World of Destiny: Excerpt from my latest book called Cajun Eyes......

World of Destiny:  Excerpt from my latest book called Cajun Eyes......:  Excerpt from my latest book called Cajun Eyes ...   Chapter 1 The Stakeout   I hate this part of my job. A long stakeout that ...

 Excerpt from my latest book called Cajun Eyes...

 Chapter 1

The Stakeout

  I hate this part of my job. A long stakeout that promises to last all night was never my idea of fun, cher. But it goes with the territory. And you get used to it. In the old days, I would sit here in my non-descript beige piece of junk car reading the paper and eating junk food to stay awake. And coffee. Lots of coffee. Not what they call coffee over there at them fancy Starbucks coffee houses, no. But the kind of thick Cajun coffee that’s strong enough to melt one of them sissy stirrers they give you at the coffee shops. The coffee like my momma always used to make is what I’m talking about. But these days I take my coffee black, and the junk food is out. I’m off the carbs and all that sugar. I can’t say I’m completely over the cravings though, and I would shoot a fool for a donut right now if one was crazy enough to sashay by me with a Krispy Kreme in his hand.

  I’ve lost about fifty pounds so far on my new diet. My doctor is very happy. And I guess you might say I’m beginning to appreciate the way the women have started noticing me again like they used to a few years back. And my ride now is a brand-new Chevy Camaro – black as midnight. Black interior. Hell, even the license plate’s black like my coffee. Right now, the plate’s I’m displaying shows only a number. But when I’m not on a case, I slap on my vanity plates with my name on them – CHANCEY. That’s me, Chance C. Bouchard, private investigator.  My friends all call me Chancey, but my family calls me CC. I’m six foot two inches tall, weigh in right at two hundred pounds, brown hair, and eyes. Some women find me attractive, but usually only after they get to know me better. Otherwise, I don’t really stand out in a crowd.

   I grew up in Gonzales, La. My folks still live in St. Armant; a little town in Ascension Parish about halfway between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. But I just hung my nameplate on my brand-new office door on Bluebonnet Blvd in Baton Rouge. 

  Things have been going good for me lately. Solve a couple of high profile murder cases and suddenly I’m a popular guy. Most of my clients are loaded these days. Ha, it wasn’t very long ago that I didn’t even have an office. I drove around in my beat-up air pollution device handing out business cards at diners and shopping malls trying to drum up work. Now my phone hardly ever stops ringing. I had to hire a secretary just to answer it for me. The last case I was on, paid for my new car with enough left over for the down payment on the office. If I nabbed the guy I was looking for right now, I might even be able to afford to put some nice furniture in there. At the moment, there was only Elaine’s desk and the phone system in the reception area and a fake potted plant in the corner by the window. My phone was sitting on the floor in my empty office.

  I poured me another big cup out of my thermos and breathed the deep aroma while I put the lid back on the bottle. The first sip was a real eye-opener. I felt the drowsiness leave almost instantly. That was a good thing. I looked out the window and saw that the upstairs apartment across the street was still dark. Still no one home. I had been watching this place for three days now. I wasn’t in the best part of town so going to sleep was not an option. My hubcaps would be gone the moment I stopped paying attention, and that was just for starters. The hookers had started to wave and flirt when they walked past after the first night. But they knew better than to stop and proposition me now. Most of them probably thought I was some kind of drug dealer, but I was in someone else’s territory and that might mean trouble later on. So, they steered clear.

  A couple of them were former ladies of the night who had plowed their trade in New Orleans before the storm. And they had recognized me from when I was on the force patrolling the streets. So, they may have put the word out on me. I didn’t care as long as they all left me alone. I left the force after Katrina. Things happened I didn’t agree with and, when I reported it to Internal Affairs, some of the other officers took offense, to say the least. A few had started making my life miserable. It got to the point where I thought my own partner might shoot me in the back when we were on a raid or chasing bad guys down a dark alley. So I quit.

  The private eye gig had been an idea thrown at me from a girlfriend while she was packing her bags after my income had dwindled to not more than a bar tab. I decided it wasn’t a bad idea and got my license soon afterward. The bar tabs had to stop. The diet changed and living under an overpass seemed likely for a while there if things didn’t pick up. Baby steps got me here.

