Jason E. Fort's Blog, page 11

Common Ground - Lack of Grace

Have you ever tried the winter Olympic sport of curling? It takes a certain amount of grace and finesse - both of which I have very little.A friend of mine, we'll call him FRANK :), and I got together the other day to support my brother in a community introduction to the sport of curling. First of all, let's just say that both Frank and I are of the body type that would place us in the heavy weight fighting class in boxing and UFC. So this sport, on slippery ground, was hard for both of us. But despite the challenges, we overcame, and we swept, and we pushed the rock. Now good times were had by all I believe...but let me tell you a little bit about me and Frank.Frank spent a better part of his youth in the city of Chicago. Frank happens to be a black man.I was born and raised in good ol' South Carolina. I happen to be a white man. The largest city in which I've ever resided is Greenville, SC.One can assume we had very different experiences growing up. Frank and I happen to see certain political events and issues differently sometimes. Frank works in educating college students; I am a police officer. One can see how a black man from one of the largest American cities and a southern white man from a small city may have different views. Yet somehow, Frank and I are friends. Recent friends no less, but we have common ground. You know where that common ground is?Well, in more ways than one...it is that we both suffer from a lack of grace. Now, first, let's keep this light hearted for a moment, and go back to curling. Take two 250+ pounders and put them on ice, and you can see where being sure footed may be an issue. You put me on solid ground, and I still wouldn't consider myself to be a Fred Astaire. So physically speaking, two big lugs, while perhaps powerfully built, are not who you want doing your next figure skating performance - due to a lack of grace. Go ahead; I said light hearted...if you know us and want to picture it, laugh it up if you like.Now, let's get a little more serious. How can two guys from totally different backgrounds, find enough common ground to still be friends when they may have some pretty different perspectives?Lack of grace.See, one thing I left out is that Frank and I are both believers in Jesus Christ. If you know the history of Jesus Christ, then you know it is only by THE GRACE OF GOD THAT WE ARE SAVED. Without what Jesus did for us, the HUMAN RACE, guys like Frank and I - we have no grace. It is not our grace that can save us...it is only the grace of God. If you are not familiar with the story, but have only heard it in passing or made fun of on the news or Hollywood, I encourage you to read the Bible; specifically the New Testament, though I reccomend the whole package.So why am I writing about this lack of grace? I am writing in response to the havok I see going on in Charlotte, NC. I am writing because of the oppression, whether real or perceived, by famous athletes and celebrities. I am writing because of the undeniable division right now between black and white citizens and law enforcement.Once again, Frank is black. I am a police officer. How can we go curling together? What?!It is because of that common ground we have, the fact that we both understand that neither one of us have grace ourselves, but must rely on the grace of God. That is our common ground, and despite our spirited debates on Facebook, and our different backgrounds, and even different friends - we can unite; not divide.So I challenge every one out there. Find the common ground. Admit your lack of grace. Police officers out there - my fellow officers and others in various departments everywhere...even in our most heated arguments and controversies, we don't deny we have bad apples. That is a lack of grace. Let's admit we have it more often in the conversation, and welcome the voice of concerned citizens. Black community members - I am a white man. Of course I won't apologize for that, but I can tell you that the perception white people have when they see rioting and chaos to get a point across is a total lack of grace. White people, when our own bad apples...let's go ahead and admit it, the KKK, have shown their true colors - big time lack of grace. It is obvious throughout the human race; throughout human history; no matter what color of skin. We, ourselves, as humans, have no natural grace. Instead, we have sin. And if more and more of us are unwilling to admit it, there will be no grace for any of us.If you are a believer, change the conversation. Frank and I can argue, and show crazy emojis in our messages, but we come back to the message of Christ, and then there's that common ground again. THIS is what needs to happen. But in order to be able to do this, turn off the news. Stop picking this side or that side. I am just as guilty, so the challenge is to myself as well. But if we continue to let media influence our approach to others, the enemy will win. And make no mistake about it, the enemy knows we as people are not graceful...not without God.If this makes sense to you, please share. If it inflames your inner spirit, then I am sorry. But I encourage all of us, the human race, to unite - not divide. Just my two cents. I pray God in Heaven helps more of us find a better way.God bless,Jason E. Fort

