Proof The Bible Is True

I live near Omaha, in southeastern Nebraska. If I ran to the basement every time I heard a tornado siren go off, I’d never get anything done. So when a siren wailed one Friday in June, just two days before Father’s Day, I didn’t pay it much mind. I wanted to get my dusting done before settling down for the day. Besides, it wasn’t even raining, with barely a cloud in the early-evening sky. Maybe they’re testing the system, I thought. They do that a lot around here.   Asher, our 12-year-old grandson who lived with us, winced at the [More]

Before heading to camp that summer I double-checked that I had everything I needed. Toothbrush. Check. Socks. Check. I touched my neck to make sure I was wearing my great grandmother’s necklace, a simple rose pendant on a gold chain. Check. I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.   I arrived at camp and quickly found my friends. “Come play capture the flag with us!” they said. The game was messier than we anticipated because the grounds were muddy from rain the week before. When we went to the bathroom to clean up I looked in the mirror [More]

My very first assignment as a minister was to an inner-city parish in Camden, New Jersey. There was drug dealing and violent crime within sight of our home, and rough characters knocked on our door at all hours of the day and night.   Not long after we arrived, I had to attend a week-long church conference out of town. I dreaded leaving my wife and three children alone in our new neighborhood. God, I prayed, take care of them.   My first spare moment at the conference, I called home to make sure all was well. My wife assured [More]

Here in the Midwest, we’re used to frigid winters, but that morning seemed colder than usual.   Maybe it was because my husband wasn’t sleeping next to me. He had gone out of town on a long trip. It was just me looking after our three daughters. We lived out in the country—no neighbors within shouting distance, and I felt vulnerable. At night I made sure to lock the doors and I prayed God would watch over us.   I’d woken up shivering, with a pounding headache. It was really cold, even for our 170-year-old house. Did our furnace break [More]

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 [More]

Lisa. Pray for Lisa. It was the strangest thing, this urge that suddenly came over me. It was as if an actual voice had spoken, firm and commanding.   Pray for Lisa? I prayed for my six-year-old daughter every night, just like I did for her brother and sister. But why now?   We were on the road, headed to my parents’ house for Christmas. Lisa was riding with my brother Bobby up ahead. I was following along in my car with my two other children.   Bobby was holding the speed limit, just like I had asked him to. [More]

My husband has a soft spot for strays. Driving down the highway one rainy day, we spotted a hulking mass of grayish-black fur, with paws the size of a bear’s, wandering along the roadside. “We already have two dogs and two cats,” I protested as he pulled over.   “We can’t just leave him there,” he said. “No telling what will happen to him.” He opened the door and the dog climbed in.   “Okay,” I agreed, “but we have to try hard to find his owner.” The dog seemed friendly enough, but there was a look about him that [More]

Ever since my husband, Ricardo, lost his job and we lost our home, I’d said the same prayer every day. Lord, help us find an apartment. Lots of light, warm and homey, a new kitchen, a clean, fully tiled bathroom. Outdoor space, like a balcony, would be nice, but asking way too much. A decent place would do.   Ricardo didn’t believe in prayer. But he didn’t have any other answers. We were renting part of a rundown house in Rockford, Illinois, not ideal conditions to raise our eight-year-old son.   It was dark and cramped, the floors cold and [More]

A teacher’s supposed to have the answers. I can teach my fourth graders the state capitals and how to write cursive; I can list all the books in C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia series.   But I can’t explain why some children died in the tornado that hit our school last May and the ones with me survived. All I can tell you is that the tragedy doesn’t mean God was absent.   My colleagues and I went back three weeks later to see the devastation where Plaza Towers Elementary once stood. Most of the debris had been hauled [More]

On Mother’s Day we celebrate all the miracles of motherhood.   But back in 1959, Peggy Rasmussen didn’t feel at all like celebrating. For Peggy, it was a reminder that she might never be a mother. She’d been praying and praying for a child, but it just didn’t seem like it was going to happen.   Then Peggy received a Mother’s Day message that spoke straight to her heart. Something that told her she was meant to be a mother after all.   My husband, Milton, and I were at church. So many happy families filled the pews, moms doting [More]

