For being a driven businesswoman, I was also a romantic.
A happy marriage had always been one of my fondest
dreams.

Early in my career, I gave a professor who taught me
law and psychology, financial backing which he
needed to complete a study on the components of
compatibility required for stable marriages. In turn,
I used his information as the basis for my doctoral
dissertation (psychology).

This study was much ahead of its time, but the
material the doctor and I developed produced some
significant findings. Scientific matchmaking,
psychological testing, and organization of electronic
data (though computers were still in embryonic
stages) began to make a dent in the growing divorce
rates.

Thoroughly equipped to choose a perfect mate for
other people (as a Doctor of Psychology), I natur-
ally assumed that I would marry the right man when
the time came. I would, as in my childhood dreams,
have the ideal "Cinderella" marriage.

I met my "Prince Charming" during the summer of
1945. I was having a fling in the New York City
theatrical world. No longer an "ugly duckling," I
had convinced myself that I was beautiful. There
was no need to convince anyone that I was rich.

Karl Wagner was tall, dark, imperially handsome,
and considered quite a catch. He was in business
for himself, and had also been trained to be a
diplomat. He telephoned me from time to time
until I agreed to go out with him. We were quite
compatible on an intellectual level. He was suave,
debonair, traveled, a good dancer, and a complete
gentleman. In the dizzying whirl of courtship
which ensued, I thought that we were right for
each other. In 1946, we were married in a quiet
ceremony, moved to Dayton, Ohio, and set out to
live happily ever after.

I continued to work hard and study, still determined
to be a success in marriage and business. Karl became
president of all my business enterprises, and we
moved to Little Rock.

In 1948, a challenging opportunity arose for us to
move to Houston, Texas. Some Houston officials
learned of the work I had financed for the college
professor and of my dissertation on the subject of
marital compatibility. At that time, Houston had
the highest divorce rate of any city in the nation.
Alarmed, city officials sought ways to thwart the
growing, tragic statistics. They felt that my previous
work qualified me as a marriage-compatibility expert
and invited me to that booming city to help reverse
the trend. The result was the establishment of
Maritronics International, the only legitimate dating
service in the city.

Since it was impossible to magically cure shaky
marriages, I focused my attention on helping singles
find the right mates. It was simply a matter of spot-
lighting a solution instead of merely stroking the
symptoms.

"Simply" probably isn't the correct word to use in
context with Maritronics. It quickly became a
complex operation. Persons interested in finding
suitable dates - and marriage partners - came in
droves. With information supplied from a battery
of psychological tests and in-depth interviews
with clients, they were then matched, based on
the compatibility components I had developed.

The number of happy marriages caused the service
provided by Maritronics to be successful beyond my
wildest dreams. I began hiring other psychiatrists,
physicians, and counselors to help me. Divorce
statistics in the city of Houston began a marked
decline. The thousands of harmonious marriages
drew national attention.

Everyone was happy, it seemed, except me. My
golden touch was starting to tarnish. My ability to
solve marital problems for others didn't help me
with my own.

My relationship with Karl had been built on s
whirlwind courtship. I loved his dashing style and
devil-may-care attitude. He was my romantic
lead, my special prince.

After we were wed, many of the characteristics
which had so attacted me to him became weak
links in our combined business enterprises.

I was even more determined to make the marriage
succeed when Peter and Kimberli were born.
Finally, when my children were 5 and 3, an uncross-
able breach occurred. I sued for divorce. It was
uncontested. Officially, our marriage existed for
fourteen years. Unofficially, it was doomed from
the beginning.

After the divorce, I worked even harder to help
other people enter into marriages that would last.
My methods worked, at least for others.

I determined to be the best possible mother and
father for my children. I had them christened as
infants and later sent them to excellent parochial
schools in San Antonio. On weekends when they
were home from school, we attended mass together,
and on the alternate weekends when they stayed
in San Antonio, I traveled to attend church with
them.

Truthfully, I only went with them to church because
I wanted to set a good example for them. I hardly
considered myself the "religious" type, even though
I had made that decision in the Iowa country church
when I was a child.

I had seen too many other people playing games
with religion, going through empty exercises as I
had done. Sometimes I wondered, "Did others, too,
long for something more with God?" I just didn't
know how to make something like that happen.
There were seemingly no formulas to follow.

But I couldn't do anything unless I felt I was doing
100 percent. I didn't like just going through the
motions.

In fact, one day while kneeling in church with Peter
and Kimberli, I confessed, "God! I'm a hypocrite.
I've listened to my children pray to you, but I can't
talk to You like they can. Please give me their kind
of faith - blind faith."

Although I asked God for blind faith, I did not realize
at that moment He did grant that wish for me. In
doing so, He was preparing me to handle the strange
series of events that would eventually lead me through
a most shadowy valley. Yes, true to my request for
Jesus to come into my heart and take over my life at
the age of 5, He, indeed had His hand on my life with
the Holy Spirit guiding me - way back then. At this
time I did not know Jeremiah 33:3 which says, "Call
on me and I will answer thee, and shew thee great
and mighty things, which thou knowest not." But He
honored the blind faith request.