Little Noah

Little Noah sat in his sand box,His animal toys scattered about.The sky above was cloudy;Impending rain, there was no doubt.But his GI Joes were finicky;They never seemed to stand straight.It frustrated Noah often;They never seemed to cooperate.But Little Noah was a good boyHe always did what his Daddy said.So when Noah's Daddy came outsideNoah raised his eager head."Noah, it's gonna storm soon,And I saw you out here playing in the sand.You better get those toys under cover;You better save'em while you can.""Judging from that dark skyline,I'd say you've got about forty minutesBut once the storm gets here,Your sandbox'll have only water in it."Little Noah answered, "Yes sir, Daddy,I'll take heed to what you say."Then he separated his GI Joes and animalsHe'd just have to play another day.He ran all the way inside to his bedroomAnd he found his GI Joe CarrierHe took it back out to the sandboxAnd with toy blocks he built a barrierIt didn't take long for him to seeHe didn't have room for all the Joes,But he cared more for the animalsHe loaded them two by two, in neat rows.Noah looked in the sand in frustrationHe couldn't get all the Joes on the boat.He shrugged his shoulders and gave upWhen the rains came and he started to get soaked.Noah closed the lid to the carrierBut he abandoned the leftover GI Joes.He ran into the safety of his houseTo seek shelter from his current woes.While Noah waited for the rains to stopHe stared out his back window in wonder.He waited for the rain to stop;Til he could no longer hear any thunder.Finally the sun came outAnd Noah ran outside to check on his toys.When he arrived back to the sandboxHe found both dread and joy.There floating face down in the water,Leaving Noah to feel moroseWith the sandbox completely floodedWere Noah's poor GI Joes.But amidst the floating toy corpsesStood the carrier, stuck on toy blocks.It got stuck against the barrier,Instead of being washed from the sandbox.Noah opened the lid to the carrierAnd to his surprise he did seeAll his toy animals, and a couple of JoesAs dry as dry could be.Noah may have been a young boyBut he thanked his Daddy that night;Because he had sense enough to listen to his DaddyAnd he was grateful for his Daddy's foresight.

A Christian American's Observations Since 9/11/2001

September 11, 2001I was outside, wrangling up some older children from a Special Education class from the nature trail outside one of the most treasured places in which I worked - Keowee Elementary School. Once I got all the children together, along with the teacher's aide at the time, I started leading everyone back to the front door of the school. My principal, Mrs. Miller, came running to the front door."I forgot you were taking your classes outside today...come in quick!" she said in excited fashion.I said, "What's going on?"To which she replied, "America has been attacked."Since I had a free period before my next class, I caught up with everything on the news. I couldn't believe it. My heart was mixed with so many emotions. Part of me was angry; part of me was worried. My girlfriend at the time, who wasn't even my fiance yet, but would go on to be my wife - was in the air, on an airplane. My thoughts raced as I wondered where she was over the US; were their terrorists on her plane as well? Would I get to see her again? What's my family doing right now? Are there any attacks we don't know about yet?*****That was what I experienced just a few minutes after the first plane had hit the first tower. The rest I am sure is very similar to what other people experienced as to those like me who were not directly impacted by the loss of loved ones.But as I look back today, and think of where I have come since, and to the point at which my country has come - I think back to the horrific pictures, and the true American heroes who helped in the emergencies on that day...and seeds that were planted in me way back then.I remember one particular photo, but only remember it faintly. It may be the one I posted above; it might not...but the one above sums it up pretty clearly. I remember a police officer, covered in ash, helping in humble fashion the most desperate looking of citizens. And I remember thinking to myself, if not for a brief moment, feeling so horrible for the survivors surrounded by the aftermath, and wishing I could be that police officer there for someone in that time of need. I had no idea that I would take on that kind of career later in life, but seeds had been planted. And of course other images stand out the most to me from that day; from the tragic news to follow hours after; and from the intervention of first responders of all types.And I remember the day after, when much of the smoke had cleared though still lingered everywhere, the American flag.I remember always loving that symbol. I remember all the ball games growing up, even as a small youngster, Dad nudging me on the shoulder to stand up when The Star Spangled Banner played or some talented singer performed it before the game. I remember thinking it seemed crazy to see Americans even back in the 90's on the news, burning the American flag, when it stood for so many things.And there it was again, more so than I can ever remember before or since then, sticking out from front porches everywhere, hanging out in front yards. America seemed for the first time in a while to truly be what we claimed - the United States of America. Tons of people enlisted in the military following those days. That very idea inspired the background for the main character in my first novel. The American flag stood for something so much bigger than the government - it stood for people. People who embraced the idea of freedom.So what does all this have to do with me, or any of you, as Christians or Americans today?Well, I think it has a great deal to do with COMPLACENCY.As I said, certain seeds were planted back on 9/11/2001, and now I am a law enforcement officer. I've witnessed many things over the past 6 years in that field of work. And I have noticed something - the powers that be, over an organization, over a city, over a territory...over a company - are not willing to invest in true protection and safety UNTIL AFTER SOMETHING HAPPENS. In my opinion, this is what really happened on 9/11. I know too many firemen to believe in one full proof conspiracy, though I do think several of the ideas put out there hold water. But regardless, our intelligence had been complacent. The real kicker is was that complacency by choice of the powers that be? Hmmmm...Now, look at where America has come. We've come to a point where people want to twist the meaning of the symbol of the United States. People who rely heavily on the good ol' US Dollar want to say they stand against the American flag because it represents a government of oppression. But the flag isn't supposed to represent the government. It represents the people. And if people paid more attention, THAT is what our government is supposed to do; represent the people...not control or take care of the people.And so Americans have taken for granted so many of the things that have been provided because of what other people have given. And Americans have forgotten so much about ideals and principles upon which our nation was built. That is because corrupt people, hungry for money and hungry for power, and who want to eventually be in control of a lot more than just America, have been slowly but surely attacking small parts of America. And so many Americans have just let it happen, because they have been complacent once again. Illusions have been created. Advertising has driven a lot of what consumers buy, making certain individuals richer than others...and the American people have become oblivious to what's going on. And at some point, I fear - and my fears have come true in some past warnings, these American values for which several people died are under attack. And due to complacency, America as a whole won't do anything until SOMETHING happens. I don't know what that something will be, but signs are all over the place.Finally, apply this to Christianity. We as Christians in America have stood by as certain laws, or certain events have taken place, and we have been able to watch morality break down. We've been witness to the breakdown of the American family. We've seen children raised by only one parent versus two, and the Bible clearly teaches that there is a better way. We've seen the sanctity of marriage abolished. We've seen history books adjusted to fit political agendas. We've seen evil build up its power in its attack on Christian teaching itself, and we have done minimal to stop it.Sure, some people have been outspoken, and spoken up for Christian beliefs. But so many Christians are afraid to speak out. They are afraid they will be politically incorrect and , dare I say, offend someone. While Christ taught humility, He also had a tolerance point which you saw the tax collectors cross. If something was an abomination to Christ, He didn't sugar coat things. But American Christians have been pretty busy sugar coating things for years now, and I think there is something bad coming for Christianity in America because we have been too complacent. Am I worried...short term, a little bit - otherwise I'd be silent. Long term - my place with my heavenly Father is secure because of the blood of Jesus Christ, and He even tells us in His Sermon on the Mount not to worry.But in law enforcement, I have seen what happens when officers become complacent. They show it in training videos at the criminal justice academy. They practice scenarios to make you aware and teach you not to let your guard down. Well, frankly, I will not let my guard down. I am not going to be complacent. I urge you, if you've been mysteriously silent over the years, as we remember those who gave all for their country on that fateful day, and those who have given so much with an American flag patch on their shoulder...be silent no longer. Awaken others; stand up for what you believe. Don't hide behind the shroud of political correctness. Don't be shy. Don't be afraid of who you will offend. If they listen and read the message of Christ, they won't be offended...and God will speak to them if He so wills. But 15 years ago, something tragic happened that woke a lot of people up if for a time, to appreciate a sacred symbol.Stand up with me for that symbol now...the flag is not what has oppressed; our government that no longer represents us is what has.

