When a small child I used to go into a dark closet and pray. I attended revivals, hoping to attain the change of heart they talked of; I have gone forward and given my hand to the minister, asking for the prayers of the church, but I was not satisfied.
It took but one conversation to prove to me that Christian Science was the religion I would love to live, and that the God the Scientists spoke of was a God I could trust. It seemed to me there was more than one God, and that I had been praying to the wrong one.
Being a delicate child from infancy, I had been humored and stuffed with drugs and remedies until I complained of something all the time, like a continued story (my then way of thinking) each chapter (complaint) having a different name, yet all under one heading (suffering).
