Where would you go when you infant daughter lay seriously ill in a land where you didn’t know a word of the language? Or when your town was surrounded by Communists ready to move in? Or when you sat by your dying husband, his body wracked with pain? Where would you go when your spirit longed to know God as one knows a bosom friend? Or when your heart was so full of gratitude it was nearly bursting? To His feet of course: the feet where Mary sat; the feet that once were nailed to a cross; where every knee shall bow.