During the winter of 1966, Peter - by then a teenager -
was "skiing" along an icy road on his slick-soled
cordovan shoes while holding onto the rear bumper
of an automobile. Suddenly he was pulled under the
vehicle. His legs were seriously injured. He spent
four horrible hours in surgery while doctors labored
to repair the physical damage. There was speculation
that he might even lose his legs. My son needed me
as he had never needed me before. Likewise, I prayed
for him more diligently than before. I wasn't a major
commitment, really, but merely a step in the right
direction.

Staying with Peter every night at the hospital, then
working overtime in the office was quite an ordeal.
When he was released after a month, I was probably
the most thankful of all, and I threw a big party to
celebrate his homecoming.

I didn't have long to celebrate, however. The morning
after Peter's party I awoke with stomach cramps and a
terrible pain in my ribs. I was rushed to the same hos-
pital in which Peter had stayed. That was December 22,
1966.

After a series of Xrays and tests, a tentative diagnosis
of gastric cancer was made. I was referred to the famed
M.D. Anderson Cancer Research Clinic where a group of
expert physicians performed a gastroscopic examination
and photographed the inner regions of my stomach.

The tight-lipped doctors faced me with my "sentence".
"You have six cancers!" One of them pointed to the
vivid color pictures. "If you allow us to remove your
stomach, you might live three months. Otherwise, we
can't guarantee you another day."

Illness was a totally new experience for me. My father
didn't allow malingering among his twelve children.
and he fed all of us on the finest farm products to
keep us healthy. None of us had ever been seriously
ill or even had a broken bone. Furthermore, I had
absorbed enough religious training in my childhood
to believe all good things come from God, all bad
things from Satan.

There arose up in me a ferocious indignation against
the devil who was causing the cancers and against the
doctors who, for all their technical skills, seemed so
ineffective against this evil - almost like robots in
their acceptance of the enemy's actions. The only
real resistence they could offer was to mutilate my
body with surgery that would, at least give me only a
few more months of life.

"Your training as surgeons is to cut things out of
bodies!" I shouted. "Well, I'm mad at the devil, and
I'm not going to let you do it! I'm going to heaven
intact."

It's amazing what passes through a human's mind
during such horrible shattering moments. A script-
ure I had heard as a child flashed into my mind:
"Resist the devil, and he will flee from you,"
(James 4:7).

With that promise surging through my consciousness,
I slammed the door of the consultation room and ran
to the nearest exit from the building. As I raced
acrossed the lawn on the way to my car, I was knocked
flat by some unseen force.

No, I hadn't stumbled. Though the sky was cloudless,
I thought I had seen lightning.

I'm not certain how long I lay on the ground oblivious
of everything around me. When I became aware once
more of my surroundings, I got up, brushed myself off,
climbed into my car, and drove home. Feeling absol-
utely famished, I cooked a big dinner and ate it.
Afterward, I refused to give any further thought to the
cancer and began eating anything I wanted.

Before a month passed, the clinic called and urged me
to come in to let the doctors check on the progress
of my malignancies. This time, the gastroscope showed
a perfectly healthy stomach. Where there had been
six big cancers, there was not even a trace of scar
tissue!

A photocopy of:
The registration records listed in the University of
Texas System Cancer Center (M.D. Anderson Hospital
and Tumor Institute) and the records for the National
Western Life Insurance Company all point to one
basic fact: There was a complete healing of cancerous
tissue and all gastric ulcerations.

Why? Good grief - I didn't know. I didn't know any
spiritual significance of my fall to the ground. It was
just obvious that a miracle of healing had taken
place in my body. I just thought it was a simple case
of "Whatever will be, will be." Some people were
meant to be religious. Some had a talent for making
money. Sometimes miracles happened. I was just
glad to be alive, thankful to be back working.

And if that wasn't enough, a year later I received
another strange, supernatural signal. I began to lose
my voice. Then, it was still quite chic to smoke. My
own favorite brand was the long green Pall Mall
cigarettes. During 1967, however, my voice became
so weak that I was forced to communicate by using
a notepad and pencil. Four months went by. I
consulted several doctors. Each gave the same dia-
gnosis: cancer of the throat and larynx, and pre-
cancerous laukoplakia on the vocal cords.

During the time a physician friend recommended
that I see a Houston ear, nose and throat specialist.

When I was first ushered into his office, I was strangely
comfortable and drawn. Scripture quotations hung on
his walls. In his waiting room, I found Bibles with
certain passages outlined. Then he prayed for me
before performing a laryngascopy and taking a speci-
men for biopsy. I thought him to be awfully religious,
but I like something about him - something I couldn't
quite explain, I trusted him.

When the biopsy report arrived, the doctor diagnosis
was the same as that given by the other doctors with
whom I had consulted. The doctor recommended
immediate surgery.

That time I didn't resist. Somehow I felt safe in his
hands, confident I could trust him to do only what
was absolutely necessary.

However, the next day, as I was being wheeled
through the hospital corridor toward the operating
room, my voice suddenly returned! After all those
months of silence, I was able to speak without so
much as a rasp!

I talked to the nurse. She and the orderly practically
ran to the operating room where the doctor was
waiting. He was astonished. He had this curious,
knowing smile.

Instead of proceeding with the anesthetic, he quickly
reexamined me. There was no trace of disease. The
cancer and the leukoplakia had completely disappear-
ed!

Once more, I had been delivered safely out of danger.
My life had been given back to me. I felt fortunate, of
course, but though I was thankful to be alive, it didn't
bring any major change.

Life was more precious to me, but I just wanted things
to get back to normal.