No Longer Relevant


No Longer Relevant

            Like lonely grains of sand transported by harsh winds and randomly rearranged into symmetrical peaks and valleys, so Time transports the hours, days, months, and years of Man into the peaks and valleys of Memory, there to dwell in Irrelevance of purpose, waiting for his ultimate destiny, moving with the wind through the joy and tears of his yesterdays, wistfully waiting, ruminating on myriad and arcane Mysteries of death’s new birth – to darkness, to another dimension, to be again without knowing if He once was.

There is so much to wish undone, so much to have accomplished, so much to cherish in those places of your life, yet, it is not lost on so many of us the now lack of relevance to our existence – inabilities, pains of the body and mind, forgetfulness, anger and self-loathing. But, then, we have still the passion to live and see another week, month, year, and we have that loved one who is the enabler, the one who smiles and dreams on into the tomorrows of life, not cowed by Time’s relentless passing…the one who brings to you soothing words that chase away for a time the demons that diminish twilight joys.

For me, there is a dear wife who loves me and caters to my needs. AND, there is my writing which keeps a young man wandering around in my body and mind…helping me to create books and characters of worth – at least, that is my consensus. Writing does something else for me. It keeps my mind active, keeps me away from the doldrums of self-pity and reviewing the past. As I’ve said many times, I still find pieces of me in and between the lines of what I write.

Although there might be times when I’m a ‘grain of sand’, irrelevant in the scheme of things, I have my devoted wife, my kids, their kids, and my Writing that keeps me a fair distance from those peaks and valleys.

One last thing, the books I write are fun in the drafting, in the editing and rewrites, and, I’m told, they’re a lot of fun to read. Many of the books are inspired by true events – mysteries, suspense, romance, memoirs, et al (14 books in all). NOW, if I only knew how to market them well, they would likely be well read. It’s my hope you will try one…each book is previewed on my website, along with some author comments and some book reviews. Please, try one of my books, read and review it on Amazon…good or bad. Readers, reviews, of course, are the life blood of authors.

Really, you Readers out there! You could keep me Relevant for a long time to come.

            Billy Ray Chitwood – April 4, 2017

Please visit my website, preview my 14 books, author comments, and some book reviews:

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The Truth We Cannot Know


The Truth We Cannot Know

The truth we seek

In our struggle to

Know Why our being:

Why a baby cries at birth,

Why a parent grieves at

The loss of a child,

Why tears flow when

Taps is played over our

Lost patriots during

A battle we cannot

Always so easily define,

Why there is a haunting

Of part of us called Soul,

Why we love,

Why we hate,

Why we regret,

Why there is joy,

Why there is despair…


We must wait for the

Answers of Why…

Until the darkness in

This life becomes Pure

Light in another dimension,

Promised by an immeasurable

And intangible Faith, at

Times fragile and weak,

At all times the only compass

For our mortal journey.


Billy Ray Chitwood – August 22, 2016


I write books of fiction and non-fiction, defined by a lucid style and entertainment quality – that of course is my intent. You’re invited to preview my books at                                 

My newest release is a romance novel that cuts across some different genres…its title: CLOUD DANCER. Preview this one at – it is in paperback and Kindle formats.

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It’s my hope you will read one or more of my books – and, perhaps, leave an Amazon and/or Goodreads review… the author’s life blood.


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Road Rage


Road Rage

I’m on my way to an appointment, driving the speed limit. I pull into the left-turn lane at the traffic light, stop, and wait for the light to give me the green arrow to turn.

Two young men, kids, really, pull up behind me and notice me looking in my rearview mirror – habitual for me. The kids start with the wild antics, making faces, raising fists, having fun at my elderly expense.

Now, I begin to see red (not the light, my anger!) and I give them the finger, throw the gear shift in park, and begin to open the door to invite them to try me out. The traffic light gives the green arrow, and I jump back in the car and make my turn, moving at a deliberate slow pace, now having a little fun of my own.