On the Precipice of History...

I was reading a fictional thriller the other day that has to do with the former royal family of Russia, the Romanovs. The author does a fantastic job of bringing history to life on the page, and the book really caught my attention when a certain main character of the story is tasked with administering the execution of the entire Romanov family - Tsar Nicholas Romanov , his wife, and ALL his children.Although this book is a work of fiction and speculation, the following occurred to me.At some point, whomever oversaw the execution of the Romanovs (IF it really happened), they were faced with that one crucial decision...a decision that would change the face of their country, and even the world - forever!Can you imagine? What would that be like? Your countrymen just overthrew what you have seen as a corrupt oligarchy, and you are about to carry out an order to eliminate an entire bloodline. Can you even call this a high pressure situation? I mean, it seems like one would feel so much more than pressure.And so I began to think of other times in history when one single person had an impact on events that would change the political climate of the world. What was going through that particular person's head at that particular moment?What was going through Lee Harvey Oswald's mind before he shot JFK (Did he shoot JFK, or did someone else?)? What was John Wilkes Booth thinking the moment before he killed Abraham Lincoln? What entered the first Japanese pilot's mind just before he dropped the first bomb on Pearl Harbor? What was George Washington thinking right before he was sworn in as the first President of the United States? What went through Martin Luther King Jr.'s mind just before he delivered his "I have a dream" speech in Washington? What entered either pilot's thoughts just before they opened the bomb bay doors and dropped Fat Man or Little Boy over Hiroshima or Nagasaki? What was Julius Caesar thinking about as he realized the senators were all betraying him? What did Genghis Khan think about right before he ordered his men to let the first arrows fly and pillage the first town or village?Have you thought about it before? Put yourself in some of these positions...what would you have done differently? Some of the people I listed above were thought of as radicals; others wise beyond their years. But can you just imagine? Some of the people I listed, and other instances in history I left out, have been able to give interviews or wrote down some of their thoughts...but some we will never know.Now, after bringing these thoughts up, I am reminded of one more great single Person in history, and his story (History;) ) is like no other. That Person was the Son of God, Jesus Christ. And Christ's story is unique also in the fact that before what we thought would be the end of this great man, we hear his thoughts precisely.Put any one of us in Christ's place on the cross on that fateful day at Golgotha, and we would never think to utter the ultimate words of humility spoken by Jesus.He said, "Father - forgive them, for they know not what they do."Wow - a man on the precipice of history like no other before him or ever since - and he puts the human race ahead of Himself!I guess none of us could ever follow that, right? But can't we all learn something from it?I don't know if anyone who reads this blog post will ever be on the precipice of history or not - but before every great decision we make, perhaps we can do what the ultimate example of a man did in His shining moment...and put others ahead of ourselves.