I tapped my pen against the kitchen table and stared at my to-do list. Plan side dishes, get the turkey, tidy up the house—Thanksgiving was two days away, and there was so much to get done.   But that wasn’t why I was anxious. My son, Bill, was driving home from school for Thanksgiving break. His first visit since he’d gone off to college. And he was late.   The phone rang. My husband, William, answered it. As he paced around the kitchen with the receiver to his ear, I heard snippets of his conversation: Car trouble. Transmission. Tow truck. [More]

I stopped by my mother’s house to water the plants while she was in the nursing home. Mom wasn’t doing well, and the doctors had told me to prepare for the worst. But in her house, surrounded by her familiar possessions—the photographs on the dresser, the vase on the dining room table, the throw on the sofa—everything seemed reassuringly unchanged, as if Mom could just walk through the door at any minute, her old self again.   I stepped into the living room. My eyes fell on an old wooden jigsaw puzzle in the shape of a puppy. It sat [More]

Every year, thousands flock to San Francisco to walk across that fabled vermilion span, the Golden Gate Bridge. They come for the sweeping views of the city, the fog-wreathed hillsides abutting cold gray waters. The bridge rises 220 feet above the bay. Below, sharks and sea lions swim and dangerous currents churn. Tourists crowd the walkway, braced against the wind, snapping photos.   On a cool, foggy September afternoon, I boarded a bus to the Golden Gate Bridge. I wasn’t a tourist. I didn’t care about the view. I was going to jump.   I sat at the back of [More]

“Some seniors from church are going to the Holy Land, and I’ve decided to join them,” my mother announced one evening. My brothers and sisters and I were relieved. We’d been worried Mom might never get over losing Dad. Her joy in life had gone out of her since he died. Even though she went to church daily, she seemed lonely and lost, as if her sorrow were too deep for anyone or anything to touch.   For years, my parents had talked about visiting the places they’d read about in the Bible, so I hoped this trip would help [More]

Lost: One irreplaceable ring given to me by my mother.   Suspect: An untrustworthy college roommate.   Problem: How to tell Mom the ring was missing while I was home on summer break.   I was a wreck. Dad gave Mom the ring way back when they were dating, a delicate white-gold band with a gorgeous emerald-cut ruby and a small diamond in the center. Mom entrusted it to me when I went off to college in Des Moines. I didn’t wear it much because the ruby was loose in its setting and I didn’t want anything to happen to [More]

The old Case 310 Dozer fired right up even after being idle for a few months. I had been on bed rest after gall bladder surgery, unable to do my farm chores, and was tired of being cooped up in the house. Even though I was still recovering, it was time to get a few things done. First thing—test the hydraulic functions on the dozer, make sure it was still in working order.   I backed the machine out of the tractor shed and into the dirt road. So far so good. I moved the crawler forward. All of the [More]

It was the day before Thanksgiving. But I wasn’t feeling very thankful.   I threw some clothes into an overnight bag, tried to keep my hands from shaking. I’d just gotten off the phone with my sister Toni. She’d given birth to a baby boy, Bradley, a week earlier, but he’d been born with a congenital heart defect. The doctors didn’t think he was going to make it.   My mom and I would be driving up to Kansas City to spend Thanksgiving with Toni and her husband at the hospital. I wished there was something I could do for [More]

Yet another cheery holiday tune was playing over the radio at the thrift store. I cringed. “Santa’s on His Way,” by George Strait: “Christmas is always my favorite time of year!” Not mine. Not now. I gripped my empty shopping basket’s red plastic handle in one hand and my gift list in the other and stared at the cracked snow globes and chipped mugs among other castoffs cluttering the shelves. What did I expect to find? This wasn’t Toys “R” Us. It wasn’t even Walmart. This was my last resort.   God, I’d prayed on the drive here, give us [More]

