During World War II I had a marvelous healing, and subsequently gave a rotten testimony about it in church. But frankly, over the years the "blown" testimony has been much more instructive and blessing than the healing.
When I was growing up, my mother always insisted that I go to a Christian Science Sunday School. I wasn't a very attentive student, and went off to war, happy to be rid of what I thought of as her nagging. I had no idea how to give myself Christian Science treatment, and didn't even know much about prayer; actually, I took pride in that ignorance, which I was mistaking for independence.
I became a Navy fighter pilot, and during a strike early in March 1945 my plane was hit by enemy antiaircraft fire, which severely damaged the engine. It was smoking, and oil covered the canopy; I knew I was a goner if God didn't help me. So, in absolute desperation, I said, "God, please help me."