Which Voice Do I Use?

I just got back from a fun and informative writer's conference in Nashville, and one of the things a lot of the sessions focused on was author's voice. This rang familiar bells to my ears - because voice has been a large part of who I am in many ways throughout my life. I thought I'd take a moment to share, and reflect, and maybe by the end of this post, I will have an epiphany of which voice to use in my work.From the time I was able to talk, I've had a strong voice. It's like once I knew how to form words, I couldn't stop talking; my parents even called me Motor Mouth when I was a little boy. I remember being called that at a very young age. But I talked and talked and talked. I remember sitting in my bedroom on the bed at night, before either one of my brothers were born, and talking...to myself, to God, to anyone who would listen. Finding a voice back then was easy.As I got a little older, I began to sing. Apparently I had a good singing voice as a young child, because my parents and all their friends always asked me to sing. I remember standing out in my backyard or sitting on my swing set, and making up songs. I would sing about anything, and I would create my own little melodies. This became helpful later in the children's choir at church. When I was four years old, I sang 'Away in a Manger' in front of the whole church at the Christmas program. I can still remember standing up to sing at the pulpit, and moving my little index finger in time with the piano to make sure I sang at the right tempo. I know some people don't remember things like that, that young - but I remember it like it was yesterday. I think it's safe to say, my voice got an early start.Then there's the voice of doubt I learned a little later in school. I remember using that voice several times in school when I encountered things I did not understand well. I remember this voice rearing its weak presence not just aloud to my parents or teachers, but on the sports fields and floors, too. I remember when I was shorter and much weaker as a small kid, and I doubted I'd ever be able to make a basketball all the way up to that ten foot goal! I remember telling my friends in high school with that same voice of doubt that I didn't think I'd be able to pick that weight up off my chest. I remember telling my mom that I didn't think this girl or that girl would ever like me. To this day, that voice of doubt occasionally makes itself known. My wife has heard it when I've been frustrated with certain writing goals of mine, and when I received rejection letters or e-mails from literary agents early in the game of writing. She always tells me in those moments of weakness that I underestimate myself sometimes. Every now and then she can force that doubtful voice right back into hiding; she is supportive like that.As I matured, my singing voice matured as well. I sang in elementary school in the chorus, and I was able to sing up on stage with some folk singer who came to visit the school. I sang in the college choir, The Choraleers we were called. I took voice lessons then, and I remember when I was working on a certain solo for a recital, my voice teacher told me I had a way more powerful voice deep inside that was aching to get out. I'll never forget the look on his face when it seemed I finally found that large voice. He was laughing, and smiling, and nodding, and pumping his fists the whole time. I wasn't quite able to belt it out like that come time for the recital because of bronchitis, but thanks to my pal Raymond and some Goldschlager, I was still able to sing...good times. But the singing voice helped me for a while. I was able to form great relationships and even got to sing to accompaniment by friends who played the piano. Heck, I even sang in my buddy Raymond's wedding down the road...thankfully no Goldschlager was needed that time.Then there's the 'Last Call' voice...the voice that can cause a whole large waiting room or bar to pause in a brief moment of silence. I'm not sure where I first discovered this voice. Maybe it was from being a college cheer leader and shouting through a megaphone at basketball games. Maybe it was when I had to yell at a drunk friend since I was always the sober one in college, and one of my friends for some reason wanted to pummel another drunk friend of theirs, but I wouldn't let it happen. Not sure where it started...but it's effective. I will never forget one day when I was responding to a call with my night shift partner, and we walked into the front of the ER. I hadn't heard the last detail of the call from the dispatcher, and when we arrived, the waiting room was pretty loud. I saw one potential altercation (but I was wrong), and since it was so loud in the ER, I shouted over the noise in the direction of a certain party of people. Next thing I know, the entire waiting room fell to a hush, and my partner goes, "Great, Jason - now we don't know who the problem is!" Did I mention that this voice has gotten me in trouble before?And finally there is my voice of reason. My voice I actually know is there because there were plenty of times as a bouncer where I could have probably gotten my butt kicked, but because I kept a cooler head for once, I was able to talk one behemoth or another out the door. Granted, there were other times where I used the other voice to make someone think twice before coming back at me, but I knew who I could get away with doing that to, and who I couldn't. I actually remember a time when I was in ninth grade, and for whatever reason my Spanish teacher told me she could see me being a diplomat when I grew up, or keeping the peace somehow by talking to people. Funny how I ended up going into law enforcement after a few career stops along the way. But there were times in school where I had to talk some people into getting along with one another instead of fighting. Did they always listen? No - but so it goes with testosterone and egos and guys who drink to party. They are lucky I was around, though.So this brings me back to my author voice in my novels. Which voice do I want the character I try to pattern after myself to have? John Knox - now there's a character for ya. When I think about all the different incidents and adventures and controversy that befall the Alabama native, I guess he could have any combination of the voices I've developed over the years. Yes, I know an author's voice is more figurative, but figuratively speaking, maybe I want John Knox to come across to readers as the peace keeper...or the law man...or the doubter...or...the singer? Ha - I will see what I can do.I want to know some readers' opinions. How would you describe the voice conveyed in The Knox Mission novels, or Tracking Game. Please Comment, and I promise to reply.

