J. Elliott Kay's Blog

I was once caught, unexpectedly, by a snowstorm.
The first flurries were a warm invitation.
The forest went quiet. I stood still.
It’s in moments like these that I withdraw.

It’s why I visit his creation.

It calls me to be introspective. To listen.
My heart was heavy, burdened by sin and lies.
The whirling, weightless flakes invited me to their dance.
My heart fluttered, weightless as well.
Lost in the majesty that swirled about then fell delicately to earth,
blanketing the leaves and underbrush, my shoulders and nose.
There was nothing else, only beauty.

The passing of a season.

The frail and failing foliage of autumn lost to the covering mantel of frozen white.

I was then caught, unexpectedly, by God’s grace.
The revelation of truth was a warm invitation.
The world went quiet. I stood still.
It’s in moments like these, that I withdraw.

It’s why I visit his throne.

He calls me to be introspective. To listen.
My heart was heavy, burdened by sin and lies.
The easy, weightless yoke invited me to his communion.
My heart fluttered, weightless as well.
Lost in the forgiveness that swirled within then fell delicately to earth,
blanketing my wounds and blemishes, my guilt and shame.
There was nothing else, only beauty.

The passing of a season.

The frail and failing flesh of Adam lost to the covering mantel of sanctifying grace.

The death of Death.
Oh, the beauty of his sovereignty…
How beautiful his grace.

I’m thrilled to finally share with everyone the new covers for my King’s Elite series.

Books 1-3 will be available soon!

But wait! There’s more!  A few years (yes, years) ago I announced I was releasing

book 4. That didn’t really work out as planned; something about moving to

self-publishing, babies, a new house and a global pandemic. However, in the not so

distant future, The King’s Elite and the Ebon Crow will join books 1-3 to conclude

the series.

I can’t wait to share it with everyone!  Thanks to my brilliant sister,

Dorothy Ellen Kay for these beautiful covers. More updates to follow!

 

“Here.”

 Chris held out an amber hand. Fine, powdery dirt sifted between his fingers.


 
“Rub this over it,” he whispered in my ear.


 


I fought to hold back my tears. Blood trickled down my shins and stained my white socks.


 


“Seriously,” Chris said. “It’ll patch your knees right up.”


 


I swatted his hand away.


 


Chris turned his hand over and dumped the dirt at my feet, his eyes trying to understand why I refused his help. “Gawd made dirt so dirt don’t hurt,” he said in his preacher voice.


 


Zach, Ben and the rest of their team lined behind the ball.


 


“He called time out!” Chris shouted.


 


“Hike,” Zach called out, pretending he didn’t hear.


 


“Only team captains can call time out,” Ben taunted as he zoomed by. He jumped and turned in time to catch Zach’s pass. I reached out with a bloody hand, but Ben was too quick. My scratched knees tightened with each step as I made my hopeless pursuit.


 


“Come-on. He was right there!” Kyle roared down the field and rolled his eyes. “Gawd. Last time I’m picking you.”


 


“You should’of called a time-out,” Chris said in my defense.


 


I collapsed in the make-shift end zone beside Zach’s orange Volunteers hat that served as one of our pylons. With tender fingers I picked a pebble from my knee, hissing between my teeth. The other boys caught up. Ben tossed the ball to Zach and their team lined up for the extra point. Zach flipped Kyle a bird, but before he called ‘hike’ the bell rang.


 


“You better not tell Mrs. Rodgers,” Zach said to me as he grabbed his hat. “It wasn’t a tackle- Gotcha with two hands.”


 


I lowered my head.


 


“He didn’t even have the ball,” Chris said. “Should’of been interference.”


 


“He never gets the ball,” Kyle said. He shook his head and spat. He looked just like his dad. Stood like him too, even spat the same. Bottom lip puckered out as if tobacco lined his gums.





Dried streaks of blood ran down my legs. I did my best to hide from Mrs. Rogers while my class made a line. Still, much to my embarrassment and to Zach’s frustration, she noticed. We never understood how she did it. Dad said it was her sixth sense, whatever that meant.


 


“You boys play too rough out there,” she pointed at my legs. “What happened?”


 


“He just fell,” Zach said.