  I was well into a good book, so I only glanced up now and again to make sure nothing had changed. The light from my Kindle Fire was pretty bright so I held it down in my lap. Not that it made that much difference. My car windows were tinted so dark that not much light would shine through them anyway. But I did have the glass on my side rolled down just a bit. Even though it was in the middle of winter, it wasn’t very cold outside. With the windows up, it tended to get a bit stuffy in here, and the windows fogged up.

  The guy I was looking for was in some very serious trouble. The police wanted him in a bad way, and I doubted they would be in any kind of mood to read him his Miranda rights when they caught up with him. He was more likely to get a bullet to the head as soon as he was spotted and have it go down as an unfortunate incident of being shot while resisting arrest. He had gotten drunk about a week ago, got in his car anyway, and ran down a police officer who was directing traffic around a construction site. The cop was in ICU, and the Docs weren’t sure if he would make it or not....

Defining Moments

  There are defining moments in everyone’s life. Moments that were fleeting but at the same time everlasting in our memory of them. Things, people, and places come and go all throughout everyone’s life. Some of those memories fade quickly. We may rarely if ever, think of them again. Other memories will never die. But there is another whole category of rare moments that define each of us. Moments that make us who we are. Moments that change our history one way or another. Some of these we remember fondly. Others, not so much. When I look back at my life…and I do that a lot lately as it comes with the territory of growing old. When you pass 65 years of age reality hits you over the head…hard! You realize you have more past behind you than you have future ahead of you. That thought is not an easy or comfortable one to live with. But there it is.

  But like I said, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on my own defining moments. Perhaps this was triggered by my recent attendance of my 50^th year High School Reunion. Man, it doesn’t seem like it’s been 50 years already. But then again, at that reunion, I was reminded of so many things I don’t remember at all. For instance, I have very few memories of attending Sam Houston Elementary School. I do remember my first day of Kindergarten because my neighbor across the street from us pitched a humongous temper tantrum raging, “I hate Mrs. Timmerman. I hate Mrs. Timmerman.” He got sent home on his first day of school. I thought it was funny and never liked him much. He was one of our neighborhood bullies. But thanks to him, I remember that day. The next thing I remember about elementary is Fourth Grade. I hated my teacher, Mrs. Jaygo. And here’s why. It was because one of those defining moments for me and it involved a cute little blonde girl that sat next to me who had a long ponytail. I thought she was the prettiest girl in the whole school. Of course, I never told her that. I was too shy back then. One day we were doing crayon pictures to hang on the wall for parent’s day. I was doing one with a red and blue theme (precursor to Spider-Man perhaps?) Cathy, my little blonde crush, was doing a very nice picture that I thought would easily be the best picture on the wall. Sitting on the other side of Cathy was a girl that kept eyeing her picture. The one she was doing was not very good at all. We had to stop and take a break for recess. The other girl slipped back into class early on some excuse and wrote her name on Cathy’s picture and switched it with hers. When we got back in there, Cathy started complaining to the teacher about the switcheroo. Mrs. Jaygo didn’t believe her, and when she continued to complain, the teacher grabbed Cathy by the shoulders shaking her. I jumped up and yelled at the teacher to stop because she was hurting her. Mrs. Jaygo turned on me and sunk those claws of hers into my shoulders and gave me a good shaking as well. I bravely announced that she wasn’t hurting me; she was wrong, and Cathy was telling the truth. Mrs. Jaygo just pushed me down in my chair and told me to be quiet. I know Cathy started liking me then. But for me, it was one of those defining moments that I never forgot. It was the first time I stood up to anyone. I had always felt like a coward before that. My brothers always picked on me, and I never stood up to them until after that moment. I stood up for many underdogs after that. But I still always questioned my own bravery. It is the reason I joined the Army. And the reason I became a bouncer in night clubs after my divorce. I proved how brave I was over and over again in many tight situations during those times. It was like I had to keep on proving myself because for a long time I had a deep down fear of everything. A lot of that had to do with my father of course. He made it pretty plain that I was never “macho” enough to suit him. I was a shy little bookworm, and he did not approve. Neither did my step-father. So, yeah, I had issues.

