Proof The Bible Is True

I’m a CSI, a crime-scene investigator, for Los Angeles County and it’s a 24-hour-a-day, 365-day-a-year job. Even on Christmas Eve. I went to bed that night hoping to sleep until morning, when my three daughters would rush in, giddy and impatient to open their gifts. But at midnight the phone rang. “We need you at a crime scene,” the dispatcher said.

 

There had been a home burglary in a poor area of the city. “It can’t wait until the morning,” the deputy at the scene told me when I called for details. “You’ll understand when you get here.”

 

I drove to the location. The deputy met me at the door. “Try and be quiet; their kids are sleeping,” he said, leading me inside.

 

A man and woman were holding each other in the dimly lit hallway, their eyes red from crying. I walked into the living room. Now I understood. Lying on its side was a skinny Christmas tree, nothing but carpet where Christmas presents should have been. “We saved all year for those gifts,” the man said to me. “If there’s anything you can do…”

 

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