I just wanted-well, I didn't
know exactly what I wanted.
The only reason in this round world I kept coming to Central
Avenue Church was that it was right across the street from
Crestview Rest Home, and I had to get out and away from that
place once in a while. Crestview wasn't so bad, as nursing homes
go. In fact, it was all right. Still, any rest home is a sad
comedown from one's own house-and such a change.
As the congregation filed in, I looked about me. The
sanctuary, quiet and beautiful with its stained-glass windows,
its high, arched ceiling, and its deep carpets, was the only
serene spot I had found since I came to the city. Out on the
streets all was rush, confusion, turmoil-enough to drive one to
distraction.
Here, too, I managed to block out for a little while the
feeling of helplessness I'd had since I became so frail. The
doctors kept saying that my general condition was good and my
arthritis might improve some. But as yet I couldn't see much
change.
To make myself lift my head and quit looking at my stiff,
swollen knees, I turned toward the nearest window.
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