 


At that moment I understood Mrs. Rodger’s sixth sense. Without looking I could feel Zach’s eyes bearing down on me. My head dropped even lower. Kyle and the other’s chuckled as they watched her brush the dirt and dust off my bottom.


 


“Wash up,” she told me. I couldn’t wait. No one could bother me in the restroom, no one was allowed to use it recess. After lunch was a different story. All the boys were in the restroom then, even the older ones. I cleaned the blood and dirt from my knees and legs. There was nothing I could do for my stained socks and the brown paper towels left me smelling like wet cardboard. Once I cleaned the blood I worked on my shoes. Mom would never buy me a new pair of shoes again if she saw them now. Mud from the ditch we crossed to reach the playground caked the treads and the baseball field’s amber dirt dusted the leather. They were worse off by the time I finished. The wet paper towels turned the dust to mud, staining the tops of my shoes.


 


Mom asked  the dreaded question when she picked me up along with my sisters, Erin and Dorothy.


 


“How was your day?” She said as she looked for us in the rear view mirror.


 


I sunk deep into my seat, hoping she’d forget I was there. Erin, the oldest, jumped at the opportunity to share about her woes. Every day was the same story. As annoying as it was to listen, it still kept me from talking about the boys at recess. I once tried telling Mom about it, but she didn’t understand.


 


“Find someone else to hang out with,” she’d say or, “John, I love you and you’re special.” Special? I never felt special. Every boy out there could run faster, catch better, throw farther, push harder. None of them seemed to care about getting hurt, or getting a little dirt on their jeans and shoes.


 


“I’m gonna die an old maid.”


 


Erin was done sharing. She ended with the same line everyday. Mom was going to say Erin was special then she was going to ask me about my day, unless little sis spoke up. Thankfully we were already rolling down our gravel driveway. I was out of the car and ahead of mom before she could see my knees or shoes. Erin went straight to the bathroom, Dorothy to the kitchen; if I was quick I could make it to my room and shut the door before they asked me to play with them.


 


Play time with my sisters was fun, but I’d had my fill of dolls and plastic animals. I’d also had enough of sports and being outside. Video games were my escape. Here I could conquer my enemies, overcome challenges and explore the world, all without leaving my room and getting my shoes muddy.


 


My alternate reality lasted for about an hour. When I heard Dad’s jeep rumble down the gravel, kicking up a gray cloud, I knew it was time to save my game.


 


“John?”


 


Dad’s voice carried through our house like a reveille, demanding our immediate attention.


I peeked from our upstairs railing and saw him standing at the front door, a fishing pole in each hand. He had no idea how important it was for me to finish saving the world from my bedroom. I had no idea how important it was for him to ‘wet a line.’


 


Dad built our home himself. He designed the home himself, and he chose the land himself. Six acres in the middle of Middle Tennessee… the middle of nowhere. I have no idea how many times I’ve heard him talk about digging the foundation out of Tennessee’s unforgiving red clay. Perhaps every time we went fishing, when we dug for worms.


 


I followed him to his garage, a two-story barn he built a few years after the house. This was his escape. Venturing in here was like exploring a foreign world. Rusty and rotting tools hung from every available inch of wall space. Most of the tools I couldn’t name, much less use, or even lift. The place even smelled like Dad; greasy, muddy and smoky, with a hint of his Grizzly fine cut, smokeless tobacco.


 


Dad was the fire chief. A job which piqued my interest as well as that of my friends. Perhaps my dad being the fire chief is why Kyle and the others let me play two-hand touch in the first place.


Some days Dad came home soaked, muddy, hot, sweaty, withered and reeking of smoke. Those afternoons Dad would lounge in the pool, or shower off and close the night watching TV with an air of satisfaction. Other days he came home with his hair neatly combed, mustache trimmed, collar starched and in a decorated suit with his big golden badge, usually frustrated with the city’s politics. It was on those days he wanted to fish.


 


We had our poles, all we needed was some bait. It was my job to carry the white, five-gallon bucket and shovel, which I held at the end as I dragged it behind. Dad never asked me if I wanted to go fishing, he simply handed me a pole. He knew I would decline. He also knew something happened once I took my first reluctant step out of the house. I would shed my concerns about getting dirt on my jeans and shoes. I’d remember I wasn’t outside to compete with others, or struggle to prove myself to anyone. The point wasn’t even to catch anything. It was simply to enjoy the middle of nowhere.


