Proof The Bible Is True

My husband Randy knelt at his grandmother’s grave and set down a vase of flowers, carefully arranging the stems so each blossom faced the sun. He was still as broken up as he had six months ago, when he’d held his grandmother’s hand just before she passed away. They’d always been close. He lit up whenever he recalled the days he spent with her as a child, helping feed the chickens she raised, and her prized Rhode Island Red Rooster. I wished I could comfort him, but I wasn’t sure how.

 

That night a massive summer storm swept through town. We were staying with Randy’s mother, and the winds were so fierce they made the old house creak. The next day, Randy seemed distracted. “You know, I bet those flowers were knocked down last night,” he said, out of the blue. “We should go set them up again.” I could tell he was upset. We hopped in our truck and headed back to the cemetery.

 

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