Proof The Bible Is True

“Stop the car!” Deb King said to her husband, Jim, that Thursday afternoon. She didn’t mean to shout, but it came out that way so she squeezed Jim’s arm to reassure him.

 

“Honey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have gone this way. I should have taken a different route.”

 

“No, it’s okay, Jim. Just stop the car. Now. Please. It’s important.”

 

Jim pressed down on the brake and pulled the car over to the shoulder of the interstate. It was the exact spot where he and Deb had had the accident.

 

Jim is a pastor, but he likes to cultivate a bit of a wild side, which includes taking a joyride on his motorcycle every Thursday, his day off. That’s what he and Deb were doing a month earlier when near-tragedy struck.

 

They had just entered the interstate, on their way to Freeport, Maine, for lunch at a romantic seaside restaurant. Jim is a good driver. He gunned the bike carefully, merging onto the highway. Deb could see the speedometer over his shoulder, her arms wrapped around Jim’s waist: 40 miles per hour, 45, 50, 55…

 

She tightened her grip on her husband. She loved being this close to him, loved the rushing wind, the sensation of speed, the roaring engine as it shifted gears. They hit a part of the highway that was being resurfaced. The right lane was grooved and rough, the left freshly paved.

 

Jim wanted to get out of the right lane. He edged the bike off the rough surface. The front tire made it onto the smoother lane easily but the rear tire hit a groove. The bike wobbled then skidded. Jim desperately tried to maintain control.

 

All at once Deb went flying. She hit the pavement, bounced hard on her side once, twice, then rolled toward the median. She thought she would never stop rolling. Finally she came to a stop in the tall grass. She knew at once she was hurt. Only her helmet had saved her life.

 

Jim pulled the bike over and came running, desperately shouting his wife’s name and pulling out his cell phone.

 

In minutes, EMS arrived. They strapped Deb to a hard board and loaded her into the ambulance. By now it was clear that her injuries were not life-threatening. But she had noticed something else: her wedding ring. She held out her left hand toward Jim. The platinum setting was there, but the sparkle was gone.

 

“Jim, the diamond!” she gasped.

 

“It doesn’t matter, Honey,” Jim said. “As long as you’re okay.”

 

“It does matter!” Deb cried. “You have to find it. I’ll be fine.”

 

Read More: The Case of the Missing Diamond