Proof The Bible Is True

On October 29, 2012, Superstorm Sandy slammed the Northeast. And like many folks, I won’t ever forget it. More than one hundred people lost their lives. Thousands lost their homes. My Jersey Shore town was dealt a brutal blow and recovery is still a work in progress. But there’s another reason I can’t forget this storm. A moment, actually. One that irrevocably strengthened my faith.

It was 5:00 am, one week after Sandy. “Morning, babe,” my husband, Chip mumbled, shutting off the alarm. “Gonna be a rough one.” Chip’s a police officer and he was gearing up for another 16-hour shift. The night before, a nor’easter had dumped a foot of heavy, wet snow and caused even more destruction.

“You get ready and I’ll clean off your car,” I said.

Outside sirens wailed. Transformers exploded, illuminating the dawn sky in flashes of bright blue and green. Branches and tree limbs crackled and snapped all around our acre lot.

After I cleaned off Chip’s car, I figured I’d do mine too. I started at the front, then stepped around to clear the rear windshield. That’s when I heard a voice: “Move,” it said.

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