Proof The Bible Is True

Fiery ash spewed thousands of feet above Mount Pinatubo. Molten lava cascaded down the flanks of the ancient volcano on the island of Luzon in the Philippines, destroying everything in its path. It was June 15, 1991.

 

My husband, Chuck, and I saw a news ticker about the eruption from 8,000 miles away in Niagara Falls, New York. Our daughter, Cindy, her husband, Ed, and our grandkids had been lucky to get out alive. They’d been evacuated from Clark Air Force Base, where Ed was stationed, near the capital city, Manila.

 

Cindy had called us earlier from a naval station in Subic Bay in the Philippines. “The kids and I are safe,” she said. “Ed stayed behind to clear the base while movers pack our things. He’s waiting for his next assignment. Can we stay with you and Dad?”

 

“Of course!” I said. It was hard living so far from our grandbabies. We were proud of Ed’s service, but we hadn’t seen Cindy or our 14-year-old grandson, Eddie, in seven years. We’d never met our youngest grandchildren: Eric, seven, and Evelyn, four.

 

How many birthdays had we missed, how many holidays? We only had the photos that didn’t come often enough in the mail.

 

Read More: A Family Reunion Arranged by God