January, 1889.

My dear little Celine, 

Jesus offers you the cross, a very heavy cross, and you are afraid of not being able to carry it without giving way. Why? Our Beloved Himself fell three times on the way to Calvary, and why should we not imitate our Spouse? What a favor from Jesus, and how He must love us to send us so great a sorrow! Eternity itself will not be long enough to bless Him for it. He heaps his favors upon us upon the greatest Saints. What, then, are His loving designs for our souls? That is a secret which will only be revealed to us in our Heavenly Home, on the day when “the Lord shall wipe away all our tears.” Now we have nothing more to hope for on earth – “the cool evenings are passed” – for us suffering alone remains! Ours is an enviable lot, and the Seraphim in Heaven are jealous of our happiness. The other day I came across this striking passage: “To be resigned and to be united to the Will of God are not the same; there is the same difference between them as that which exists between union and unity; in union there are still two, in unity there is but one.” Yes, let us be one with God even in this life; and for this we should be more than resigned, we should embrace the Cross with joy.

Once again, listening to St Theresa of Lisieux in her autobiography ‘Story of a Soul’ her thoughts struck with relevancy. I have been missing Ann strongly the last couple of days. Drawing people to me at the Shrine, comfortable in life, invigorated by a calling, I properly and authentically long for her voice, her influence and presence reaffirmed in my life. When I heard the following quote I laughed with recognition. Within the Little Flower’s peculiar sincere way existed the potency of my interaction with Ann. There is not a spiritual voice in my life who has elevated my spiritual life as she does. I am positive it is God working and gracing our being together. It is painful at times, yet I cannot deny the truth and overall lifting I experience.

And now, dear Mother, I will tell you wherein I gain most with the novices. You know they are allowed without restriction to say anything to me, agreeable or the reverse; this is all the easier since they do not owe me the respect due to a Novice-Mistress. I cannot say that Our Lord makes me walk in the way of exterior humiliation; He is satisfied with humbling me in my inmost soul. In the eyes of creatures all is success, and I walk in the dangerous path of honour—if a religious may so speak. I understand God’s way and that of my superiors in this respect; for if the Community thought me incapable, unintelligent, and wanting in judgment, I could be of no possible use to you, dear Mother. This is why the Divine Master has thrown a veil over all my shortcomings, both interior and exterior. Because of this veil I receive many compliments from the novices—compliments without flattery, for they really mean what they say; and they do not inspire me with vanity, for the remembrance of my weakness is ever before me. At times my soul tires of this over-sweet food, and I long to hear something other than praise; then Our Lord serves me with a nice little salad, well spiced, with plenty of vinegar—olive oil alone is wanting, and this it is which makes it more to my taste. And the salad is offered to me by the novices at the moment I least expect. God lifts the veil that hides my faults, and my dear little Sisters, beholding me as I really am, do not find me altogether agreeable. With charming simplicity, they tell me how I try them and what they dislike in me; in fact, they are as frank as though they were speaking of someone else, for they are aware that I am pleased when they act in this way.

I am more than pleased—I am transported with delight by this splendid banquet set before me. How can anything so contrary to our natural inclinations afford such extraordinary pleasure? Had I not experienced it, I could not have believed it possible.

One day, when I was ardently longing for some humiliation, a young postulant came to me and sated my desire so completely, that I was reminded of the occasion when Semei cursed David, and I repeated to myself the words of the holy King: “Yea, it is the Lord who hath bidden him say all these things.” In this way God takes care of me. He cannot always provide that strength-giving bread, exterior humiliation, but from time to time He allows me to eat of “the crumbs from the table of the children.” How magnificent are His Mercies!

Notice the Carmelite habit underneath the Joan of Arc theatrical costume of St Theresa.

Driving home from work, I was listening to ‘St Therese of Lisieux: the Story of a Soul’, enchanted to hear the Little Flower edify upon working with souls. Deeper in scope yet similar in style, I admired the connection of her words to the training provided by the Hospice of the Western Reserve. The Hospice stressed over and over that my agendas and ideas must be abandoned. I must approach the patients with no intent nor plan. As a volunteer, I provide fellowship, allowing my role to develop in accordance with the needs and desires of the patient. The patient is the one granted control. I acquiesce not only to the administration of the Hospice, yet even above that, the patient is the one to determine the role I will play in their life. I adapt and cater to the needs of the patient. Kindly, caringly, and with compassion, I bow to the patient’s demands. To be of service is to listen and understand. The feeling grows stronger that I will be working with children. To be honest, I realize it is a great responsibility, yet I became so consumed with the conviction I called my superior, leaving a message for her to seek out a child, one who has no father, informing her I prayed intently upon her words emphasizing the need for men to work with boys from broken homes. God continues to astound. I absolutely never thought of working with a young boy dealing with terminal illness. My superior’s insight points me in such a direction. I accept the challenge, absorbed within the emotion: the faith, hope, and charity; knowing God will perform spectacular things through me, knowing I will be deeply hurt.

Read the words of the Little Flower from her autobiography, comprehending their relevant coalescence.

From the moment I entered the sanctuary of souls, I saw at a glance that the task was beyond my strength. Throwing myself without delay into Our Lord’s Arms, I imitated those tiny children, who, when they are frightened, hide their faces on their father’s shoulder, and I said:

“Dear Lord, Thou seest that I am too small to feed these little ones, but if through me Thou wilt give to each what is suitable, then fill my hands, and without leaving the shelter of Thine Arms, or even turning away, I will distribute Thy treasures to the souls who come to me asking for food. Should they find it to their taste, I shall know that this is due not to me, but to Thee; and if, on the contrary, they find fault with its bitterness, I shall not be cast down, but try to persuade them that it cometh from Thee, while taking good care to make no change in it.”

The knowledge that it was impossible to do anything of myself rendered my task easier. My one interior occupation was to unite myself more and more closely to God, knowing that the rest would be given to me over and above. And indeed my hope has never been deceived; I have always found my hands filled when sustenance was needed for the souls of my Sisters. But had I done otherwise, and relied on my own strength, I should very soon have been forced to abandon my task.

From afar it seems so easy to do good to souls, to teach them to love God more, and to model them according to one’s own ideas. But, when we draw nearer, we quickly feel that without God’s help this is quite as impossible as to bring back the sun when once it has set. We must forget ourselves, and put aside our tastes and ideas, and guide souls not by our own way, but along the path which Our Lord points out.

“Jesus, help me to simplify my life by learning what You want me to be – and becoming that person.” 

“Our Lord needs from us neither great deeds nor profound thoughts. Neither intelligence nor talents. He cherishes simplicity.”  –Little Flower

Lectio Divinia, advancing simple thoughts to the profound, the understanding of my perceived needs in contrast to Divine Will.  The things I think I need, self-esteem and the bolstering of interior lacking, oppose the acceptance and love God graciously extends.  God loves me exactly the way I am.  My imperfections, wanderings, and weaknesses only call forth distancing complications.  Oh Mary Undoer of Knots unravel the twisted complexities entangling my life.  Even in my most authentic approach to God there is a bothersome separation.  Even in the genuine acceptance of myself there is pain and wounds.  Even amidst the strengthening of an independent confident individuality there is a recoiling, diverting back into wrath and fear.  Even in my sincerest and humblest prayer there is such an awareness of estrangement.  Even in the acute perception of Your presence before the Eucharist there is confusion. Help me to comprehend I am not a mistake. Strengthen me Lord to continue the stripping down of myself, the embracing of the simplicity the Little Flower expounds upon.  It is not such a simple matter to attain such divine simplicity.