  Another defining moment came for me in a car making “The Drag” down Gulfway Drive in Port Arthur. My best friend, Will, and I were returning from a day at the beach surfing. We still had our surf boards on top of the car. Will wanted to make one run down the drag before going home and cleaning up. I didn’t because I didn’t want to be seen in public with my hair all mussed up. But it was Will’s car so off we went. At a stop light, I looked next to us and saw the two most gorgeous girls I had ever seen looking back at us. They rolled down the window and asked us if they could ride with us. We met up with them at Burger King. Turns out, the blonde had gone out with Will before. Will didn’t like her much at all. But agreed to let them ride with us after much begging and pleading on my part. The blond got in the back seat with me and the brunette was in front with Will. I had on some corduroy pants…don’t ask me why. The blonde kept rubbing her hand on my leg saying, “Oooh, look, he has on grovies.” The brunette in front turned around in her seat and faced the back of the car. It was like a flirt war all the way down the drag. I had never in my life received so much female attention as I did on the short little ride into history. We took those girls on a first date to the beach because I convinced my buddy Will to take one for the team and ask them out. I found out that the girls had decided that I would be Linda’s date. At first,

Will refused wholeheartedly to take the blonde anywhere. I begged like I never begged before. He gave in. That’s why he’s still my best friend to this day. I ended up marrying Linda and Will married the blonde. Linda passed four years ago. But Will is still married to his blonde.

  My life took a detour that day that was major. All because Will didn’t listen to me and insisted we make one drag before going home to clean up. That was a defining moment for me that had a major impact on my life. My two kids, three granddaughters, and one great grandson can thank my best friend Will for not listening to me that day and taking that ride down Gulfway Drive. If he hadn’t done so, none of them would be here today.

  There were a few more defining moments in my life of course. Some good and some not so good as far as their outcome. These days, my life seems pretty settled. Pecking away on this computer seems to be the highlights of most of my days. And I don’t foresee too many major changes to my day to day routine. But there’s one thing I’ve come to realize lately. Defining moments come when you least expect them. And it’s never too late for one of those to pop up and hit you squarely between the eyes. And there ain’t a darn thing you can do about it except embrace it and go with the flow.     

History Lesson

  “Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” - George Santayana probably knew what he was talking about from first-hand experience. His saying could be applied to Nations as well as to individuals. If you fail to keep in mind past mistakes, you will inevitably repeat them. If you don’t keep in mind mistakes made by your parents, you will inevitably make the same ones in your own life. Nations that ignore the mistakes made by other Nations in the past are doomed to go the same way as their forbearers did. If the U.S. forgets how Rome fell, it is doomed to the same fate and will likewise fall. So, it is pretty frightening to see how ignorant our young people are of History. To them, it doesn’t matter what a bunch of crusty old men did a thousand years ago or even two hundred years ago. They worry more about what one of the Kardashians did last night and quickly forget what they did a month ago. Like I said, it’s a very disturbing trend. Our young people care very little for History, Geography, Math or Science. Knowing this, it would be very easy to just throw up our hands and accept our inevitable doom. But there is always hope that future trends will change things. History can’t be lost by one generation, or can it?

  Another thing that concerns me that seems to parallel this trend is our younger generation’s lack of interest in their own family’s history. Many of our children don’t know or care who their great-grandparents are much less about anyone who lived before they were born. If they have family who lives far off or in another state, they aren’t even inclined to travel to see and know them. And it’s not just the younger generation. I have members of my own family that have never shown any interest in going to see and getting to know the people who make up their extended family. I guess I have visited and gotten to know more people in my extended family than anyone else. And they are such warm and wonderful people who I’ve grown to love and respect over the years. I have sat and listened to my Uncle Edward’s stories of how it was long ago and loved hearing his stories of this relative or that. Those stories are gone now. Lost forever to the current generations. Uncle Edward’s wife, my aunt Ruth, was the kindest, sweetest woman I’ve ever met. With her death, I now only have cousins left alive in Arkansas. At least I know some of them and love them like brothers and sisters. We share a common heritage. But it’s sad that no one else in my Texas family has that bond with them except my mother, and she is quickly losing her memory of even me.

  I still have an Aunt in Louisiana, my Aunt Ruby (Bee), who is the last connection we have to the older generation of my father’s family. A couple of my brothers and I went to visit her recently and had a wonderful time. I don’t even want to think about the time when that connection is also lost to us. I feel History slipping away and guilty that I haven’t been taking notes. Another sad thing is that all the cousins don’t seem to be anywhere as close to each other as their parents were to each other. And our children don’t even know most of their cousins. I can see the day coming when brother will not even remember or care about brother or sister. You hear so much said about Nuclear Families. Where only husband, wife, and their one or two kids know and care about each other. Even the neighbors are strangers to them.