David and the Bully

I was talking to a dear friend today about how the stress from things I write and current events kind of has me in a rut, but I couldn't just stop what I'm doing. He made a great suggestion and said perhaps I could just re-direct some of those positive lessons in the form of a children's biblical story. So here it is - my first Biblical Kids story in the form of none other than a story about taking on the Bully at school. The story it parallels is quite obvious I believe...but that's the whole point. Enjoy!Little David looked out from the top of the hillBut he didn’t like what he could see.There below him stood a mean old kid named WillAnd he’d already been fightin’, being mean as he could be.Will was a bully; the biggest and meanest in the schoolEvery day at lunch, he’d pick some lonesome kid.He’d kick’em, and punch’em, and break every ruleNo matter what his victims ever said or did.David had seen Will pick fights, and pound other students to the ground.He’d told himself the madness had to stop.His pals even warned, “He’ll punch you, and kick you, and knock you down.”But what David saw this day had sent him over the top.He’d told his dad about the bully one school night before bed.“Dad, he’s mean - and I just wanna help my friends if I can.”His dad looked him in the eye, David would never forget what he said,“Son, sometimes you just have to make a stand.”So David took a deep breath and told himself, “That’s it!”He sauntered down the path that led right up to Will.He didn’t give him a warning, just swung and delivered one big hitWill threw his hands up to his nose, and for a moment just stood still.The bully stared back at David, and seemed about to chargeBut David noticed he gave Will a bloody nose.And although to everyone, Will appeared quite largeA kid from the swing set yelled, “Down he goes!”Will uncovered his nose and the blood poured downThen the bully wobbled on his feet to and fro.David may have been smaller, but he looked around;The whole playground knew he’d delivered a mighty blow.Weeks went on by, and you can go by there nowWill ain’t no bully to anyone anymore.But if you ask the kids, they all remember howLittle David stood up and settled the score.

