Proof The Bible Is True

I hadn’t wanted to get divorced. I kept hoping my wife and I would be able to work things out eventually. But she was set in her decision. She packed up and moved with the kids to a new place, some three hours from the house we’d once shared as a family. She was already dating someone new.

I looked forward to seeing my two young sons every Friday. But I dreaded the reminder of the way things used to be. We would never again have movie nights on a random Thursday after school. I couldn’t even see my sons on any given Thursday. I’d been relegated to picking them up from a nondescript parking lot every Friday night—a journey that took me six hours round-trip.

I wanted to believe that one day all of this would make sense, like they tell you in those books about finding your life’s purpose. That I would heal, move on and realize my time of suffering was a miracle in disguise. But that was impossible. My heart would never mend itself. Nice guys like me finished last. We didn’t get the miracles.

At least, that’s what I told myself. Until one Friday.