I’d remember that I loved squeezing the moist, rich Tennessee topsoil through my fingers as I dug for night crawlers. I was confident I’d find them. I knew how to search for them. Dad taught me not to dig too deep into the unforgiving red clay. Just like Dad, the worms have a hard time digging there too. They only wanted the dark, fine topsoil. Best of all, I could talk. I didn’t talk much, but I didn’t dread Dad’s questions at the time, and I had a few for him as well.


 


“Can you rub dirt on your cuts? My buddy Chris says you should, but that would hurt more, right?”


 


“Yeah,” Dad said. “Dirt stops the bleeding.”


 


“Zach pushed me too hard at recess.”


 


“Is that what happened to your knees?” Dad said, his eye watching my bobber more than his own.


I nodded, thankful Dad didn’t coddle me.


 


“Next time, rub some dirt on it. It’ll hurt a bit, but the bleeding will stop and you can keep playing.”


 


“If I want to keep playing.”


 


Dad nodded. He knew what I was saying. He understood what my dear mom couldn’t- Recess wasn’t just about having fun. It’s about proving you were something special. It wasn’t just about making friends, it was also standing your ground- believing you were someone and being a presence.


 


“You don’t have to play football with those boys,” Dad said. “But you won’t quit playing because of them either. Next time they push you down, all you have to do is get back up. Rub some dirt on it and keep playing. It’s fine if you decide you don’t like football, but don’t let those boys decide for you.”


 


Like most fishing trips Dad taught me more than how to dig up bait or unhook a fish.  I never told him, but I didn’t really understand what he was telling me. I rarely understood his talks, yet I remember most of them. They were memories waiting to be unearthed as I grew; triggered by the sight of blood, the smell of tobacco or the feeling of dirt on my hands.


 


We watched our lines without saying much then watched the lightening bugs once the sun started to set. I can’t remember if we caught anything that evening. What I do remember is being surprised that dirt was safe to rub on cuts and scrapes. Though Dad’s talk wasn’t given another thought that evening, life didn’t wait to force me to remember it either. If it wasn’t the next day it was soon after. I remember because my knees were still scabbed. Blood ran from a my cuts both old and new.


 


“You’re such a wuss,” Kyle said to me without offering a hand up.


 


“Bet’ya five bucks he tells Mrs. Rodgers.” Ben said.


 


“Time out,” I said to the team captain, Zach.


 


Zach waved me off. I wasn’t worth his time out. They were just as good without me. It was fourth down with perhaps twenty yards to go. Kyle had one last throw to reach the end zone. The boys lined up at the ball, ready for the last play of the game. They had all forgotten me, except for Chris.


 


“Here,” Chris held out his dirt.


 


I watched as the baseball field’s fine dust poured through his hands. My socks were bloodstained, my shoes dirty. A part of me wanted to go back inside, clean up and ask Mrs. Rodgers if I could play the Oregon Trail on the computer. The other part wanted to be a presence. I was tired of being the teammate no one believed could contribute.


 


With my hands cupped I caught Chris’s dirt then rubbed it on my knees. It stung, but it was the first time I felt a pain I enjoyed. I made a decision to get back in the game. The feeling was electrifying.


Kyle hiked the ball. The boys scattered and Chris left me to defend the corner. Everyone ran their patterns and Kyle pumped the football, believing he was Steve Young. What happened next is probably the most anti-climatic, underrated, least-celebrated play in Findlay Elementary School’s sports history. Forgotten, I simply walked to Kyle unabated and tagged him with both hands for the sack. Game over. Kyle never saw me coming.


 


There was a moment of contention between the boys. Kyle argued I was off sides. Zach countered with some petty defense I’m sure. I don’t know what was decided. I didn’t stick around to find out. The bell was about to ring and I wanted to be ahead of Mrs. Rodgers. Had she seen my knees she would have made me wash up in the restroom, but not that day. I wanted to come home like Dad after one of his days of fighting fires; hot, sweaty, a little bloody and covered in dirt.