Looking in the rearview mirror, I see the kids now have a more solemn, worried look, thinking maybe they’ve started something they might not be able to finish.

Slowly, I go a little further, roll down my driver’s side window and motion for them to follow me to the gravel shoulder of the road. I pull to the side of the road they pass me and move on a bit faster.

I pull back on the roadway and build my speed until I’m tail-gating. I can see the driver’s face through his rearview mirror, and he seems now very troubled.

Another green traffic light is just ahead and the driver quickly turns right.

I turn right as well.

They Speed up.

I speed up.

Now the young guys seem genuinely concerned. They must figure I’m going to follow them to their ending destination, so they’re turning every few blocks.

After a few turns my anger is assuaged, so I end my pursuit that was never going to end in any kind of confrontation. I was able to produce the effect that my anger prompted.

Now, to analyze my behavior.

Juvenile! Dumb! Silly!

What the incident did show me is the inanity of road rage incidents. I allowed my quick-rising anger to dictate my actions which might have ended very badly. My anger can be understood (or, not!) in the comparative analysis of old versus young – ergo, I once was the age of those two boys in the front car and never did I disrespect the elders among me.

For a few moments I was nineteen or twenty in my brain, feeling awkwardness with my age, seeing the young men treating me as a mere taunting object without courtesy and/or respect. Me, I was acting out in response a dumb routine from my youth.

I’m just glad the anger wore off quickly enough to avoid any serious repercussions. This incident could very well have ended badly. The two younger men maybe had other motives, other plans for me.

(Has this kind of incident happened to you?)

Blog post by Billy Ray Chitwood – May 31, 2016

I write books of mystery, suspense, romance, memoir, et al. If you would like to preview the thirteen books I’ve written, you can find them on my website:

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The Open Book


The Open Book

The professor placed his glasses on the open book, rose solemnly from the comfortable chair, and took the stairway to the roof level of the old building, circa 1900.

He walked slowly the seven floors to the top. The door to the roof was seldom opened, so he tugged with some effort to get it open, the scraping sounds echoing eerily down the stairwell.

He stepped through the door onto the gritty and stained rubberized roof flooring, his feet giving slightly on the softened surface.

He looked all around, knew he was the only person on the roof, and walked to the far NE corner and stood at the short wall barrier, looked and found some blocks away his brick home with its old iron fence and gates. Clara was there now with all the memories of the past forty years.

His face carried his sixty-nine years in craggy lines and sorrow, his three-day old whiskers a mix of gray and white.

His mind was in no hurry in presenting him with the pivotal points in his life…the summa cum laude graduation and notable milestone accomplishments from this very university upon which one of its many roofs he now stood…marriage to his lovely Clara, an awe-struck young lady who found it so easy to fall in love with him…the happy years of noted achievements and awards…the unhappy day when the doctor declared there could be no children because of his lack of fertility…all the happy days with Clara, their talks about  adoption, and their decisions to travel, see the world, enjoy their lives…the awful day when the doctor announced that Clara had stage 4 cancer.

The thoughts continued as he stood, hands in his pockets, staring at the only home he and Clara ever lived in. His six-foot frame began to tremble with his tears as last night came vividly to him.

He suddenly felt used up, all those moments that mattered were no longer there…

Then he heard the police sirens, saw the cars with flashing lights. The cars were stopping at his house those few blocks away…

They would be finding Clara at any moment now…he could not let her suffer any longer.

Then, he stepped up to the short wall, tears flooding his face, and jumped to his death on the hard earth below.

Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood

April 19, 2016

(I write fiction and non-fiction- mystery, suspense, thriller, romance, memoir… Please preview my 13 books at my website –


my Amazon Author site.)

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Proud member of #ASMSG – #IAN – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven blog award nominations.


To Be or Not To Be

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To Be Or Not To Be

To Be or Not To Be

“You can go ahead and get dressed, Daisy. We’re finished with the examination.”

Dr. Pickering handed a hastily scribbled prescription to his nurse attendant, “Call this in to the pharmacy and tell them Ms. Catrell will be picking it up within the hour.”

