When my daughter died of polio, everybody stretched out a hand to help me, but at frst I couldn't seem to bear the touch of anything, even the love of friends；no support seemed strong enough.
While Mary was still sick. I used to go early in the morning to a little church near the hospital to pray. There the working people came quietly to worship. I had been careless with my religion, I had rather cut God out of my life, and I didn't have the nerve at the time to ask Him to make my daughter well—I only asked Him to help me understand, to let me come in and reach Him. I prayed there every morning and I kept looking for a revelation, but nothing happened.