Proof The Bible Is True

With every nerve in my body tensed, I hurried down the dark streets of San Francisco’s Mission District. Frightening even in the daytime, the neighborhood took on a sinister life of its own in the early morning hours.

Only an emergency would have gotten me into those filthy alleyways at 2 a.m., and that was exactly why I was there that night in 1956. Clutched in my hand was my third-grade report card. It had to be signed for school the next day; “No excuses,” my teacher had warned. So I had to find my mother.

Read More An Unlikely Angel Protector – Guideposts.