It’s coming, I promise! The King’s Elite & The Ebon Crow has been a long time coming.  Since parting ways with Borderstone Press, I’ve taken interior design of the book into my owns hands which as been a challenge to say the least.  Thankfully I have the previous 3 books as a template to go by, but it has still proven a steep learning curve.  I’m still hoping for a Christmas 2019 release.  Stay tuned.

Email  Notification   

If you want to receive an email to notify you when the book is available visit www.jelliottkay.com/contact and fill out the pop up that will bombard you.  Sorry, I hate pop-ups too, but its all I’ve got going right now. Soon I will have an actual form to fill out when you visit the page.   Also I promise not to hit your inbox with a bunch of spam. The mailing list is used only to notify new book releases  (so far that’s 4 in the past 6 years) and a monthly newsletter.  That’s it.

 

 

The King’s Elite & The Arbiter’s Onus is on sale. During the first weekend of September you can snag book 2 for just $0.99 at Amazon. If you were able to download book one, The Fargaible Prophecies for free earlier this summer this would be the perfect followup.

 

 

 

 

Click the book for a quick link to sales page.  Hurry! Arbiter is marked down from $4.99 to $0.99 for this weekend only.

       

The King’s Elite Series 

                                                 

 Coming Soon!                            

Just as the title suggests I’d like to introduce the fourth and final book of the King’s Elite series, The Ebon Crow.

The Ebon Crow is still in the works. Turns out that wrapping up a four book series is hard, or at least has proven difficult for me. Even though I’m still ironing out the final details I wanted to go ahead and share the front cover that my baby sis conjured up.  She does a great job and its always a lot of fun to see what she comes up with.

One of my pet peeves about fantasy series is finding the ending a bit lack luster.  I’ve put a lot of  thought and heart into the end of this series and I’m pretty excited with how the story took form.  In short, I think readers who’ve made it this far into the series will find the ending satisfying. My hope is to have this book available in time for Christmas this year.   As always I’ll start sharing character profiles as we get closer to the book’s launch.

Email  Notification   

If you want to receive an email to notify you when the book is available visit www.jelliottkay.com/contact and fill out the pop up that will bombard you.  Sorry, I hate pop-ups too, but its all I’ve got going right now. Soon I will have an actual form to fill out when you visit the page.   Also I promise not to hit your inbox with a bunch of spam. The mailing list is used only to notify new book releases  (so far that’s 4 in the past 6 years) and a monthly newsletter.  That’s it.

Arbiter’s Onus Discount  

Also, near the end of August Amazon will feature a weekend promotion for The Arbiter’s Onus. I’ll offer more details on that event as they come available.

Alright, I lied, but before I get into that I wanted to thank everyone. The weekend promotion for The King’s Elite & The Fargaible Prophecies exceeded my wildest expectations. I told my wife, Andrea, “If I get 300 downloads total I’ll be happy, but if I get 1000 then I’ll be ecstatic. After nearly 2000 copies were downloaded over the weekend I’m left searching for the proper adjective to trump ecstatic.  To keep things simple I’ll leave it at thrilled.  I am thrilled with the excitement buzzing around The King’s Elite.  A big thank you to everyone for your support.

So that lie… I posted before the promotion that I was planning on releasing book two, The King’s Elite & The Arbiter’s Onus, on Kindle eBook this coming fall. I guess I got excited over the weekend and put in the time to push book 2 out early. Early as in right now. I bumped the whole release schedule by 90 days, maybe more if Ada, my unborn baby girl who is due any moment, allows me.  OK I admit it.  The book was already done, I just had to click a few things to make it happen. It’s the same for book 3 as well, but with 3 boys under 5 and a baby girl on the way it’s hard to find time, even if I just need to click a few things.

If you are interested in finding book 1 of the King’s Elite series please click here.

If you are interested in reading the sequel The King’s Elite & The Arbiter’s Onus please click here.

Thanks again to everyone who downloaded a free copy of The King’s Elite & The Fargaible Prophecies.  As always, I sincerely hope you enjoy the book.

 

P.S. At the moment of this post’s publication if you haven’t downloaded book 1 for free there is still time to do so. The promotion ends Monday night at midnight PDT.

