He grew up in the American Midwest, where you learned early that competition was not optional — it was the currency of respect. You competed, or you watched. He competed.

That instinct never left. It just changed arenas. From the playing fields of youth to the flight lines of the Air Force, from the technical precision of Special Operations intelligence work to the raw physics of road racing — he has always been in a contest of some kind, and he has never been comfortable on the sideline.

He served in the United States Air Force Special Operations community — the kind of work where the margin between a good analysis and a bad one is not a grade on a report, it is something else entirely. That experience does not leave you. It calibrates you. You learn to weigh evidence differently when the stakes are real. You learn that discrepancies in a witness account do not automatically mean the witness is lying. You learn that the most dangerous thing in the room is often not the threat — it is the analyst who has already decided what the answer is.

He brought that calibration home. Applied it to the hardest questions he knew. Found that the evidence held.

He is a father of five. That is not a credential. That is a weight, a joy, a daily argument for why truth matters — because five people are going to inherit whatever world the arguments of this generation produce. That is reason enough to stay in the fight. That is reason enough to keep the fire alive.

And he does. Right now. Not eventually. Not in retirement. Now.

He still races. VIR. Mid-Ohio. Road Atlanta. Summit Point. Nelson Ledges. New Jersey Motorsports Park. Two Corvettes, six circuits, the same discipline every time: trust the data, hold the line, brake where the braking point is — not where it feels comfortable. The car does not care about your feelings. Neither does the evidence.

That is, more or less, the whole thesis of this site.

The handle is IAMHVNBNDRU. It is not a username. It is a declaration and a question — I am heaven bound, are you? He has been asking that question since 1995, across thousands of conversations, in person and in print. Not as a taunt. As a genuine inquiry. Because he has looked at the evidence — really looked — and the answer he found changed everything. The only possible time to know the truth of anything — especially the truth about God — is now.

First, he asks if they know what it means. Most don’t. Then he tells them: Heaven Bound. Then the conversation starts. Wouldn’t that be awfully conceited — to suggest anyone actually knows they’re heaven bound? Who in their right mind could ever know that?

And of course — he is the one who knows that. Not arrogance. Evidence. The same demand for precision he brings to the track, to the analysis, to the page. You hold the line where the data says to hold it, not where it’s comfortable. The plate is not a boast. It is an opening.