may be asking why I’m making a big deal out of a mailbox being caved in. The point is simply this: it’s a simplistic representation of the sinful nature we all possess. “It’s just a stupid mailbox,” some might say. No, it’s a mere echo of the most painful reminder we should all bear to remember.

Broken mailboxes lead to anger. Anger leads to vengeance. Vengeance begets suffering. Suffering is the endgame of evil. No, I’m not channeling Yoda. This isn’t a dumb soliloquy about emotions being the root of terrible things. It’s a basic analogy showing the quick descent into letting madness, wrath, and pride reign over oneself and others.

Now, the question of whether or not we (as Christians) are called to be pacifists is one that I will leave to more learned men than myself to answer. Personally, I don’t think strict adherence to abstaining from all violence is the correct way to view this passage:

“You have heard that it was said, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I tell you, don’t resist an evildoer. On the contrary, if anyone slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.” (Matthew 5:38-39)

Many read this as advocating zero tolerance for violence from a believer. But this seems to avoid more complicated issues like self-defense and righteous justice. Is it wrong for a man to defend himself from great and life-threatening harm? How about his family? If a murderer or a rapist escapes legal justice, is it moral for a Christian to step aside and let that happen? I’m not saying that a man should become a vigilante crusader, but merely that this command isn’t about letting whatever happen to you happen without recourse.

Should you seek recompense on a man who has wronged you? No. Should you let an evildoer commit any manner of atrocity to you or your family? Again, no. The key is to find a balance, to be the “salt of the earth” (Matthew 5:13) in your dealing with the world. We’re to set better examples for other believers and non-believers alike.

The Lord says we are known by our fruit. Do we produce good or bad fruit? Remember that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faith, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22).

As I said, I’m not an expert analyst on biblical exegesis or eisegesis (though I try my best to provide valid interpretation and extrapolation of Scripture) so perhaps I’m wrong that we’re not necessarily called to pacifism. But I do know the truth that our best tools—and the best demonstration of our renewed selves—are those fruits of the Holy Spirit described in Galatians.

Senseless as the actions of the mailbox destroyer might’ve been, it would’ve only exacerbated the situation to react in the undue and not-Christian manner that my fallen mind wanted to conjure up. I’m grateful to the Lord that I (nor anyone I know) was not in a position or willing to act on those atrocious thoughts of getting even.

Praise be to Him.

Now, I’d like to clarify a few things regarding last week’s blog post about education.

I’m not against public schooling or even the scholarly subjects taught by educators. What I take issue with is the inevitable surrounding atmosphere and culture that pervades and corrupts young minds.
Colleges are not inherently evil or deceptive, but the proliferation of a specific agenda and bias from secular-minded professors leads to the indoctrination of students into their worldview.

Finally, I’d like to thank everyone who has nominated The Smiling Man Conspiracy thus far. I don’t know how many of you there are, but every vote counts as the campaign moseys on. Whether the Scout editors select the book or not, know that its publication won’t be too long after. I can’t give a precise date until I know the result of the campaign, but the release will come.

To those of you who took advantage of the discounts on Tales From Lone Oak & The Shadow Over Lone Oak last week, I’m also thankful. I hope you enjoy the fun, fast, and thrilling reads!