Things have been changing around here. After six years of a wonderful partnership with BorderStone Press, I have finally moved on as an independent author. To kick things off, book 1 of the King’s Elite series has been given a new subtitle and has gone digital.  The King’s Elite & The Fargaible Prophecies is now available on Kindle at Amazon.  Later this fall book 2, The Arbiter’s Onus will be added and then The Prince of Itihasia, book 3, will follow this winter.  That leaves book 4, The Ebon Crow, to be published for the first time ever in Spring 2019.

To kick things off, The King’s Elite & The Fargaible Prophecies will be available for free July 19th thought the 23rd. No gimmicks, no tricks, just a thank you to those who have supported me over the years. Grab yourself a free kindle version and please share the news to whomever you think would enjoy a young adult fantasy novel.

So it’s Sunday and my news feed and social media columns  are still blowing up with posts about the election. Being the prune that I am, I’ve tailored what appears on my feed to show only posts from close friends and family. The vast majority of these people are Christians and by the choices they make and the lives they live I have no reason to second guess the label. However, this week’s political upset has sent a fissure between my online community. How is it that people who claim to know and love God are so divided over the election? Here’s some of the stuff I’m reading. I’ll paraphrase because without doubt I’m sure you’ve heard similar stuff too.

I don’t know how any christian could vote for Trump/Hillary.
I don’t know how a Christian could vote for someone who supports abortion.
I don’t know how a Christian could vote for someone who doesn’t care about the poor and unfortunate.
How could a Christian support a misogynist?
Christians shouldn’t give into fear and Trump
How could a sincere Christian ignore all of the immoral liberties Hillary supports?

It’s simple people, Jesus wasn’t on the ballot. (Though I guess we could have done a write-in) The problem I’m seeing right now, the problem I hope to thoroughly address is that Christians are letting the election divide them when in reality, through Christ’s love, we can allow it to unify us.

The question’s and statements I listed above don’t address anything. What we have to remember as believers is that there two things Christ uses to guide us.  His Word and our convictions through the Holy Spirit. These two will never contradict the other. What I have learned under the tutelage of older and wiser people (many who vote differently than I) is that they tend to vote blue or red depending on their burdens. As it turns out many people who work with the poor and unfortunate tend to vote democratic while the most generous people I know tend to vote Republican.  People who are burdened with defending scripture’s stance on volatile issues such as sexual orientation and abortion lean red and those who live their lives working to serve the ‘lesser of these’ tend to vote blue. This isn’t a profile I’m trying to establish, of course there are exceptions here, but my point is we vote based on our convictions and ministries. For many Christians who voted for Trump, they couldn’t get past the amoral issues within the liberal agenda. There are Christians who voted for Hillary who believe the democratic party has the best solutions for meetings the needs of the poor and unfortunate. Again, the reasons behind every vote are complex and it’s impossible to divide Christians into clean categories to explain why they voted for their candidate. My point here is to illustrate that we vote by our convictions and what baffles me is that any other day we support each other in our convictions and our related ministries, but on election day we allow our convictions to divide us.

As far as I’m concerned it’s time for the Christian community to stop mourning Hillary’s loss and stop celebrating Trump’s victory because neither of these people have the capacity to save our country and meet its needs. The only person capable of healing our land wasn’t on the ballot. God wants us to get to work, follow our convictions and burdens and trust Him for all the rest. Stop the fighting and hateful comments that are polluting all of the forums and posts. This isn’t time to argue or lose heart, it’s a time to get to work because there are problems BOTH parties need to address. The best way to start is to love God and then love our neighbors which include all citizens of our great and ridiculously blessed nation. Love everyone; the wealthy elite, the frightened minorities, poor, widows and the infirm.

John 13:34-35

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

 

Living the Dream: Your Dream, God’s Will

I had a lot to say in my previous post, Living the Dream. So this Part Two. If you have been following my blog for the past couple of years you’ve probably noticed things went quiet. I had a lot to learn.  What I’ve learned is what I’m sharing here in the Living the Dream series. My prayer is that this series will bless you full-time parents or others pursuing a love for writing.

Though I love my boys, it’s easy to feel trapped when I have other dreams and ambitions floating in my head. It’s not that I’m asking for more to life, it’s just there are parts integral to me such as a love for adventure, imagination, creativity and writing that aren’t being used as much during this early season of parenthood. Though I give my boys everything, I’m still not tapping into that part of my mind as often as I’d like. After a while it’s easy for me to believe the lie that I’m not fulfilled; that I’m not chasing after my passion and working towards my dreams and goals, or worse my current life won’t allow me to follow my dream.  Read that whole sentence again!  I said it was a lie.  It’s a lie that my current life won’t allow me to follow my dream! We call it feeling trapped.  When I start to flirt with this lie it’s time for me to stop, and put my life back into perspective.

