Going Home: What We Do in Life Echoes in Eternity

By Don Sealey

Many of the details of the main character’s life parallel’s actual life events of the author. The author earned an MBA in finance, served four years in the military, and 14 years with the Department of Homeland Security. The motivation for the book arose when a Jewish friend asked him to describe his feelings about the afterlife. After that, he wrote the book with inspiration for the story being the Two Great Commandments from the Bible as well as thoughts from The Inescapable Love of God by Thomas Talbott and finally a lifetime of experiences. The author was highly inspired by a quote from the movie Gladiator, “what we do in life echoes in eternity.”

The book was intended to be more action/romance than spiritual but as he experienced a spiritual awakening of his own, the author’s point of view of the world changed. People would ask, “how are you doing?’ and he would answer, “better than I deserve.” The author was dazzled at the extent of religious fervor in many communities but was all too keenly aware of the sadness and desperation brought about by generational poverty on the part of many and generational greed on the part of others. He was also deeply saddened at the spread of godlessness in the secular world. The author earnestly wants to produce an allegory showing a broken special ops soldier, representing every broken man or woman within the reach of this book, nevertheless making his way to heaven to experience the love of God. How can such a man, or any of us, achieve eternity in heaven with the Holy Father when faced with all that we have done?

Joe, the special ops man, was told by the archangels that ever since the fall of man in the Garden of Eden there had been a vicious struggle in the Universe between God and the Devil for the souls of the living. The angels in heaven are tasked to assist the Heavenly Father in this struggle. Joe and other warriors were masters of the skills needed to help the Heavenly Father in this effort.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jul 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781489728968

Don Sealey

The author was born in Cleveland, Ohio from two Florida crackers. In college, his mother was a member of Phi Beta Kappa and, after medical school, his father was a successful doctor. In his middle years he was an avid reader and consumer of television programming such as Touched by an Angel, Highway to Heaven, and Star Trek. He enjoys the writing of Carl Sagan and Robert Ludlum as well as his uncle, Tom Morrill. Having been raised as a Southern Baptist, he has a strong familiarity with the Bible. Much of the details of the main character’s life in this book parallel actual life events of the author. The author earned an MBA in finance, served four years in the military, and 14 years with the Department of Homeland Security. He was trained initially as a bank credit analyst whose function was to evaluate the feasibility of loan requests. The motivation for the book arose when a Jewish friend asked him to describe his feelings about the afterlife. After a substantial amount of research, he wrote the book with inspiration from the penitent thief from the Bible as well as thoughts from The Inescapable Love of God by Thomas Talbott and Where God Was Born by Bruce Feiler. The primary thesis of the book is that the love of God encompasses all his children on Earth and it is unthinkable that anyone would be barred from Heaven simply because he is not a Christian.

Book preview

I

In the Jungle

The Black Hawk helicopter plowed through the thick night air on the way to a clearing in the Nigerian jungle. It carried an experienced pair of ex-Army Ranger special operators who were contracted by an obscure government agency to extract a local warlord’s girlfriend, known to them simply as the package, from a rival gang.

Edgar Rodriguez, who had been stroking an ever-present crucifix between his thumb and trigger finger for about two hours, elbowed his dozing partner, Joe Rossi. Wake up, amigo, he said with a smirk. The crew chief worries that you might be dead. We’ll be at the landing zone in about ten minutes.

Joe opened his eyes slightly and said, I wish you’d stop playing with that thing, Edgar. It makes me worry you are trying to ward off some kind of doomsday apocalypse by rubbing it.

Listen Joe. Like I’ve told you before, everything about this life is temporary. This thing, as you call it, focuses me on what is forever. That’s where I am placing my trust.

Joe shook his head in mock disbelief and managed a thin smile. This is what brings me comfort, he said stroking his MP-5 rifle.

Edgar had gotten his crucifix from his father many years ago. He usually wore it inside his shirt and had gotten used to the frequent ribbing of his macho team members who imagined that all they needed to deal with the situation was guns, muscles, and bravado.

Five minutes out, shouted the crew chief.

Joe nodded, feeling the helo start to descend.

Changing the subject to something less controversial, Joe said, I’m still stewing over our being sent on this mission so soon after the last one. It is getting to feel like too much. Seems to me we have danced with the devil enough times over the last fifteen years to have earned a stint doing something easy like being instructors for the new guys.

