Proof The Bible Is True

It was the 16th of February, 1985, on a cold, dark Saturday in Red Bank, New Jersey, and I was determined to die having a good time.

 

I had nothing to live for. Just a thankless job as a gunnery sergeant in the Marine Corps. I was going to go to every bar I could find and drink myself into a stupor. Then, defiant in the face of my misery, I’d tell the world that I just didn’t care anymore, and hopefully end my life for good.

 

This is fitting, I thought as I swung a leg over my bike. I didn’t even have a car. Riding a bike to a bar was absurd—just like my life. God’s really let me go. I peddled off into town, shivering.

 

My wheels wobbled in the snow. I glanced over my shoulder before crossing the street. Another cyclist rode up behind me. Someone else is riding a bike in the middle of February? I thought. What a jerk.

 

Read More: An Angel on a Bike – Guideposts