Daisy Catrell zipped up the front part of her easy-wear workout top. “Will the pills hasten the miscarriage, Dr. Pickering?”

“No, Daisy, the pills are to lessen the daily anxiety you’re feeling. Look, I told you I’m not an abortion doctor. I know you’ve declared you don’t want the baby because you’re too young with too much living to do. You’re twenty-three years old and you should have had those thoughts before you engaged in sexual activity with your live-in room-mate…”

“But, Doctor, Jimmy doesn’t want the baby either!” She started to say more but saw the anger building in Dr. Pickering.

“’Doesn’t want the baby’!” the doctor slammed his file folder on the computer counter. “Daisy, you’re thirteen weeks into the first trimester of your pregnancy. Your baby has formed, has a face, a body, the fingers are growing nails. In the fourteenth week, you go into the second trimester where the baby will release urine into the amniotic fluid. Your baby will be able to form facial expressions, maybe even suck its thumb. You have a healthy life inside your body, being protected by you, nourished by you, fulfilling one of the most meticulous, miraculous and sacred rituals known to our world.”

Dr. Pickering paused, studied Daisy’s face, saw the tears forming and spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks.

“I’m so scared, Dr. Pickering. You’ve told me before how you feel, but I thought you were going to help me today.”

“I’m trying very hard to help you, Daisy.”

“My parents, they don’t know. It will be so hard for them to take.”

“Nonsense, Daisy, I’ve met both your father and mother. They’re sensible, caring, people. They will be there for you, even if Jimmy is not… I’ll be here to help you. This is a life we’re talking about, Daisy, not a toy doll. This person inside of you could grow up to be president, a great artist, a scientist, an inventor.”

“Oh, I’m so mixed up, doctor. You make good sense, but…”

“Look, Daisy, take the pills I’ve prescribed for you. Let’s see if they lessen your doubts. If you wish, bring Jimmy in and we will have a long talk about all of this. Will you do that for me? Will you, please, not do anything foolish at anyone’s suggestion? That would devastate me.

“I’ve been your family doctor for years. Please trust me on this. Come to full term on your pregnancy. If, at that time, your final wish is to give up your baby for adoption, I will help you. But, don’t kill it before it has a chance to see the world. Will you agree to that, Daisy? I promise you, the pills will help, and you will feel better, even excited, about this beautiful person you’re carrying inside of you. In just a few weeks we will know its gender. You can see the baby’s sex on mid-pregnancy ultrasound.”

“Okay, Dr. Pickering, I will agree. The idea is so new to me, and I’m flustered. And, what you’ve said here today has helped me a lot. Thanks for that.”

Daisy embraced the doctor and left the examination room.

On her way home, Daisy stopped at the pharmacy and picked up the prescription Dr. Pickering had ordered. The label on the pill vial noted: ‘Take one a day’. She bought a bottle of water and took a pill on the spot.

Daisy then decided at the last minute to drive by her parents’ house and share her pregnancy with them. It was time they were told, and she knew, as did Dr. Pickering, they would be loving and supportive.

On her way to her parents’ house, she thought about what Dr. Pickering said: His words made a difference the way he put everything. It’s neat that I may have a future president in my stomach, somebody who will possibly gain fame and fortune. Ah, it doesn’t matter so much about the fame and fortune – just be healthy, little person. You will surely get all the love you need. Old Doc Pickering knows how to reach a person with words. He changed my perspective. I think I always wanted this baby. Now, my tiny person of an unknown gender, I love you and will keep rubbing my tummy and telling you that every day until I hold you in my arms…

She saw the school bus too late as she went through the intersection. The bus was not moving very fast but it T-boned her and pushed her car into another moving vehicle.

Daisy Catrell and her unborn baby died at the scene instantly and without time to surrender to bodily and emotional pain.

              Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood- March 4, 2016

           My bio and thirteen books of Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Romance, Memoir…can be viewed on my Website:

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A Parable of Sorts


Because so much is happening in the world today, I thought I would get 2016 started with a short story I wrote back three years ago. It conveys the ugliness in the world but it has faith and love as well. Hope you enjoy:

It’s curious how the mind can wander off into a story.

During a ‘time out’ from working on my WIP (a new book) my mind began its wandering and somehow settled on some of the world’s more problematic issues – at least, from the perspective of someone living in the USA and being bombarded each day with unsettling news from far away places, news of Syria’s internal devastating turmoil, of Iran’s new leadership, plus a ‘new treaty’, and how it might hold little promise for relieving old angers and hatreds, news of a North Korea that seems always deleterious and scary…

I reached for my laptop and began to type this rather small piece that became a fanciful story. I decided at its conclusion that it had some ‘nuance’ here and there and decided to give it a title, “A Parable of Sorts.” I’m posting it here because I’m a writer who can hardly ever let anything I write, good or bad, go to waste. Hopefully, this little tale will not be too disconcerting to the senses. With this said, here’s the tale…

A Parable Of Sorts

Sasha begged him not to go. “You belong here with me, Leonid. The battle is within you, not with North Korea. What of us?” She tugged at his tattered coat.

He smiled benignly, “You’re a lovely and silly girl. You do not understand the reality of our time. To stay would be to defy my beliefs, my convictions, and, yes, my anger and hatred.”

“You would die for these beliefs and convictions, this anger and hatred?”

“We all must die, Sasha.”

“You brought me here to be left alone in a strange country?”

“Hong Kong is not a strange country, foolish one. We’ve been here sometime now. You know many of our native people. Go to them when your money runs out. Stay with them. Should something go wrong, I will return for you.”

“Please, Leonid, you go to die and you know it. You’ve told me of your plans. You go on a suicide mission. I’ve begged before and I beg of you, now, please stay!”

At the door of the small efficiency apartment, Leonid paused with his hand on the door knob. His dark eyes and handsome face held a strange and wistful look. He removed his hand from the door knob, returned to Sasha where she stood by the tiny dining table. “You are so beautiful, my blue-eyed wonder.” He embraced and gave her a long passionate kiss.

He then quickly twisted her head until he heard the snap. The lips were still in a half-smile as her head dangled and fell to his right shoulder, her blue eyes large and vacant in their death stare. In a whisper, he spoke, to the face he had loved, “Better you go this way, my dear Sasha, than to linger in life’s pain. You cannot know but I did love you.”

Leonid gently lowered her body onto a soiled stuffed chair just a few feet from the dining table, gazed upon her splayed form for some seconds, then slowly left the apartment. Tears welled but he willed them away, a final and essential part of his being had snapped and was forever lost to him.


Night, reluctant to shed its vagueness, was slowly showing its lightened eastern clouds as the sun gave way to earth’s perpetual orbital pattern. Leonid walked in the shadows along streets leading to the Kumsusan Memorial Palace. It was still quiet in this city known as ‘Flat Land’ in its translation. In his backpack he carried explosives with timer mechanisms that he would plant at key buildings. The explosive carefully strapped to his body he would save for the KMP.

His thoughts were well focused on his morning’s mission but he could not deny the flashing memories that brought him to this point in time…

His father, mother, and brother had been ruthlessly killed here in Pyongyang in 2012 by a squad of government gangsters of the ‘People’s Republic of Korea.’ His family was shown no mercy as they were chopped to death by machetes, labeled spies against the state. Four hours later his older brother and sister were pulled from their lodgings, beaten, and then chopped to death. The government squad had no ears to listen to his family’s protests of innocence, their legitimate reason for being in the ‘Flat Land,’ their labored cries of mercy.

Pyongyang’s government never wavered from their ill-gotten information about his family. Never mind that his mother had pleasantly refused to cater a special luncheon for the squad and their friends, the sole event and motive that brought the hatred and the killings. Never mind that his sister would be raped before she was chopped. The killings were all justified, each query quashed and forgotten by the government.