By that time, Edgar’s thoughts were elsewhere. Copy that, muttered his long-time partner, still stroking his cross but thinking about his wife and family. In this line of work a married man is either very close to his wife or disturbingly distant. Edgar was still romantically involved with his wife. She and the two kids were everything to him.

Joe and Edgar were a menacing looking duo dressed in jungle fatigues with all exposed surfaces of their skin covered in jungle camo face paint. Not knowing what kind of opposition they would encounter, the experienced pair of operators brought along a significant amount of firepower. Both carried an MP-5 rifle with sound suppressor for close combat. Edgar also carried the MK14 sniper rifle. Their side arms were the Sig Sauer P226.

Moments later, they felt the ground impact against their boots as they slid off the rails of the helicopter. Just using hand signals to communicate, they headed for the steamy rainforest, still wet from the last downpour.

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Having done this many times before, they entered the jungle like a breeze passing through the leaves. When the helo vanished into the night sky, the only sound remaining was the raucous chorus of cicadas and other nocturnal jungle residents who barely noticed their presence.

Joe took the lead down the narrow, almost overgrown animal trail for about three miles until they reached their target, a large dilapidated house in a clearing. Only one light shone inside. Outside the house, a lone guard leaned against a tree with his head drooping. He appeared to be asleep on his feet.

Edgar carried the sniper rifle but opted for a non-lethal takedown. Shooting this guy when he’s asleep on his feet is not necessary. Beside he’s just some schlub like you and me working to feed his family, whispered Edgar. Within minutes, Edgar crept up behind the man and placed him in a sleeper hold. The guard struggled but Edgar was too fast and too strong. They tied and gagged the unconscious guard.

Joe and Edgar approached the house wearing their night vision goggles. When they reached the back door, Joe gripped the rusty door handle and found it unlocked. "Ahhh crap," he thought to himself.

"An unlocked outside door usually shouts DO NOT ENTER. But they enter anyway."

Joe turned to look at Edgar and pointed inside.

Edgar gave him the thumbs up for approval.

The building layout consisted of one large combination living/kitchen area with one hallway off the main room leading left and one leading to the right. The kitchen area reeked of greasy food left for days. The stench made them both queasy. Joe signaled for Edgar to check out the hallway on the left. He would take the one on the right. They gave each other a thumbs up and went their separate ways.

Joe crouched and started his search making as little noise as possible. He strained to hear any signs of life – either from the captive or her captors. Almost no light shone in the hallway. He reached for the knob to the first doorway but froze when he heard a burst of automatic weapons fire behind him. From Edgar’s direction. He turned to provide backup to his longtime friend and partner. His heart pounding.

Joe ran through the main room toward the hallway on the left. The three shooters inside the room heard Joe thundering in their direction and began to fire through the wall. Joe hit the floor when he heard the first shots. He could feel plaster falling on his back. Then Joe saw Edgar sprawled in the doorway. He wasn’t moving. Hoping for any sign of life in his friend, he felt for a pulse in the carotid artery in Edgar’s neck. No pulse. Edgar was gone.

Joe reached for two flash grenades, crawled to the doorway next to Edgar’s body and hurled the grenades around the corner and into the room. His hunger to retaliate against the shooters left him unconcerned about the package, who had obviously been used as bait by Edgar’s murderers. The deafening sound and the intense light from the grenades produced the intended effects on the shooters inside. They were stunned and temporarily blinded.

The mixture of rage and adrenaline rendered him indifferent to his own safety. They killed his best friend. Mechanically he stood, checked his weapon, adjusted his night vision goggles, and strode into the room firing at the stunned shooters until he was the last one standing. The whole scene – Edgar dead, the greasy stench from the kitchen, and the whimpering fifteen-year old package in the middle of the room – brought a lump to his throat and tears to the eyes of this hardened veteran. He couldn’t imagine how to tell Lucy she had become a widow and their two kids would grow up without their father.

He looked down at Edgar’s body and thought, I hope that cross brought you whatever you thought it would. It sure didn’t save your life.

Dear Lord, my best friend and three other soldiers blown away just so we could rescue some jungle thug’s underage girl friend. I can only imagine some inconsequential government puke behind a desk wanted the package rescued with the vague hope, bordering on wishful thinking, of gaining the war lord as an intelligence asset. Good luck with that," Joe thought, with a disgusted look on his face.

