Proof The Bible Is True

Bears were common in the Smoky Mountains come fall. But when one of them started raiding our family’s beehives, I grabbed my rifle and cow horn and headed up Chestnut Mountain with my hunting dogs to track him down. The dogs picked up a scent in the huckleberry bushes. I ran after them, determined to keep up. Soon we were a mile deeper into the mountains than I’d wanted to venture that morning.

I sat down on a log to catch my breath. I could hear the dogs barking as they trailed the bear along the far ridge line. Then I heard something else—distant thunder. I turned to the west, shading my eyes from the sun. A long line of yellow-gray clouds filled the sky. Lightning streaks danced down from the clouds in thin, branching threads. “Dry lightning,” I said. “There sure ain’t any rain in that mess.”

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