Regretting Words Unspoken

This is a short story, but to my best memory - the truth. I will never forget this because it was one of the most painful losses of my life to this day. I loved my Granny.I stood at the foot of my grandmother’s bed, hiding my frustration with Granny’s condition and the inflamed gall bladder she was scheduled to have removed in the next few hours. My good friend Ryan had come with me to visit; he’d heard me tell all the stories of this great lady and her influence on my life, and he was being a good friend by showing his support. Granny looked at me with desperate eyes, yet still found some way to smile.“Jason, it’s good to see ya, boy! Get over here and give your old Granny a hug,” she said.I sent her a grin and then hunched over one of the closest friends I ever had. I held her in a tight embrace, and couldn’t help but think of the last time I’d seen Granny – the Chicago Bulls had just won yet another game, with Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen at the helm. Granny knew what a big MJ fan I was, but Scottie was always her favorite. I stood back up and looked down and pretended to scold my grandmother.“Granny, Ryan and I came all the way up here from Erskine because we heard that you’ve been giving these nurses fits,” I said as I winked at my friend Ryan.Ryan walked up to her and nodded with his usual friendly face, “Nice to meet you…your grandson has told me an awful lot about you.”She scoffed, “Ha! I bet you didn’t hear about me bothering these nice young nurses. You probably just came to see me because it’ll give you another excuse to get something to eat! Well – go on to the house…I’m sure you’ll find something.”Ryan and I both could tell she was just teasing, even though I was notorious in my high school days for going around the block to visit my Granny, just to eat an extra supper after the one my mom had already fixed. Granny even gave in and laughed a little at herself. But her short chuckles turned into spasmodic coughs. The color in her face changed slightly, but she still tried to pretend that everything was okay as best she could. The act only lasted for so long. I could tell she was feeling some discomfort, and I gave my buddy Ryan a concerned look. He just shrugged his shoulders as if to say he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. We both looked at Granny, and she started talking again.“I tell ya, Jase…these doctors, they tell me everything’s gonna be ok – but I just don’t know. Your Granny’s not as young as she used to be, ya know? I’ve just been feeling so awful,” she told me.I’d helped my Granny bury her favorite pet gerbil and seen her upset about that. I’d helped my grandmother up off the floor when she fell down one time when my parents weren’t around, and saw the embarrassment on her face that I tried to brush away quickly by joking with her. I’d seen my Granny mad at me for picking on my brothers. But I saw something different in my Granny’s eyes that day…fear.For the first time in my life, I’d seen one of the matriarchs in our family truly afraid, and only being 18 at the time, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. So I handled it the way I tried to handle anything else I didn’t understand back then; I tried to just brush it off like there was nothing to worry about. I made light of the situation, or tried to, with my words, hoping it would help her feel better. Just about that time, my mother was coming back to the room to stay with Granny. She’d known that Ryan and I couldn’t stay too long because we had to get back for classes at Erskine in the morning. So we’d decided that we’d say our good byes when my mom came back from getting something to eat.Ryan gave my mom a token hug that none of my friends could get away without back then; she was everyone’s favorite mom after all. Then he looked at Granny and he said, “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Fort. I hope your surgery goes well.”Granny thanked him, and then she looked up at me, that same strange fear in her eyes. Even though something didn’t feel quite right, I laughed it off, and pretended to fuss at my Granny.“Now Granny, I mean it – don’t you make these nice nurses here make Ryan and me come back here…you behave now, you hear?” I said as I wrapped my arms around her neck tight. Then I kissed my mom good bye, and we made our way back to Due West, SC.I went through the motions the rest of the night back on my college campus. Ryan and I parted ways and I looked at my classwork from earlier that day. I ended my night the usual way and folded my laundry in my room while I listened to Garth Brooks on my roommate’s stereo; he was hardly ever in the room. Bed time came and went, and before I knew it, I was waking up on my top bunk, wishing I could toss my alarm out the window. I got ready, went to breakfast, and started my day.About 10:30 AM or so, I had already made it halfway through my second class of the day. I was about to raise my hand and ask my Spanish professor a question about the previous night’s homework, when our chaplain came and stood outside the class. He smiled at the professor, and then made eye contact with me. I don’t know how I knew, but I remembered that uneasy feeling as I hugged Granny the previous afternoon. I acknowledged the chaplain, Jay, and packed up my things in my backpack and met him out in the hallway.I don’t know if it was that eerie premonition I felt when I last hugged my grandmother and saw the fear in her eyes, or just the connection I could make with a college chaplain and death notifications – but Jay just put a hand on my shoulder and got out the words, “Jason, it’s your grandmother,”- I will never forget hitting my knees, screaming out with a torrent of tears in my eyes,“NO! God…why? NOOOOOOOO!”Jay wrapped me into a tight hug, knowing a little bit of my family history and my connection to my grandmother. He helped me get up and we started walking to his office, a short walk across the mall in the middle of campus. We went into his office at Watkins Hall. As soon as we got to his office, he welcomed me in and shut the door.“Your parents are on their way. They told me you’d take this pretty hard. Is there anything I can do?” Jay asked.There are times in life when you realize people were inserted there for a reason, and it was this time that I remembered my friend Ryan as being the last friend to be with me while my Granny was alive.“Ryan…get my friend Ryan,” I said.Jay knew who I was talking about, and said to wait in his office. Sure enough, not ten minutes later, my friend Ryan walked through the door. Ryan sat beside me, gave me one of those “As close as a Brother” hugs and a pat on the back, and he and Jay sat in the office, and let my words pour out. And man, did I give them an earful.I told them about the fun times I remember with my Granny, and how we always watched the show MacGuyver, and the Chicago Bulls, and the sit-com Coach! I told them how I would go over to her house in high school whenever I got in an argument with Dad, and Granny would just laugh as I complained about her youngest son. I told them about the pet gerbil we named Jordan, after MJ himself. By the time I was almost finished, I was about to cry again when I remembered how I left things with Granny.“I can’t believe I didn’t tell her I loved her before we left yesterday,” I said as I looked up at Ryan.He corrected me, swearing up and down that I was wrong.“Jason, that’s not true. I remember very vividly, the last thing you said to her was ‘I love you’.”But I knew better. Although I understood what Ryan was doing, I knew the truth deep down in my heart. I had ended my time with my grandmother in words of jest. What was I thinking, not saying those simple words, ‘I love you’?And to this day, it’s been one of my deepest regrets.

