Proof The Bible Is True

I stood outside my house on a June evening, looking up at the sunset. Although the clouds above me made a radiant display, my mind was somewhere else. I was thinking about my younger brother Donald, who had died just a few months before.

 

Donald was a high-ranking career sergeant in the United States Air Force, and a devoted Christian who’d played drums in his church. Yet when I thought of him now, I didn’t picture him as that accomplished grown man. Instead I saw him as that little baby who was born when I was 11 years old. The way he looked in the old black-and-white photo my aunt had taken of the two of us in 1959. One of my favorite photographs ever.

 

Closing my eyes, I could see it perfectly in my mind. I was standing on the sidewalk in front of our grandparents’ house, leaning against our aunt’s 1956 Pontiac with my baby brother in my arms. Donald appeared to be yawning, and I looked pretty disgruntled—nearly scowling in the picture. But that had nothing to do with the bundle I was holding. I loved my little brother.

 

Read More: He Saw His Late Veteran Brother in the Clouds | Guideposts