Sitting stiffly on the edge of my couch, I was praying to find relief from intense internal pain. But as the night progressed, the problem worsened. Around 1:00 a.m. I called my dad and asked him to pick me up and drive me to the emergency room.

He arrived in about twenty minutes and was willing to take me to the hospital immediately. I was ready to go, but he asked if I’d like him to read to me a few hymns from the Christian Science Hymnal before we left. I said yes. I knew he was praying as he read, and I knew my mom was at home praying.

After about twenty minutes, I still felt I needed to have medical attention. My dad immediately put on his coat to go out to the car, asking as he did so if I wanted to call a Christian Science practitioner to pray for me. I didn’t have high hopes, but also didn’t think it would hurt to ask for help.

I went to another part of the house and called, and as the practitioner spoke with me, I palpably felt his love and kindness—expressions of God, who is divine Love. He knew I was separated from my wife of many years and that we were headed toward divorce.

He didn’t know I’d also been struggling deeply to hold on to any sense that Christian Science could really be true. I couldn’t reconcile the core teaching of an all-good, all-powerful, and ever-present God with the cold indifference to suffering I saw in so many instances in the world. I felt that a good God was either absent in certain situations, or just unable to protect the innocent. I’d resolved to tell my family that I wouldn’t be continuing as a Christian Scientist, though I hadn’t had the actual conversation yet. So, in my assessment, I wasn’t a great candidate for Christian Science healing that night.

The practitioner reminded me of Mary Baker Eddy’s counsel to healers: “The poor suffering heart needs its rightful nutriment, such as peace, patience in tribulation, and a priceless sense of the dear Father’s loving-kindness” (Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, pp. 365–366). These words reached me with so much tender concern. I felt something right then of “the dear Father’s loving-kindness,” reaching and attending to my suffering heart.

Referring to Christ Jesus’ parable about the prodigal son, and to the son’s state before he started his journey home, the practitioner firmly but kindly admonished me not to “feed on the husks” (see Luke 15:11–32). I took that to mean, “Don’t contemplate the sorrow, disappointment, failures, and losses of your life. Try your best to take in the love and mercy that God is feeding you with now. Release your grip on the husks, and turn as much as you can to God, Love. Let God nourish you.”

As the call ended I couldn’t say more than a choked “Okay, thank you,” because I was overcome by the love I was feeling. I hung up and walked back toward the living room, where my dad was waiting to drive me to the hospital. As I entered the room it seemed to be illuminated, though it was still before dawn. I heard myself say out loud, “I’m okay. I don’t need to go to the ER. I’m well. I’m not in pain.” There was a wonder, stillness, and holiness in those moments that I don’t know how to adequately describe. But it was real. I knew I was fully awake, not dreaming.

My understanding of what happened is that the reality of God’s all-pervading goodness and love broke through the mortal belief that God could be absent; and this freed me from the physical problem I was facing. I had discovered, to some degree, Jesus’ assurance: “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21).

In this kingdom God, also known in Christian Science as Love and Mind, is ever present and reigns. In the presence of Mind, false convictions about sickness and suffering simply cannot abide, and are destroyed. Under the reign, or law, of Love, disease has no basis, no right to exist, and dissolves.

A week or so after this healing, I realized that the same night I had also been healed of recurring stomach pain I’d experienced for years and, unexpectedly, a tendency to use profanity, especially at work, largely fell away. Since these healings, which occurred twenty years ago, I have faced doubts and defeat, and I have also triumphed and had other wonderfully encouraging healings. Most importantly, that healing of internal pain effected a significant change in me—it enabled me to move forward knowing I can lean on God’s enduring grace, and not get too wrapped up in whether or not I think I’m worthy of experiencing spiritual healing.

Whenever I’ve felt removed from God or from the possibility of healing, I’ve remembered that this healing happened. What occurred that night was real. The uplift, love, illumination, and release from illness and pain were all true—and unforgettable.