Then, when I was still in the cast, on Christmas night, 1950—which also happened to be our twentieth wedding anniversary—our 12-½ year old, Sally, was lost in a skating accident. In the days and weeks that followed, our friends and our minister somehow got me to pledge blindly to my new and infant faith and it grew as I called on it for support. Such an outpouring of spontaneous and loving help, of all kinds and from all people, can scarcely be imagined. But still, I knew moments of almost unbearable sorrow.
One night in May, the bottom seemed to fall out of everything. As I prayed ceaselessly for a way out, for relief, I became gradually aware of a rhythm to my thoughts to my words.