My date, Lisa, and I were huddled in the pitch black on a wooded ridge in the Colorado Rockies. All around us were rocks and sheer drops. We’d lost the trail. We were still a mile or more from the car. And it was getting colder by the minute.   I couldn’t believe I’d gotten us into this mess. I’d met Lisa through a family friend and invited her to hike Eagle Peak with me as our first date. I felt responsible for our safety and guilty that I’d put both of us in danger.   After all, I should’ve [More]

Take a gun and end it all, Sheryl, said a dark, mocking voice in the back of my mind. End it and all this pain and worry will be over.   I didn’t even own a gun. I had been in the middle of my nightly routine when the strange thought popped into my head. Now I just sat on my bed, staring blankly at the wall. It felt as though a literal weight were pressing down on me.   Suddenly something else snapped into focus in my mind, like mental whiplash. Not a thought, exactly, but an image. An [More]

I’ll never forget the story of how my neighbor, Ben Martin, came to help my mother one fall evening on our Oklahoma farm. I’m forever thankful to him… and to the mysterious ways that brought him there.   The sun was going down, the weather was turning cold. Ben had driven into town that day to pick up his mail. From there, he intended to continue on to Tulsa, 55 miles away, to see a show.   Ben pointed his pickup toward the highway. But just before he reached the on-ramp, the strongest feeling came over him. You’re needed back [More]

“Today is no day to be cooped up,” I said to my friend Mel. The grin he gave me said he’d been thinking the same thing.   It was Sunday—a gorgeous Sunday in April. When I left the house that morning, I told Dad I was going to church for Sunday school—and I honestly planned on doing just that. Until I ran into Mel.   He was headed to the town’s junkyard to look for salvageable cars.   “Come on,” he said. “There’s hidden treasure in that old junkyard, and we’ll see it sparkle in this sunlight.”   I had [More]

It was brisk and clear that February afternoon, ideal weather for getting shots of the construction site I’d been hired to photograph. At the Madison, Georgia, municipal airport, I made my preflight checks on my Cessna 172, inspecting the exterior—including the wings, fuel tanks, tires and engine. And then the interior—lights, gauges, instruments, radio and so on—as I went through the laminated pages of my checklists. A routine I’d followed diligently for 23 years as an aerial photographer.   I craved the comfort of routine. It had been a rough week for my family and me. We’d buried my brother-in-law [More]

The pain was sharp and sudden. It shot through my lower molar. I dropped the pair of khakis I had been folding into the open suitcase on my bed.   “Oh, no,” I muttered.   My husband, Mike, looked up from across the room. “What is it?”   “It’s this darn tooth,” I said, rubbing my jaw. I had a crown, but the tooth underneath was apparently infected. The dentist had warned it might become a problem. But that tooth couldn’t have started acting up at a worse time.   We were heading to Florida for a vacation with the [More]

Bang! bang! bang! I shot up in bed that mid-December morning in 1992. Someone was pounding on the door of my rented room at New Dramatists, an organization for playwrights in New York City. My hair a mess, I grabbed my robe and ran to the door. I threw it open to find Peter, the office manager, standing in the doorway. His face was as white as a sheet.   “Kimberly, are you okay?” he asked, visibly shaken.   “Yes, I’m fine! Why?”   “The building was robbed last night. You were the only person in here. Three floors have [More]

Pichilemu, my Chilean home, is known as the Capital of the Surf. People come from all over the world to ride our waves. My husband, Mitch, and I have lived here since the eldest of our five children was a baby, surfing and spreading the Gospel, living it in our home as well.   A couple Easters ago, I was especially focused on our youngest, 13-year-old Katrina. She and I had been talking about Easter in preparation for the upcoming service, but I wasn’t sure how much had really gotten through. Katrina has Down syndrome, and she often had trouble [More]

Mom pulled the big sedan onto the mountain road, the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway. From my seat in the back I gazed up at the pines that towered over us. The cliffs seemed to go straight up, higher than I could even make out through the window. We had been driving for nearly three hours, heading back to Florida from a family camping trip in Williamsburg, Virginia.   I looked back at the pop-up trailer we were pulling behind us, our home for the past two weeks. It had been a tight fit for the six of us—my mom and [More]