An event that made a big impression on me happened when I was in high school. My eighty-year-old grandfather was diagnosed as terminally ill and was considered to be in the last stages of stomach cancer. He had been seriously ill for many weeks, with continuing deterioration, and was being fed intravenously. The kind doctors caring for him believed he was passing on.
During this time in the hospital, Grandpa was in a continual state of sleep. In our family, my mother and I were the only students of Christian Science, and the rest of the family thought of my mother as a little odd to believe in it. Though she felt outnumbered, when my mother was with my grandfather, he seemed to make a little progress through her prayerful efforts to help him.
The day the doctors and family believed he would soon pass on, my mother stayed by his side. By the early evening, she went home, and the family would be arriving in the morning expecting the worst. Because they believed that the end was at hand, my mother boldly requested that I stay with my grandfather all night to pray for him.