MY take on Absolutes and Authority

So here's some heady stuff to talk about...our current society's aversion to both moral absolutes - and giving in to authority.First of all, we can all go ahead and acknowledge that there are physical absolutes; absolute zero; the freezing point of water; known laws of physics; proven chemical properties; all sorts of stuff too advanced for my abstract way of thinking, yet at the same time, absolutely true. There are physical laws in reality that control and effect everything that physically happens around us, and the real intellectuals are able to observe this handy data and through actual science somehow make it practical for us all. This is something we all know; therefore we can all acknowledge these physical laws as fact.But society would have us believe that there are no absolutes when it comes to morality or authority. 'They' would have us all believe that TRUTH is relative; truth is what you interpret it to be. Right and Wrong can be interpreted different ways. They call this progressive thinking. REALLY?Now I know what some of you are already thinking - is he really going to go there?Yep...so if you're sensitive about religion and have a problem with belief in any higher authority besides mankind, you can click out of here if you like. But I am not trying to 'offend'; I emphasized in the title that this is MY take on truth. You by no means have to feel obligated to accept it. But the beauty of freedom of speech, while I have some degree of it left, is - this is MY blog :)Anyway, let's suppose for just a second that moral truth is relative...available for interpretation by any single individual. Let's say my neighbor believes it is morally acceptable to kill any dog he sees, regardless of where he is or where the dog is when he sees it.I have three dogs.I go out to walk my biggest dog one day, and said neighbor sees my dog. He then commences to run out from his front door, pounces on my dog, and bludgeons its head with a hammer (graphic, I know - stay with me).Now according to his interpretation, he was within his right to kill my dog, because his moral truth was that he is to kill dogs wherever he sees them. And this is just a brief, though absurd, example. But the absurdity is in the idea of the truth being relative. We won't even go into what I would do to a guy that hits my dog with a hammer.Can anyone see yet where there is a danger in the whole 'truth is relative' claim?This line of thinking, even if it starts with someone just not wanting their line of thinking to be offensive to someone else, can be very dangerous. And yet we have some people out there who have been swayed to think it's a good idea. Some of those same people think it's a good idea not to have police. I mean what do we have laws for anyway?Do you see any problems with this yet?Yes, there are going to be disagreements. But without rules or laws, there will be nothing but anarchy. Conflicting views is much better than anarchy, where anything goes for anybody. So if you can at least see the need for some kind of rules, and not just totally free, or 'relative' thinking, relative truth...we have to ask ourselves...who gets to make those rules? Who determines the truth, and makes the laws we all live by?Whoa - now we have philosophy and religion rolled right into politics...what is Jason thinking? I know, right?So if you think any one man or group of people can come up with these rules without their own agenda, I think you'd find out pretty quick that can't be the case. We are selfish by nature; I can't even tell you how many science experiments have been done to show kids at a very early age instinctively saying harshly the word, "Mine!" It stands to reason that a group of people wouldn't be much different. If you look at the way the world is going, doesn't it sometimes seem like there is someone else's agenda going on? Guess that may be a topic for another day...but I digress.So if not a group of people, what about one really wise man or woman? All you have to know for this answer is a few famous names to knowthatis a bad idea: Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Nero, etc.What about a higher authority than man? If so, which 'higher' authority?Is it safer to leave interpretation of this question up in the air than it is for the simple question of what is moral truth?In short, as long as the belief in the answer is not in a higher power that condones the beheading or other violence against the followers of another 'higher' authority, then yes, it is safer. So how in the world do you determine what is absolute in life? Who is right?Oddly enough, I cannot tell you exactlyhowto do it. I can just tell you who I see as my 'higher' authority. But I can tell you that the old cliche, "To thine own self be true," can be extremely dangerous, if it really is the one rule we decide to live by.

Wonderful Tonight

I was driving back from work today for lunch, and Eric Clapton came on the Classic Rock station. One of my favorite slow dance songs from high school came on, Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight." As I listened to the lyrics, I thought of some of my favorite outings with my own wife.I couldn't help but think of how important words of affirmation can be for someone's self esteem. The part in the song where the woman is getting ready and asks , "Do I look alright?", probably hits home with most guys. And dare we ever say no? Of course not...yet every time my wife asks, I try to make sure I mean it whenever I answer.The next stanza goes on to describe the man and the woman at a party. Of course the song describes people turning to see the "beautiful lady, walking around with me." Then she asks her lover, "Do you feel alright?" And then he gives the token answer that has made the song so famous.Now let's take a look at Clapton's classic from a biblical perspective. Ephesians tells us this:Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.After hearing the song, and reading these words, I realized that I sometimes take my wife for granted. After knowing all my wife does for me - even though I thank her for all the awesome tasty meals, and taking the extra time to get ready for that social occasion such as some function at work - It's easy to just always count on her being there because she always is. But I need to spend more time going out of my way to tell her how much I love her...how wonderful she is.People tell me all the time how pretty my wife is, and I try to always remember to tell her when that happens. I think if she realizes I notice these instances, she will know that it makes me happy to hear it from others. I told her just today that the running joke, yet not really a joke, at our police department - is that all of the guys 'married up'. And you bet yours truly is going to let his wife know that he agrees he "out-kicked his coverage."So all you guys out there, read the words form Ephesians often. How much do you truly love your wife? Christ loved the church so much that he gave His life for it. If you love your wife as much, don't just tell her, but show her. I need to work harder at this part. As the Word says, he who loves his wife loves himself.So fellas...before her head hits the pillow, let her know how wonderful she is.

