Proof The Bible Is True

When we were kids, my sister, Jane, and I often went to visit our grandparents Tom and Nellie Newsome in Talladega, Alabama, a four-hour drive from our home in Columbus, Mississippi. We’d hang out in Grandpa Tom’s country store, playing I Spy; my sister would spot something in the store and I’d have to guess what it was. There was a lot to choose from—baskets of apples, jars of pickles, or the cute little boy in a cowboy hat pictured in the huge advertisement hanging in the corner.

 

Then Mama New (she said the word grandmother sounded older than she felt) would lead us around the bend to their farmhouse and let us bake with her. By the end of the day, the kitchen floor would be blanketed with sugar and we’d be hoarse from telling stories. Mama New’s favorites were miracle stories. She didn’t just believe in miracles—she expected them.

 

“You just have to talk to God about what you need, and he’ll take care of the rest,” she told us. As Jane and I grew up, our favorite topic of discussion with Mama New became romance. One by one our friends settled down, and Jane and I started to get a bit worried about being single. After a particularly painful breakup, Jane announced she was giving up on marriage altogether.

 

Read More: A Miracle Come True – Guideposts