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I was four or five years old when my grandmother and her friend took me to a beautiful park overlooking the river. As I was getting back into the car after our walk, I put my hand on the hinge of the open door for balance. My grandmother, unaware of my hand being there, closed the door on it. I calmly asked her to open the door so I could take my hand out. She quickly did so, and I got into the car.
I remembered what I had been taught by my parents and Christian Science Sunday School teachers about God being our loving Parent. I had also learned that He is all-good and made all of His children perfect. Christ Jesus had shown this through his many healings recorded in the Bible. I knew that, like those he healed, I couldn’t actually be touched by anything that wasn’t good, because God gave me only good. I was peacefully quiet in the back seat, thinking these uplifting thoughts.
Grandma and her friend, a medical nurse, kept looking at each other as if they were quite concerned about my hand. But there was nothing to be concerned about. I knew that all was well, and that it was natural for me to accept only good as true.
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