His marriage to Sasha prior to the family murders made home life an hourly ebb and flow of emotions. When sleep would come there were the hellish nightmares, waking, screaming the names of his dead family, his body slick with sweat and tears, Sasha clinging to him, sobbing, trying desperately to slay the night-dragons that possessed him.

Then came the job loss and it was as though the people of Hong Kong could see the rage in his eyes, the stench of hatred from his body. He became a man avoided and feared. Sasha tried to get him help, would set an appointment for him to see someone who might be able to help him, but he would not arrive at the set time. Sasha was the only person in the large city who could give him moments of relative calm, but then those times of surcease became fewer and fewer.

He would not bathe nor shave, only when Sasha would run his bath and physically pull and push him to the tub and wash and rinse him. For those few precious moments Sasha could almost sense some warmth come to him…but it never lasted long. The strange hatred that occupied him never resulted in personal damage to her. She did the talking, asking questions of him, and he bluntly answered the questions – until the fateful day he killed her! It was only some modicum of revenge that would fulfill what was left of his putrid life…

As he walked in the shadowy stillness, a voice came to him from an alleyway just a few feet away: “Leonid, I must talk to you. Come walk with me in the alley.”

Leonid stopped, momentarily startled…no one knew his name, knew that he was here in Pyongyang. “Who speaks my name?” He braced himself against a building corner near the alley, moving his hand near a detonator that would vaporize him and much of the immediate area.

“A friend, Leonid. Please come these few steps and talk to me. There is no harm intended. We will talk, and you can do then what you will.” The voice had a calm and soft cadence, and Leonid knew that the man spoke the truth.

Leonid walked a few feet into the alley until he saw a man’s form. What struck him were the man’s eyes. They glowed in the semi-darkness, matched the tenor of the stranger’s voice. Oddly, Leonid was not afraid of the stranger and walked some fifty feet further down the alley, stopping when the stranger sat on a wooden crate. The stranger bid Leonid to sit on another wooden crate nearby.

“How is it that you know me and what do you want?”

“I’m just a man who knows the pain you carry within you and the mission that you are on.”

“How could you possibly know such things?”

“I have been with you all the way from Hong Kong, Leonid, mourning with you the loss of your beloved Sasha.”

“I killed her! With these ugly knotted hands, I killed her. How can you know this, Tell me who you are and why you are here, or, I will…”

“Leonid, just a few questions I have and you can be on your way.” The stranger’s voice was mesmerizing, measured in softness and tone. “Why is it, Leonid, that we are here on this spinning orb we call earth?”

There was rapture in the stranger’s voice that commanded a response. “We are here to live in parables and to die and be no more.”

The stranger’s eyes seemed to glow more brightly and the long beard he wore was a pellucid whiteness that seemed somehow unearthly. Leonid quickly considered whether of not he was awake or in a dream.

The stranger spoke. “So, why is it that the moon falls from the sky, the sun does not bring us daylight, and birth has no precise process to follow?”

Still taken by the stranger’s soothing voice, but a bit nonplussed, Leonid responded. “But you know that is not so. What is your motive here?”

The stranger seemed not to hear the question. “Why is there no evil and good in the world?”

“Stop confounding me with your Socratic silliness. Of course, there is evil and there is good in the world.”

“And why do you think that is so?”

“God only knows.”

“You speak His name as though you know him, Leonid. Do you know God?”

“There is no God!”

“Yet, you say He knows about evil and good.”

“Look, your aura wraps me in some kind of spell and I seem compelled to listen to your words. Please tell me what it is you wish me to know.”

“One last question, your response, and I will say my final words to you. “Did you truly love Sasha?”

“Of course, with all my heart I loved her, but my heart and soul is heavy with grief and hatred.”

“Like the hatred of Jesus’ enemies as they crucified Him on the cross? Like the hatred of the Americans for the Japanese during World War Two? Like the psychotic hatred of serial killers?”

“Yes, yes! How else can I answer such questions?”