  How much further can this pendulum swing? Will we all become strangers, one to another? Will we perhaps surround and isolate ourselves with our technology? Will we abandon human compassion altogether and merge with our machines? If you look around with opened eyes, you can see all the signs of that day coming. I say that at that point, Human History will have ended. We will, at that point, have become something else entirely. I don’t know about you, but I will hold on tight to my Human History. And I will hold on even tighter to my Family History. Because without that – without human compassion and family connections – History is a long sad tale told by madmen with no future, no promise, and no purpose. My hope and prayers are that our Father in Heaven will come and take us all before that day arrives. And then how glorious it will be in Heaven to be with and know all our ken and loved ones from all the way back to the beginning of History. How awesome it will be to see firsthand how we are all ken one to another and all connected as one big family who can love and cherish one another for the rest of time. 

My Rant On Immigration

Out of all the immigrants that have come to this country over the last 40 years, I think I have to respect the Vietnamese people the most. Their kids learned English, excelled in our schools and most have done well as Americans. Many have started their own businesses and their communities support them. Second to them are the Hispanic legal immigrants. They came here for jobs and most are very hard working people. For the most part, they made the effort to assimilate and become good citizens. The problem is that illegals followed who only wanted what they could take away from America. They don't try to assimilate, they don't want to learn English, and many of them are a drain on our schools and hospitals that taxpayers provide while most of them don't pay any taxes because their ID's are fake. (kinda like Obama's).

Most of us deal with Middle Eastern and immigrants from India on a daily basis. Go into any corner market or motel and you will be dealing with people from those parts of the world. Up until recently, my experience with them has been positive. They speak English, they are polite and friendly. I used to work with a bunch of Iranians and they were a great bunch of guys. But I'm not so sure about the "refugees" coming in from the middle east now. The fact that they demand we change to suit them instead of the other way around flies in the face of how it's always been in this country. Sure we have a history of taking in immigrants. But these immigrants always were happy and proud to become Americans and learn our language and adopt our customs. The Middle Easterners who are immigrants now were a few months ago on the streets of their countries chanting, "Death to America" and referring to us as "The Great Satan".

They have as their benefactors you liberals who welcome them now with open arms. And yes, we are all aware that you don't do this because you have this great heart and compassion for them. You only want to make them beholding to you so they will vote your way in the next election. To me, it seems you are selling out your own country simply to stay in power. That is treason pure and simple. When you open the door to our sworn enemies, what else can you call it? If this trend is allowed to continue, you will come to regret it one day. All you have to do is look at the history of what's gone on in the middle east. Every time the U.S. has stupidly supplied weapons and training to any segment of the population there, those weapons have always, sooner or later, been turned against us. I mean, how naive do you have to be to think the same thing won't happen here? You think they will respect "the goodness of your hearts" for letting them come here? They don't respect that. They see it as a weakness and will exploit it to the max.

Now even though we have a history of welcoming immigrants, there has to be a tipping point where we close the door or we will be swamped with masses we can't handle. We're pretty near that point now. Maybe you want to see the U.S. become another China or India with over a billion people with the biggest majority living in dire poverty. But it's not how I want to see the future of this nation unfold. We've been getting away with naivety for way too long now. It's time to take the blinders off and take a good look at the real world. For the most part, the rest of the world hates us. Do you really think we can survive being outnumbered by haters for very long, especially if we keep inviting them in on purpose?

I know you envision a kumbaya world where everyone loves everyone else and we can all just get along. Reality is a harsh teacher. As a Christian, I want a world where we all love God and each other as well. I am told to love my enemies and pray for them. I do. But I am not told to invite them into my neighborhood and hope they don't slit my throat during the night while I'm sleeping. If you're naive enough to think that scenario can't happen, think again. I recently watched a video where a Lebanese girl who was a Christian growing up in a Muslim country made the mistake of thinking all her Muslim friends wouldn't turn on her either. But she was wrong. When the radical Muslims came to Lebanon and started uprisings, even her own childhood friends and trusted neighbors turned against her and her family. Her house was bombed and her mother was killed. She and her father survived in the ruins of their city for months hiding from their former friends and neighbors who now wanted to kill them just because they were Christians. The only reason this girl survived was because the Israeli Jews came to their rescue and brought them out of Lebanon and into Israel. If we keep being foolish enough to allow these people into our country, we could wake up to the same kind of scenario one day. And if you don't think that could happen here, just take a long hard look at how it's going so far in Europe.

