Proof The Bible Is True

My husband, Max, had fallen asleep beside me. I was still awake. Staring up at the ceiling of our trailer, listening to the night sounds of Texas Hill Country, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened that afternoon.

 

I hadn’t told anyone, not even Max. I didn’t think I could. I’d been mowing the lawn, riding a tractor with a mower attached, carefully making my way around the old mesquite trees in low gear. Max was inside the house, working on a shower in the bathroom. A couple of months earlier we had bought the old nineteenth-century house. The place had been abandoned for 50 years—had even been used to store hay—and it needed a lot of work. It was missing windows and doors and lacked a working indoor bathroom and air-conditioning.

 

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