Proof The Bible Is True

Pichilemu, my Chilean home, is known as the Capital of the Surf. People come from all over the world to ride our waves. My husband, Mitch, and I have lived here since the eldest of our five children was a baby, surfing and spreading the Gospel, living it in our home as well.

 

A couple Easters ago, I was especially focused on our youngest, 13-year-old Katrina. She and I had been talking about Easter in preparation for the upcoming service, but I wasn’t sure how much had really gotten through. Katrina has Down syndrome, and she often had trouble making herself understood. How could I know my daughter’s questions so I could fully convey the power of the Easter message?

 

“Why don’t we go to the beach?” I said. Floating on our surfboards in God’s ocean seemed a pretty good place to talk about miracles.

 

“Yay!” Katrina said and ran off to find her powder-blue board. She was a strong swimmer on the local team and a good surfer too. That was no surprise in my family—Mitch would rather surf than eat, and I’d been a lifeguard for years in California. Katrina had a childlike wonder about the sea. Sand castles, surfing, starfish—all were magical to her. Through her eyes, it was magical to me too.

 

The beach was packed, and we threw our stuff down near some neighbors. Sun sparkled off the water. A few surf schools were having lessons in the shallow, peaceful bay. Beyond them, out in deeper waters, I could see waves of 30 feet or more. Only the most experienced surfers ventured there. One of the kids in our group was a beginner, so, ever the lifeguard, I went with her down to the water and took my time settling her on her surfboard—too much time for Katrina. I let her paddle out ahead of us. “Not past those people,” I told her, pointing to some surfing students. “I want to be able to see you.”

 

Read More: A Mother’s Easter Miracle | Guideposts