Story Ideas

So - here is a Jason Fort the author BRAIN STORM !There are the stories that jump into my head as I drive down the road or stand under the water in the shower... Some of these will definitely find their way to Amazon, and maybe beyond.STORY IDEAS1. Hunting Parties (Book 2 of The Hunters)Join in a little less than six months after the events in Tracking Game, to a fractured America…Most of the country without electricity due to the EMP blasts by the Sheikh’s martyrs. The Southeast has united as one country in-tact and kept out the Muslim invaders. Meanwhile, the rest of the former country is in ruins and sent back to days of the Old West, but Sharia Law is enforced heavily in the Muslim controlled areas. Throughout the more mountainous regions, especially in the Rcoky Mountain area, pockets of resistance have set up strongholds and independent yet isolated small towns. Malik and the Order are helping wage a war against the Muslims by infiltrating their bases and assassinating their leaders. Over in Europe, Naseem and Knox have joined Rebekah in changing the Hearts in Islam, and that alone has its share of danger.2. Second Chances (Book 2 of The Brady Chronicles)Story is told in 3rd person, but two points of view. Start out with Zhana Brechka, the unique Belarusian girl from Mistaken, with her back story and her present status as a fugitive for killing the head of the Stahleknikov crime family. Months have passed since then, and the USA has undergone a major Muslim invasion. Since Zhana never made it far out of Michigan, it doesn’t take her long to encounter a band of thuggish Islamic soldiers who immediately want to take advantage of her vulnerability. Enter Stage right – Robert Brady, who has been surviving in various wildernesses in the United States, remaining off the grid and becoming a self sufficient machine. Yet something about Zhana’s beauty reminds Brady of a distant time and place, and he rushes in and kills her assailants with extreme prejudice. As they spend time together trying to avoid running into too large of a force of invading Muslim bands, Robert Brady sympathizes with Zhana and tells her of his occasional trips into the cities to get some goods not available in the wilds – and of rumors he has heard of safe zones from Radical Islam across the sea. Her homeland of Belarus, though completely under Russian control, is such a place. So the book follows them on their journey to help Zhana find a flight back to her home – but will things work out the way they plan?3. Medal of HonorThis is going to be a stand alone novel co-authored with my own son, Jay. Jay came up with the entire plot, and I just helped him structure and order events in the story. The book will start out with an annual family get-together with the main hero of the story, who has his grandchildren all gathered around as he tells them old war stories from WWII. Our hero is holding the Medal of Honor awarded to him for great valor and bravery during war time in the war theatre of Europe. As the grandfather retells the events that lead up to the receiving of the honorable award, he reminisces the men he lost along the way. He describes to his grandkids how despite overcoming insurmountable odds after his bomber crashed in northern France, it was actually someone else who deserved the medal more than he did. We haven’t started this one officially yet, but the story exists in the form of my son’s very own short story he did for school. We will use that short story as our framework for the novel, and add plenty of research and real places in history to bring this father-son coop to life on the Kindle pages!4. A Man Named RaefordGoing to resurrect an old novel I started writing way back in 2002, but lost the file due to a corrupted hard drive. It’s the mid 1980’s; Raeford is a good old boy from North Carolina who happens to be a former Marine. He is pretty well known all over town, but works the late shift in a convenient store off the interstate. The store just happens to be a convenient stop over for a couple of mobsters making a little drive up from Florida after ‘taking care of some business’ down south. While Raeford is checking the mobsters out at his cash register, an armed robber busts in and holds up the store. After making the mistake of turning his gun on the head mobster of the duo, Raeford takes advantage of the robber’s distraction and hits him over the head with a baseball bat. Once the mobsters see the unconscious bandit lying in the floor, they surprise Raeford by taking his bat away and commencing to beat the unconscious robber to death. Suddenly Raeford is an important witness, and the mobster who happens to be the son of a major crime boss feels indebted to Raeford for his intervention. His solution is taking Raeford with them to New York, were Raeford gets to meet the family.5. AftermathEvan Fowler is a Christian young man in a small town in Kansas who has everything, and all the potential in the world to be a great athlete…yet seems lost in the world. Evan looks up to his two brothers, but feels like he just can’t quite live up to expectations. His oldest brother is a church youth director, and invites Evan one day to come with the youth group for a fun day of bowling, movies, and dinner. After some fun with his oldest brother, on their way to the youth group’s favorite place to eat, the weather changes quick, and before they know it, there’s a traffic jam on the highway. The group has no choice but to abandon their van and head for an overpass for shelter from a large approaching tornado. As the group of middle and high schoolers head up to the large columns of the overpass, they have to split into two groups. Because of Evan’s size and strength, his brother James sends him over with a group of middle schoolers and yells for the kids to hang on to Evan. James takes the rest of them with him to another column nearby – and that is when the fury of God hits. Just as Evan and James squint as they look into each other’s eyes, the wind becomes too great even under the overpass, and the two are forced to close their eyes. It is at that moment that Evan prays with all his might, and hopes beyond hope that God will save them. As the young middle schoolers all wrap around different parts of Evan like his waist, and arms, and even legs, he is holding on for dear life to his column. He is miraculously imbued with phenomenal supernatural strength, so much so that impressions from his fingers are left in the concrete yellow and black columns. But in the aftermath, Evan’s brother James and the kids that had held on to him are the ones missing. The story goes on to follow Evan as he forms a new bond with his middle brother, while taking on a new journey as college athlete and student volunteer at the local boys home by day; community savior in the city by night.