It may already be too late to save our country from the destructive forces that some of us have invited in. I hope and pray it's not. And I know my stand on immigration some of you find disconcerting or isolationistic. You can think whatever you like. Be happy that's still true. But don't think for even a minute that my feelings on this topic are racially motivated. I have never been a racist. In the Army, we were taught to see only one color and that was green. I have never not associated with someone because of their skin color or nationality. Those things are trivial to me. And as much as I wish we lived in a perfect world where we could deal with everyone with open arms, it's just not the case. The sooner all of us wake up to that fact, the safer our children and grandchildren will be.

Love in a Bucket

  LOVE. I know we all know what that word is supposed to mean. The dictionary defines it as an intense feeling of deep affection. I have to admit I’ve wished, sometimes, that we never heard of it. But we all crave it, don’t we? We seem to wither as viable human beings without it. And if all that’s true, the whole world should be full of love. All we need is love, right? Then why is the world so not full of this fickle affection? If you could sit on the moon and look down on us with a telescope, what you would mostly notice right away is war and strife and misery and death. From afar, no signs of love would be visible at all. Now let’s jump from the moon to the ISS (International Space Station). From there it would be a little easier to focus in on individual nations. But looking down on your own country, could you see any evidence that love existed anywhere in the world? Probably not.

  It’s only when you plant your feet on the ground that you can point to things and say, “There is love.” Things like people walking together holding hands. People hugging. A grandparent shedding a tear over the sheer beauty that is their grandchild. Or a guy out in a park playing fetch with his dog. There may be several things in any one area that you could point to and say that is there because of love. Or that looks like love. But the problem is, you could point to just as many, or maybe even more instances where you would have to admit there is no love there. Even inside our families. Yes, there is love in families, some of it is even unconditional love. But all too often, there is just the opposite. So the question is, why? Why is it so hard for us to be in love or show our love all the time 24/7 as they say? Where does all the negative “not love” come from? Hey, why you looking at me? It’s a mystery to me as well.

  But looking back on my own life, it was kinda like a children’s game. In the game, we each had a bucket for a heart. And with most of us, the bucket could only get so full and then it starts to overflow. When your bucket is full, you have a lot of love to give. So, then you find someone with an empty bucket and pour the contents of your bucket into theirs. When our buckets were equally full, then we felt like we were in love and everything was right with the world. But I kept running into people whose buckets seemed to have a hole in the bottom of them. The more water I poured in the bucket the faster it came out the bottom through that hole. Their bucket never ended up full. In the end, even I would get drained and feel empty as a result of constantly trying to keep their bucket full. When that point was reached, the relationship was over. Some people had a bigger hole in their buckets than others. And after each failed attempt to maintain a mutual level in both buckets, it would take longer to refill my own bucket.

  Now bear in mind, I’m talking about relationships here. It’s different with your kids and grandkids. I love my kids and grandkids with a love that is always overflowing. It doesn’t matter how full their buckets are for me. Sometimes, my heart feels like it will burst every time I look at them. My daughter Is more precious to me than all the riches of the world. So is my son, and he hasn’t even spoken to me in years. I still love him and his family with all my heart. And I miss him terribly. And it pains me so much that I don’t seem to know a way to fix that problem. My granddaughters are my pride and joy just to look upon. To me, they are perfection walking. My great grandson makes me smile just thinking about him. So familial love is no mystery to me. It’s the one unconditional love I know well.

  Relationships are harder. And don’t get me wrong. I’ve been a very lucky man to have enjoyed the brilliant love of more than one woman…oh how I longed for that not to have been the case. Love of but one woman for all my life was the dream. But there it is. As long as I can remember as a child, all I ever wanted was to find a woman who would love me as much as I loved her. And in that childhood dream we would grow old together and go out at the end of a long and happy life together, also. So much for dreams. Life has its own ideas of how things are supposed to go, I guess. Either that or there really is such a thing as karma and my life had to make up for some very bad karma left over from the past. But again, don’t get me wrong. I’m not whining or crying over past or lost loves. Even though it didn’t turn out the way I wished. I have so many good and happy memories filled with much love. And even though some of the tragedy in my life may have put a hole in the bottom of my bucket, Jesus came along and started pouring his love into it. Now my bucket is always overflowing.

