Proof The Bible Is True

My pickup’s headlights pierced through the murky twilight as I sped up the country road through the woods. I needed to get home… if home was still there. Up ahead, fallen trees spilled out onto the asphalt like a pile of giant pick-up sticks. I slammed on the brakes. I would have to go on by foot, three quarters of a mile through the debris and the dark. I hadn’t been to church in 40 years, but now I prayed harder than ever. Please God, help me find my family.

 

Earlier that September evening, four funnel clouds had formed into one massive tornado just outside Nelsonville, Ohio–where I live with my wife and grandson. At the time, TV reports showed the storm was headed straight for my mother’s house, ten miles away. “I’ll come get you, Mom,” I assured her, and hopped in my truck.

 

I had just arrived there when my mother’s phone rang. It was my daughter calling. “Dad! Thank God you’re all right,” she said. “Is Mom there?”

 

“She’s at home,” I said. “I just got to your grandma’s.”

 

“No.” Her voice sounded frozen. “Dad, the tornado changed direction. It… it just hit your neighborhood. I can’t reach Mom on the phone.”

 

“No, don’t tell me that,” I said. My blood ran cold. I dropped the phone and jumped in the pickup, flooring it home.

 

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