About seven years ago, while on a motor trip hundreds of miles from home, we stopped at a public playground in a large city and our little girl, then not quite two years old, walked into the path of a heavy swing which had just been released by a young man who had jumped from it in mid-air. The board was several inches thick, bound all around with iron, and the corner of it hit the child just over the eye. The rest of the family, the child's father and a small brother, and a young lady companion were some distance away; so I knew no one in the large crowd that immediately gathered. The playground supervisor had picked the child up and started to carry her to an emergency building near by when I reached her and claimed the child.
"She is seriously hurt; I must call an ambulance," the supervisor told me; but, though I was young in Christian Science, I was able to deny the physical evidence as Jesus did at the news of Lazarus' sickness; and although I hardly knew it I answered, "She is not hurt." Taking her in my arms I started for our car, parked several hundred yards away. The supervisor followed, insisting at every step that she be allowed to take charge, but I continued to say, "She isn't hurt; just let me be alone;" and finally she left us and took the crowd with her. "Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures" by Mary Baker Eddy was always in the pocket of the car. I got into the car with the child in my arms, and started to read. For a long time I did not know a single word I was reading: I simply knew that clinging to Truth as revealed by our dear Leader was my only hope. At the end of about fifteen minutes—it seemed years to me —I realized that these words were on the page (283): "Mind is the source of all movement, and there is no inertia to retard or check its perpetual and harmonious action." I read that sentence over and over, and at last saw a natural color return to the child's face. Just then the supervisor returned saying that if the child regained consciousness she would be very ill. I denied this, and kept on reading, and she left. In a few more minutes the child moved, sat up and asked for a cracker. The other members of the party came up then, expressing a great deal of fear; but the child's appearance soon settled that, and in another quarter of an hour she was running around playing, perfectly well.
As our children have grown in the understanding of Christian Science we often do our work together. About two years ago my son, then ten years old, called me in the night and asked me to read to him from Science and Health, as his head felt queer. I read until he went to sleep, but he called me again early in the morning. I read for several hours, but both sides of his face seemed to be swelling rapidly, and by mid-morning he could hardly talk and was suffering terribly. I called a practitioner to help me do my work rightly, without fear. I then started reading the Psalms, and everywhere my eyes fell I seemed to read, "Praise the Lord." Finally the little boy said, "I don't believe we praise God enough." I agreed, and we decided to start right then and do it. "First tell me why we ought to praise Him," he suggested. I turned to the definition of "God" in Science and Health (p.587), and together we went over each of the synonyms and tried to understand its meaning and gratefully acknowledge that it was sufficient reason for praise. Whenever I would have to leave the room for a few minutes we would sing to a familiar tune some phase of the idea that God is here and nothing else is here. At first he could not open his mouth very wide, but he did his best. I believe that no more than a few seconds that day were wasted on fear and doubt. About five o'clock that afternoon, though very little of the physical appearance was changed, the boy suddenly sat up and exclaimed, "Why, I'm well!" Every vestige of pain and discomfort had disappeared, and by noon the next day the swelling was completely gone.