“You can answer such questions by having Faith that there is more to come beyond this life, by believing that evil only spreads when good people are paralyzed by anger, fear, and hatred. To Love is to have Faith. To have Faith is to have Love. These noble elements of living decide our ultimate destinies. People have choices to make all their earthly lives. They will not always make the right choices, but Faith and Love will make all the wrong choices bearable and inconsequential when the last grain of sand is gathered.”

As more light came to the alley Leonid thought that he understood what the stranger was saying to him. He wanted to say something but no words would come.

The stranger lifted himself from the crate and stood in front of Leonid. “May I touch your head, Leonid, so that it might bless you?”

With tears now flowing, Leonid merely moved his head downward. The stranger touched his head. Leonid sensed warmth on his head and a coursing flutter through his body. Then, the hand left his head.

When Leonid raised his head, the stranger was gone and daylight streamed throughout the alley.


When Leonid awoke, his head was on his own pillow. He was gazing at the adjoining pillow into the wondrous blue eyes of his beloved Sasha, a sweet smile upon her face.

“You look different somehow, my love. Do you still intend to carry out your vendetta against North Korea? Please say that you will not.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled her face to his chest.

“No, my precious love, there will be no vendetta, not ever…” Leonid tightly wound himself around Sasha and gave her a long and tender kiss. “I’m torn,” he said, “making love to you, or, bacon and eggs?” He paused only briefly, “Oh, to hell with the bacon and eggs…”

[END of ‘short story’]

Billy Ray Chitwood – January 2, 2016

Bill Chitwood

(Story was first written in June of 2013)

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What Madness is This?


What Madness is This?

What Madness is this?

This concoction of the mind

That delivers death and destruction?

This barbaric substance most evil –

Borne on the winds of perceived injustice?

Martyrs of vengeance promised paradise and virgins

For their rampant slaughter of wary innocents –

Cherished lives cut short, deprived their destinies?

Cannot these unfeeling devils of death know

That their quest for world dominance can never be?

There is too much nobility and wisdom among the

People of our world to surrender to such atrocities.

Each of us has lost something valuable in our lives –

No one lives without pain and suffering…

Cannot these vicious dogs of carnage and rage know

That GOOD will never be conquered by EVIL?

(BY: Billy Ray Chitwood – November, 2015­)


Writing of evil above, I carry the theme forward with Book 6 of the ‘Bailey Crane Mystery Series. A COMMON EVIL – Book 6 is the final book in the series and, as with each book in the series, stands alone. A COMMON EVIL is fictional but was inspired by a true event at the resort where I lived for several years – a Cartel shoot-out at the same lovely resort on the Sea of Cortez. Of course, the book deals with Mexican Cartel business, with murder and a lot of suspense. If you are into the genres of mystery and evil, you will enjoy the taut pace, the characters, and Bailey’s musings. The climax to the book is shocking and unusual. I hope you will enjoy the read.

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Life and Death


Life and Death

Why are there trees? Why do trees have so many branches? Why do the branches have so many leafy arms? Why do the leaves fall and die in the cold seasons? Why do new leaves appear on the branches in the warm seasons?

Of course, if we have paid attention in school and are lucky enough to remember, some of these questions are easily answered by Science: chlorophyll, sunlight, energy, photosynthesis…providing oxygen in the air…

Why do trees live longer than people?

Why do people gravitate toward Science, toward Medicine, toward Teaching, toward Farming, toward Religion, toward non-Religion, toward Crime?

Why are some people more intelligent than others?

The ‘whys’ of our living never end.

Life is considered precious by most of us. Who can argue when the sunrise comes and the sunset gives way to darkness? Who can argue with a beach walk with someone in love? Who can argue when a child is born after a meticulous and precise nine-month process? Who can argue with all the beauty we can see and feel near the sweet edge of ecstasy?


