Proof The Bible Is True

In 1954, when I was six years old, my family went on a road trip that has since become legend.

 

My parents, sister and I were driving from our house in Fayetteville, Arkansas, to Mom’s hometown in Texas. As night fell, we found ourselves on a deserted dirt road in Oklahoma, nearly out of gas. We hadn’t seen a service station in hours. It was getting late. My parents tried to hide their growing panic as the gas gauge crept toward empty, as empty as the road ahead of us.

 

Then a gas station appeared on the horizon.

 

It was run-down. Covered in vines, with crumbling concrete walls. If not for the immaculately uniformed attendant inside, we would have thought it was abandoned. What was it doing here, in the middle of nowhere? And why was it open so late? Dad was too relieved to question it. We filled up and were on our way.

 

The rest of our trip was uneventful. We took the same route back home. We came across that stretch of road in Oklahoma. We kept our eyes peeled for the service station. But we passed only empty fields. It was as if it had never been there at all.

 

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