Perspective is a gift.  God gives us perspective over our lives when we take His will into consideration. God’s will plays out differently between all believers, but the common denominator for all of His children is to love Him and love our neighbors. In everything we do we are to first love God and then our neighbors.We all show our love differently. No matter what we do; caring for kids, writing, running a business, making diner, driving, playing the piano- we have to do it all in love. (1 Corinthians 13: 1-3) We love God and our neighbors by sacrificing our resources, time and talents. That’s where the variances of God’s will come into play.

You are an individual, gifted by God with a unique set of talents, curiosities and experiences.

We can’t ignore that. The God who made all things, knows all things made you unique. There is no one else like you.  I know you have heard this before, but stop and wrap your mind around that. You are not a mistake. You are immeasurably valuable, but it’s not because of what you have done or what you think you are capable of doing. You are valuable because of the price God paid to redeem you. He then gives you a skill set and then says, “Hey go love people in my name, and have fun doing it, and don’t worry about anything because I’ve conquered it all.” *  And I woke up this morning at 5:00  annoyed because my 20 month old was hungry…  I then entertain the lie that I’m trapped because I can’t write in the morning like I use to.  It’s all because I’ve lost perspective.

Here are 4 things I try to remember when I feel trapped.

1. Believe

Ugh, that sounds cheesy. I wrestled with other names for the first step, but I kept coming back to believe. I really believe we can reach our dreams. In Living the Dream I talked about how our dreams are a gift from God. It is a way God can direct us to His will for our lives. The problem many people have is that they taint their own dreams. We make our dreams about us and what we want from this world.  God reverses the order. To God it’s all about the needs of the world and how we can serve. Remember our dreams come from Him to be used for Him. If we accept that, we will find joy and fulfillment far surpassing than what could imagine. By the way, God doesn’t lose. So if he started you on a journey chasing the dream He gave you, it’s a sure bet you will reach your dream.  Not only do we have to believe we can reach our dreams, but we also have to believe God’s plan for our lives is more fulfilling than anything we could scheme up for ourselves.

2. Remember God’s will

Let me reign this in a bit. I said earlier we taint our dreams. This happens because we avoid God’s will. How do we avoid God’s will? We stop loving others first. We want to run over others for us to achieve our tainted version of God’s dream for us. We end up sacrificing more for something far less.  Aren’t we crazy?

3. Accept your freedom

So I’m a stay at home dad. As for now this is my priority. God has planted me here to love Him and everyone else I contact throughout my day. He also gave me a love for reading, writing and imagination. There are a number of things I could do with those interests, but I have chosen to blog and write novels. It’s a natural fit with my life as a full time caregiver. I believe God gave me the freedom to choose this for myself, but I understand it doesn’t supersede God’s calling for my life.

4. Make Disciples

I have to keep my will in check. Part of me wants my blog to be more popular and my books to become more successful. God reminds me often that may not be His will for my life. What is most certainly part of His will is using my talents to make disciples. A general rule of thumb, whatever your endeavors, the more you make it about bringing up disciples the more fulfilling it will be. When I focus on only that, I can honestly say I’m living the dream.

By remembering these four things I’m able to keep my perspective and at the same time pursue what I enjoy doing. Whatever it is you are doing in life, whether running a small business, stay-at-home parent, teacher, or practicing law, don’t let the boundaries you face make you believe you are trapped and unable to do what you enjoy doing. Perhaps those boundaries are there to keep you in place and bloom where God has you so you can love Him and your neighbors with your talents and gifts. Living the dream isn’t about fighting through every obstacle and running over everyone in your way to obtain what you want for yourself, it’s about realizing you’re equipped and wonderfully made to serve your neighbors in a way that God intended before you were born. Rather than chasing a dream, it’s accepting and appreciating where you are now and allowing your circumstances to direct you to the dream God has in mind for you.

 

 

Matthew 22:36-40

Philippians 4:4-6