The following tidbits are taken from this lovely, old “Little Flower Prayer Book” of my mother’s…..
How sweet it was, the first kiss of Jesus to my soul! Yes, it was a kiss of Love. I felt I was loved, and I too said: “I love Thee, I give myself to Thee forever!”
Jesus asked nothing of me, demanded no sacrifice. Already for a long time past, He and the little Therese had watched and understood one another . . .
That day our meeting was no longer a simple look but a fusion. No longer were we two: Therese had disappeared as the drop of water which loses itself in the depths of the ocean, Jesus alone remained; the Master, the King!
Had not Therese begged Him to take away from her, her liberty? That liberty made her afraid; so weak, so fragile did she feel herself that she longed to be united for ever to Divine Strength.
I had taken as my rule of conduct, to receive most faithfully Holy Communion as often as my confessor permitted, without ever asking that it might be more frequent.
I would act differently now; for I am quite sure that a soul ought to make known to her director the attraction that she feels to receive her God.
It is not to remain in a golden ciborium that He comes down each day from Heaven, but to find another Heaven, the Heaven of our soul in which He takes his delight.
What shall I say of my thanksgivings after Holy Communion? There are no moments in which I feel less consolation. And is not this very natural, seeing that my desire is to receive our Lord’s visit, not for my own satisfaction, but solely for His pleasure.
I imagine my soul to be as a plot of waste ground and beg the Blessed Virgin to remove from it all the rubbish—meaning its imperfections; then I beseech her to erect thereon a vast canopy worthy of Heaven and to decorate it with her own treasures, and I invite all the Angels and Saints to come and sing canticles of love.
It seems to me then that Jesus is pleased to see Himself so magnificently received; and I, I share His joy. All this does not hinder distractions and sleep from molesting me; therefore it not rarely happens that I resolve to continue my thanksgiving all the day long, since I have made it so badly in the Choir.
At the time of Holy Communion I sometimes picture my soul under the figure of a little child of three or four years, who at play has got its hair tossed and its clothes soiled.—
These misfortunes have befallen me in battling with souls.—But very soon the Blessed Virgin hastens to my aid: quickly she takes off my little dirty pinafore, smooths my hair and adorns it with a pretty ribbon or simply with a little flower . . . and this suffices to render me pleasing and enables me to sit at the Banquet of Angels without blushing.
The demon, traitor that he is, knows well, that he cannot make a soul who wills to belong wholly to the good God, commit sin; therefore he endeavors only to persuade her that she sins. That is a great deal gained, but it is not yet enough to satisfy his rage; he aims at something further, he wants to deprive Jesus of a loved tabernacle.
Not being able himself to enter into this sanctuary he wishes that it may at least remain empty and without its Lord.
Alas! what will become of this poor heart? . . . When the devil has succeeded in driving away a soul from Holy Communion he has gained his ends, and Jesus weeps . . .
A novice relates that she wanted to deprive herself of Holy Communion because of some lack of fidelity.
She wrote her determination to Sister Therese of the Child Jesus who thus replied: “Little flower cherished by Jesus, it is amply sufficient that by the humiliation of your soul, your roots eat of the earth . . . You must open a little, or rather raise on high your corolla so that the Bread of Angels may come as a divine dew to strengthen you, and to give you all that is wanting to you.”
Goodnight, poor little floweret; ask of Jesus that all the prayers offered for my recovery may serve to augment the fire which must consume me.”
“Love and sacrifice is thus as closely connected as the sun and the light. You can’t love without suffering and suffer without loving. It is with sacrifice that so confirms love “. – Santa Gianna Beretta Molla
Painting by Hermann Kaulbach (1846 – 1909, German)
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