My mother passed on when I was a baby, and my father placed me in the home of friends who were consecrated Christian Scientists. I attended an orthodox Sunday School of my father's faith, but many of the fundamental truths voiced by these Scientists at home left an indelible impression on my consciousness and became a guiding light in later years when I needed them.
Each year I had rounds of pneumonia, pleurisy, sinus trouble, and rheumatism. Intermittently I would have treatment from a doctor and a Christian Science practitioner, having little faith in the doctor and little understanding of Science. Finally the doctors at a leading clinic recommended that I spend eighteen hours a day in bed. When this measure provided no relief, I was sent to a dry climate thousands of miles away. After I returned home, the slight improvement I had made was lost, and the specialists said that only by having the two lower lobes of my lungs removed would I have any hope of recovery. If this operation were not performed, they said, I could live for only a few more months.
It was at this point that a dear friend insisted that I visit a practitioner who had recently moved to our small town from a large city. I shall never forget my preparation to have this interview. I had no thought of getting well; my only thought was to be prepared to meet God. I sat down at my desk and made a list of all my weaknesses, both physical and moral. I counted them—there were twenty-three. Discouraged and fearful I slipped the list back into a pigeonhole, closed the desk, and went to the practitioner.