  But what does make me sad sometimes, is I look around and I see so many people walking around with empty buckets. The results of which seem to be responsible for all that other “not love” we see unfolding all around us more and more every day. It makes me want to run around and try to fill their buckets from my own. But the task has grown so fast and so big, I know I would soon find myself empty again. I alone can’t save the world. I know where the well is. I can point you to it, if you have an empty bucket or one with a hole in it. But, like that stubborn horse, I can’t make you drink of it and fill your bucket. Just know that it’s your own stubbornness that leaves you thirsty.

  Now for those fortunate enough to be in a relationship. For the new ones, if you want it to live and grow, it does take effort and a little bit of luck. If you really want to keep it growing, learn where the source of the living water is and draw deeply from it. You’re going to need it. And for you, oh so lucky few, who have been in the same relationship for a long time and it only seems to get stronger over the years…well I don’t have to tell you anything. You already know. May your bucket always be full and never spring a leak.

An Easter Message About The Glory of God

  When you hear someone talk about, “The Glory of God”, what do you understand that to mean? Sometimes, we say someone is basking in his own glory. When we say that, we’re usually talking about someone getting the big head over his own fame and fortune. In fact, here are the three common definitions of the word “glory” in the dictionary: 1) high renown or honor won by notable achievements. 2) magnificence or great beauty as in the train has been restored to all its former glory, and 3) take great pride or pleasure in, as in they were individuals who gloried in their independence.

  But this is not what the Bible means when it talks about the Glory of God. God’s Glory is not a prideful feeling of emotion. Nor is it a puffing up of His own ego. And even though God is a beautiful thing, He doesn’t glory in His appearance. His Glory is not His renown either. So what exactly is the Bible talking about when it talks about “God’s Glory”? Most of us can’t even imagine what God is. Most baby Christians imagine God to be an old man with white hair and a white beard sitting on a throne. I assure you, that is not what God looks like. Jesus/Yeshua/Immanuel, also known as the Son of God said that no one has ever looked on the face of God and lived except for him. So no one really knows what God looks like. But Jesus told the Pharisees that if they knew the Father, then they would know him. And if they had seen him, then they had seen the one who sent him. The way I see all this is as follows. God is not of this universe. God exists outside of time and space. Therefore, He most likely would be invisible to anything that does exist inside the universe.

  People talk of higher levels of beings. For instance, we exist in a three-dimensional world. We would perceive a two-dimensional being as a flat surface. A two-dimensional being would probably not be able to perceive us at all. A four-dimensional being would not be visible to us at all. Four, five, six, etc. level beings would exist on different levels of reality all of which would not register on our three-dimensional awareness at all. God, then, would be the ultimate level of existence and completely invisible to all levels of reality. I’m not saying this is the way it is. But scientists speculate about different levels of reality all the time.

  Now we come to Jesus. Jesus, in this case, would be the three-dimensional manifestation of God. God then had to manifest himself on our level of existence to bring his message and redemption to us. So does Jesus look like God? No. Jesus looks like a man. He often referred to himself as the Son of Man. Was Jesus this beautiful, perfect, Hollywood image of a man? No. He was just a man born of a woman. However, once Jesus resurrected and ascended into heaven, he received of the Father his “Glorified Body”. So in heaven, Jesus is much more than just a man. But he has taken on a manifestation that we are able to look upon and live to tell it.

  When the Bible says God says, “Let us create them in our image,” it doesn’t mean let’s cookie cut them so that they all look like me/us (God the Father and God the Son). Clearly, all men don’t even look alike. So what’s meant by this? Instead of an image, it’s better to think of likeness. He created us in his likeness. God reveals himself as one but consisting of three different manifestations. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit making him, on one level, a three-dimensional being. So too are we. At least originally. The first man was Soul, Flesh, and Spirit and also a three-dimensional being which would make us like God in that way and by the fact that we would live forever. However, when man fell/sinned he forfeited his spirit.

  Spirit is what gives us the possibility of everlasting life. Without it, we eventually die. When a man is “born again”, he receives the Holy Spirit. Then he is restored to his original form and is capable of everlasting life. Without that spirit, the body dies. It is debatable what happens to the soul then. Some say it returns to the Father who gave it. Others say it is condemned to hell and punished for eternity. I don’t know the answer to this one. I only know how I would want it to be. But I’m not God.

