Proof The Bible Is True

My wife, Mary Ellen and I have been married 53 years, and we always try to spend Thanksgiving with our kids. Some time between the turkey and the pumpkin pie, we’ll share the story of the first Thanksgiving that Mary Ellen and I spent together and how it could have turned out a whole lot differently. If I hadn’t answered the call.

 

It was Thanksgiving eve, 1959, and I was in my dorm at Miami University in Ohio, about to set out on a long drive to pick Mary Ellen up from her school, the College of Wooster, three-and-a-half-hours north. We’d met that summer when we were both counselors at the same camp, and we decided I would spend Thanksgiving with her family. Even though they lived much closer to my campus—only a half hour away—I’d offered to pick her up so we’d arrive together. It was worth it to go out of my way for her.  I tossed some clothes and my toiletries into a suitcase and looked out the window. Cold, but sunny. The drive should be no sweat.

 

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