At the age of about twelve, after I had attended a Christian Science Sunday School only a few times as a visitor, I was able to heal myself in three hours of the effects of running my hand through a washing machine wringer. Although the hand became swollen and discolored, I was unafraid and remembered that the Sunday School teacher had said that God is Love. This was about all I knew. My parents were not Scientists, and my mother warned me that if the injured hand was not entirely healed by the time my father returned home from work, he would insist upon medical attention for it.
So I retired to my room and prayed in the best way I knew. I had a childlike conviction that since God is Love, He loved me and certainly would see to it that I was all right by the time my father got home from work! And so it proved, for the hand was normal in every way when he returned, and we all rejoiced together over this proof of God's care. After that, my parents never objected when I asked for Christian Science help for physical difficulties, although they continued to rely on material means. I never forgot this experience, but it was years before I was ready to study Science in earnest.
Sometime after I had married, I discovered that my problems were many and seemed to be steadily getting worse. I was in bondage to the cigarette habit, indulged in social drinking, and gambled upon occasion. My conscience was not at rest, however, and continually whispered, "If you are going to become a Christian Scientist eventually, why not now?" I had quite a struggle with rebellion, vanity, and procrastination, but finally a serious skin condition forced me to seek help in Science.