Carrying the body of his best friend back to the helicopter, with the package tethered behind him, he thought to himself, Edgar had it right. Why didn’t I listen to him? This job is finally beginning to feel wrong on too many levels. More and more, the cost of the operation outweighs the benefit. It’s past time for me to bow out. But what’ll I do?

After delivering the package to his local contact, Joe climbed aboard a huge grey transport plane for the long, and now, lonesome ride home. Edgar’s blood was still on his uniform. Survivor guilt was eating him alive. How could I let Edgar get shot? Why him and not me? How can I help his family get through their suffering? Crap, Edgar, why did you have to get yourself killed? I already miss you more than you know.

II

Arlington National Cemetery

Joe came early to Edgar’s funeral to spend a few private minutes with his friend. He remembered Edgar saying he hoped the weather would be warmer when they returned from their mission. Well, it was warmer. The only problem, Joe found himself standing in the middle of Arlington National Cemetery next to Edgar’s casket. From where Joe stood, he could see across the Potomac River to Washington, DC. Spring weather replaced the winter winds and the cherry blossoms were beginning to bloom. The sun shone bright but Joe’s mood was dark.

They had been to funerals at Arlington many times before but this time was way different. The finality of the occasion was suffocating. Joe’s head drooped and he muttered to his dead friend, Edgar, from here you can see the seats of political power in DC. This is where those overpaid sons-of-bitches sit and decide how to spend the lives of people like you and me. I imagine our boss across the river got kudos because of our work. Maybe even a larger office.

Are you talking to yourself, Joe? said Art Segal who walked up the hill toward Joe who was standing at the grave site. This brought an abrupt end to Joe’s soliloquy.

No, said Joe. I was just saying good-bye to Edgar. He and I have been through a lot over the last twenty years. I can’t tell you how bad it hurts to say good-bye.

You know the three of us will always be brothers ever since those years we spent together as Army Rangers, said Art.

Glad you could make it. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, said Joe.

I wouldn’t have missed this chance to say good-bye to Edgar but more importantly I sure don’t want to come to one of these funerals for you. Listen, Joe, time marches on. Both of us are over forty now. How much longer are you going to keep doing this special ops crap? You must know there is some bozo walking around in the jungle somewhere in the world with a bullet with your name on it. Twenty years of this is enough, don’t you think?

Art put a kindhearted hand on Joe’s shoulder, Times like this bring out the big brother in me, Joe. You know you can call me any time if you want me to find you a job in my agency. By the way, haven’t you found some nice lady who can make an honest man out of you?

Joe gave him a sidelong glance. There have been a few close calls with the ladies but I never could close the deal. I will admit the idea of settling down is beginning to appeal to me more than ever.

A person’s ideas of what is important tends to change as we get older, ya know, said Art in his New England twang.

With the ceremony beginning, the first clear notes of Taps stirred the air. Joe and Art stood stone-faced while the bugler played the mournful tune. A gentle breeze blew as Edgar’s body descended into its final resting place. Joe imagined the wind whisking his friend’s soul off to Valhalla Where, as the Viking Prayer states, the brave will live forever.

I never get used to hearing Taps. It always sends a chill up my spine, said Art.

Joe solemnly saluted the coffin. I’ll see you again in the afterlife, Edgar, but hopefully not any time too soon.

After the ceremony concluded, the two friends walked over to pay their respects to Edgar’s wife and two children. The children wept but Edgar’s wife, Lucy, seemed to be holding it together like an ancient Mayan stone carving. Her expressionless eyes melted when she saw Joe. She gave him a strong hug and broke down in tears.

Joe said softly, Anything I can do, just call me. I am so very sorry.

Lucy looked at Joe with tears in her eyes. You were all he ever seemed to talk about. I believe he would have followed you to the gates of hell.

It feels like Hell is where we were, said Joe.

Joe looked sympathetically at her. You know, Lucy, you and the kids were all he ever talked about to me. He loved you so much.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope bulging at the seams, and handed it to her. They have been paying us more than I need so I want you to take this money to make sure you and the kids are comfortable.

Lucy held Joe’s arms. I think we are going to be alright, Joe.

"Please take the money, Lucy. I would have done anything for Edgar when