Article April 19, 1900 Issue

Personal Experience in Christian Science.

L. W. C.

Grand Rapids (Mich.) Herald

When I hear people speak of their gratitude for the benefit they have received through Christian Science, a sense of sympathy fills my thought because of the abiding consciousness of my own debt of gratitude for the measureless comfort and help that have come to me through this wonderful Science. Not alone for the physical healing, although that has been great—greater than I have ever spoken, because I have always turned from contemplating one picture of bodily suffering that stood before me until it was wiped out through the action of Truth, as revealed through "Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures" by Mary Baker G. Eddy, our brave, heroic, gentle, loving teacher, guide, and friend.

Religion in my childhood's home was never rigid, austere, or compulsory. It was a Christian home, characterized by the simple faith that we find so strongly reflected in the life and writings of our own beloved Whittier. I always believed in prayer. It came naturally to me, not verbal prayer,—I do not remember that I ever prayed aloud but once in my life,—but secret, silent prayer, which seemed to be a natural supplement to the atmosphere of that early home. It was a prayer of earnest faith with no doubt in it. I fully believed that God heard and answered. This belief received a severe shock from a later experience, when day by day, week after week, and month after month, for two long years, earnest prayer was constantly made for the preservation of a beautiful, useful human life, when the Church united in the same petition, and our minister, loving with deep reverence the one whose frailty was so apparent, daily asked God to spare this life, that its usefulness might be continued, and yet the end came, with no evidence that a single prayer had ever been heard.

I had never been strong, and now both health and strength failed—in fact, nothing was left but courage and hope. I believed in God as earnestly as ever, but the heart of prayer was crushed. To occupy time and interest thought, I now took up and faithfully followed different lines of study. Oh, the diligent labor of those years, trying to win something that would impart a sense of security and satisfaction! This inward restlessness was characterized outwardly by a desire for change,—change of scenery, of association,—and materia medica would suggest travel and change of climate. During a period of less than eight years I had crossed this continent, or a large part of it, eight times, beside many shorter journeys, urged on by the hope that somewhere I might obtain that which I seemed to have lost—a settled peace.

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