St. Therese of
Child Jesus
Quite often,
when pondering the lives of the saints we hear of great miracles (e.g.,
ecstasies, healings, levitations, etc.). It is rare that we hear of a
saint’s faults and weaknesses. Sometimes we need to hear about these in
order to be able to relate to them; to realize that they were "earthen
vessels" like the rest of us. One of Saint Thérèse’s weaknesses was
distraction at prayer. However, this did not keep her from trudging along
her "little way". As we shall see in her autobiography and letters, Saint
Thérèse faithfully acknowledged her weakness to God, trusting in His
Infinite Mercy to forgive.
Excerpts -
'Story of a Soul'
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How great is the power of Prayer! One could call it a Queen who has at
each instant free access to the King and who is able to obtain whatever
she asks. To be heard it is not necessary to read from a book some
beautiful formula composed for the occasion. If this were the case, alas,
I would have to be pitied! Outside the Divine Office which I am very
unworthy to recite, I do not have the courage to force myself to search
out beautiful prayers in books. There are so many of them it really gives
me a headache! and each prayer is more beautiful than the others. I cannot
recite them all and not knowing which to choose, I do like children who do
not know how to read, I say very simply to God what I wish to say, without
composing beautiful sentences, and He always understands me. For me,
prayer is an aspiration of the heart, it is a simple glance directed to
heaven, it is a cry of gratitude and love in the midst of trial as well as
joy; finally, it is something great, supernatural, which expands my soul
and unites me to Jesus.
However, I would not want you to believe, dear Mother, that I recite
without devotion the prayers said in common in the choir or the
hermitages. On the contrary, I love very much these prayers in common, for
Jesus has promised to be in the midst of those who gather together in His
name. I feel then that the fervour of my Sisters makes up for my lack of
fervour; but when alone (I am ashamed to admit it) the recitation of the
rosary is more difficult for me than the wearing of an instrument of
penance. I feel I have said this so poorly! I force myself in vain to
meditate on the mysteries of the rosary; I don't succeed in fixing my mind
on them. For a long time I was desolate about this lack of devotion which
astonished me, for I love the Blessed Virgin so much that it should be
easy for me to recite in her honour prayers which are so pleasing to her.
Now I am less desolate; I think that the Queen of heaven, since she is my
MOTHER, must see my good will and she is satisfied with it. Sometimes when
my mind is in such aridity that it is impossible to draw forth one single
thought to unite me with God, I very slowly recite an "Our Father" and
then the angelic salutation ["Hail Mary, full of grace, etc.]; then these
prayers give me great delight; they nourish my soul much more than if I
had recited them precipitately a hundred times.
The Blessed Virgin shows me she is not displeased with me, for she never
fails to protect me as soon as I invoke her. If some disturbance overtakes
me, some embarrassment, I turn very quickly to her and as the most tender
of Mothers she always takes care of my interests. How many times, when
speaking to the novices, has it happened that I invoked her and felt the
benefits of her motherly protection!
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Really, I am far from being a saint, and what I have just said is proof of
this; instead of rejoicing, for example, at my aridity, I should attribute
it to my little fervour and lack of fidelity; I should be desolate for
having slept (for seven years) during my hours of prayer and my
thanksgivings after Holy Communion; well, I am not desolate. I remember
that little children are as pleasing to their parents when they are asleep
as well as when they are wide awake; I remember, too, that when they
perform operations, doctors put their patients to sleep. Finally, I
remember that: "The Lord knows our weakness, that he is mindful that we
are but dust and ashes."
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O Jesus, Your little bird is happy to be weak and little. What would
become of it if it were big? Never would it have the boldness to appear in
Your presence, to fall asleep in front of You. Yes, this is still one of
the weaknesses of the little bird: when it wants to fix its gaze upon the
Divine Sun, and when the clouds prevent it from seeing a single ray of
that Sun, in spite of itself, its little eyes close, its little head is
hidden beneath its wing, and the poor little thing falls asleep, believing
all the time that it is fixing its gaze upon its Dear Star. When it
awakens, it doesn’t feel desolate; its little heart is at peace and it
begins once again its work of love. It calls upon the angels and saints
who rise like eagles before the consuming Fire, and since this is the
object of the little bird’s desire the eagles take pity on it, protecting
and defending it, and putting to flight at the same time the vultures who
want to devour it. These vultures are the demons whom the little bird
doesn’t fear, for it is not destined to be their prey but the prey of the
Eagle whom it contemplates in the centre of the Sun of Love.
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The practice of charity, as I have said, dear Mother [Mother Agnes, i.e.,
her sister Pauline, prioress at the time], was not always so sweet for me,
and to prove it to you I am going to recount certain little struggles
which will certainly make you smile. For a long time at evening
meditation, I was placed in front of a Sister who had a strange habit and
I think many lights because she rarely used a book during meditation. This
is what I noticed: as soon as this Sister arrived, she began making a
strange little noise which resembled the noise one would make when rubbing
two shells, one against the other. I was the only one to notice it because
I had extremely sensitive hearing (too much so at times). Mother, it would
be impossible for me to tell you how much this little noise wearied me. I
had a great desire to turn my head and stare at the culprit who was very
certainly unaware of her "click." This would be the only way of
enlightening her. However, in the bottom of my heart I felt it was much
better to suffer this out of love for God and not to cause the Sister any
pain. I remained calm, therefore, and tried to unite myself to God and to
forget the little noise. Everything was useless. I felt the perspiration
inundate me, and I was obliged simply to make a prayer of doing it without
annoyance and with peace and joy, at least in the interior of my soul. I
tried to love the little noise which was so displeasing; instead of trying
not to hear it (impossible), I paid close attention so as to hear it well,
as though it were a delightful concert, and my prayer (which was not the
Prayer of Quiet) was spent in offering this concert to Jesus.
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