  Anyway, the soul is what makes you alive. It’s what makes you different from a rock or a table. The soul is the prime motivator and repository of all your actions, words, and memories. It is the “I am” that you call your “self” – that voice that’s speaking to you right now in your head. Your soul is not a part of your body. It is not your brain. Think of all the various parts of your body, with all its amazing systems functioning together as one, like a car. Your car, on its own, doesn’t do anything but just sit there in the driveway. You, the driver, have to get in the car and drive it before it will move or do anything. It is the same thing with your Soul. Without it, you do nothing and go nowhere. But you can die, and so can the car. I personally believe, that if you do not become indwelled by the Holy Spirit, your Soul does not return to God. And it does not go to a place where it is tortured forever and ever by demons and the Devil. The Soul without the Spirit can experience what the Bible calls “the second death”. The Bible in, The Revelation of John, states that Satan, all his fallen angels, the lost souls who followed him, and even death and hell will be cast into the lake of fire, after the Great White Throne Judgement, and will perish. This is the second death. The original Greek word for “perish” means to be blotted out or to cease to exist. It doesn’t mean torture for eternity. So that’s the way I see it. And to me, that sounds like righteous judgment. Eternal punishment is not. The second death is only eternal punishment in that it is finished forever. Those souls will never live again.

  Now back to God’s glory. What does the Bible mean when it talks about God’s glory? It’s the bright light that is difficult to even look upon. It’s the bright light that knocked Saul off his horse and blinded him on the way to Damascus. In heaven, there is no darkness, yet there is no sun or moon or stars. There is no day and night like on Earth - only eternal light which is the Glory of God shining forth from his presence. His Glory fills the whole of Heaven eliminating all cold and darkness. How wonderful it must be to bask in that Glory and know that it is a manifestation of God. Not apart from God but a part of God. And how sad would it be to miss out on experiencing God’s Glory?

  When God said, “Let there be light,” he created a kind of artificial Glory emanating from the stars for us to walk in. It is wonderful on a sunny day to bask in the sunlight. Just imagine basking in the real thing how much more wonderful it will be.

  Now let’s look at it this way. In quantum physics, all things, in reality, are energy. All energy differentiates into frequencies. So God’s Glory/Light is the ultimate and primal frequency. It is the frequency that generates all other frequencies. So, the Bible, in John Ch. 1:1, says, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” A word is a spoken sound or frequency. In that light (God’s Light), that opening sentence of the Book of John makes a whole lot more sense. In the beginning was the perfect, eternal, frequency, and the frequency was with God, and the frequency was God. When God spoke upon the face of the universe, his perfect frequency created new frequencies. The harmony of all these new frequencies became what we experience as the universe. But what we call our physical selves are only vibrations spoken into existence by God. But God did something else with us. He breathed his spirit into us. Spirit being a different kind of vibration or frequency. It is one that cannot be destroyed. It can be removed from us if we do not obey God, as it was with Adam and Eve. But it can never die. Neither can the Holy Spirit. That’s why blaspheming against the Holy Spirit is such an unpardonable sin. It will cause the Holy Spirit to remove itself from you. And you will surely die.

  So, that is the Glory of God. It is a light so bright you can hardly look upon it. But God is not just that perfect frequency of light. He is also an emotional being as we are. And as we do, so too does he have feelings. Now scientists will tell you that feelings are a result of chemical and electrical responses in the body to outside stimuli. It’s all about the chemistry, they tell us. And they are partially correct. But even all that “chemistry” boils down to just an interplay of frequencies of energy. Everyone who has ever had a near death experience (NDE) or what’s usually referred to as a “Mystical Experience” talks about an overwhelming feeling of peace, joy, and love. These feelings (or vibrations) are an aspect of God’s Glory. You can think of those feelings as harmonic frequencies embedded in God’s Glory. To be in his Glory is to experience ultimate peace, joy, and love because your own frequencies will resonate with His.

  All this puts a different light (no pun intended), on the subject of why we are told so much in the Bible about the angels singing to praise God. And why singing has always been an important part of our worship of God. Our harmonious vibrations sent forth to heaven are echoes of perhaps our spiritual remembrances of these heavenly frequencies presented as true worship to the Glory of God.

  May all within you be harmonious giving you peace, joy, and love by the Grace and Glory of God.

P.S. And if you think all that came from this little pea brain of mine, think again. Sometimes the Holy Spirit will even send vibrations to stir a poor old soul like mine.