What if Death ultimately brings more fulfillment than the tactile and visual reality of what we call Life? Some of us fear Death, or, if not the event itself, the process by which we Die – a long prolonged death by cancer, by stroke, by a mind no longer functional in what most people would classify as normal. When the last breath is drawn and the body’s flesh lies in a soft plastic state, and an official master acknowledger of Death says it is so, when the family and friends stand mute and transfixed in that moment, unbelieving that the loved one is truly gone, what if the now missing energy of the deceased has really relocated to a unimaginable realm of beauty and peace, invisible to those of us remaining, but viewing in its new brilliance the mourning and now possessing a truth that bonds it with eternity?

For some, Faith in a Deity is firm and substantial. For some, Faith in a Deity is fragile and not as steadfast as they might wish. For some, Faith in a Deity is a meaningless pursuit of the mind…their lack of belief based on an experiential compendium of research and travels. Superfluously, except for some clairvoyant awakening and/or revelation, Faith is not something that one can normally apply the tools of tactility…though there are those throughout history who proclaim to have been touched, who proclaim they have felt, heard, and seen their religious experiences.  

For me, an agnostic can honestly question with humility a belief system based on religion. I have some atheist friends who have humility in their non-belief. I have seen some atheists who display arrogance in their non-belief and patronizingly see those who believe as intellectually challenged. Of course, each of us are free to believe as we are so inclined. The atheist’s argument gets weaker with each passing day. Science itself has agreed that the ‘big bang’ cannot answer all the questions relative to ‘first cause’, evolution, hate, love, hell, and heaven.

Why not Faith? Why not belief in a higher authority beyond our orb? We believe and die, we experience the wonderful options of the hereafter. We do not believe and die, perhaps the options are not so great, or, not at all. So, it can be said that I can live with my faith, die, and there are no eternal rewards, just, well, black nothingness. In such a case, though I believe it impossible, my Faith is for naught. Thus, my tenuous beliefs in a Higher Authority are based on some amazing everyday miracles like birth precision, love, miracles, moon, ocean, sea, science, sun, sunrise, sunset, and throw in some historical documents like the Old and New Testaments, scrolls, and the overwhelming numbers of believers throughout the world.

Bad and good coexist side by side for a purpose. Do I know the purpose? No. A son, a daughter dies in illness or in a horrible way, leaving the parents bereft and paralyzed with grief. An earthquake, a flood, a tornado, a tsunami, takes tens of thousands of lives, and our hearts and souls take tumbles. People love, marry, divorce, re-marry…love ebbing and flowing. Do I know the purpose? No. But, I do believe that there is a reason for every action, deed, and thought of Man that goes beyond mortal understanding. My only badge for that belief is Faith. Perhaps there are some things the intellect computer cannot print out.  

The question to be begged is, why would you not have Faith in a Higher Intelligence, the possibility of eternal peace? There is enough darkness in life to go with the light. Why not believe something much better is awaiting us at death? Who can answer with certainty the question, ‘What happens at death?’    

Billy Ray Chitwood – January 6, 2015

Keep going!

There is more to follow!

Now, I hope to pleasantly engage you with a promo for one of my books. The title of the novel is, Murder in Pueblo Del Mar. This ‘Bailey Crane Mystery’ was inspired by an actual murder of an Arizona wife and mother while on holiday in Mexico along the Sea of Cortez. It was a particularly brutal homicide and my fictional account uses the forensics of the day and draws the characters as my mind perceived at the time. It is, like all my ‘Bailey Crane’ books, not the usual detective caper. ‘Bailey’ tells the story, fusing and musing the elements while filling out some details of another sad and personal story which also has some authenticity…not only for ‘Bailey’ but for the author himself.

Please give it a read, and, if convenient, give it an amazon review. Thank you.



Amazon Worldwide –

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Comments are always welcome.

My links appear below: (bio and links) (bio – my books – reviews) (Author Social Media Support Group)  (Independent Author Network – IAN – bio – books) (@brchitwood) (author page) (sample book reading)

 Proudly presenting my BLOG AWARDS below:

most-influential-blogger-e1364230844577 (1) liebsteraward reality blog award one-lovely-blog booker-award very-inspiring-blogger-award11-1 beautiful-blogger-award inner-peace-award the-wordpress-family-award