Proof The Bible Is True

Growing up, I was in awe of the empty old farmhouse next door. I looked at it from the road, admiring the front porch, thinking it must have been grand years ago with fresh paint and shutters that weren’t losing louvers like loose teeth. Often, I’d get off my bike and climb the bank, up the two creaking porch steps to peek in the windows.

 

Once I saw a woman, dressed in a habit, walking by the old falling down outhouse in the backyard. Her veil blew in the breeze and she looked almost like a dream. I overheard a neighbor say she was the owner’s daughter, a Catholic nun visiting and staying in the house without plumbing, heat, or electricity.

Years passed. I graduated, went off to college, and got my degree. I met my husband, Tony, and bought a house an hour or so away. We had a son. On a visit to Mom’s, Tony slowed down as we passed the house, still empty and bearing the scars of weathering storms. “What’s its story?” he asked. “Beautiful old house.”

 

A year or so later, my mom casually mentioned that a realtor was at the old house next door. I called Tony and the next day he made an appointment. At work, I got the call. The house was ours. Stunned by Tony’s quick decision, I was excited but overwhelmed by upcoming changes. Both of our jobs were over eighty miles away.

 

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