Virginia and Quentin meet for the first time, Wednesday of Holy Week, 1965. During that stay at St. Meinrad Virginia entrusts her "Letters" to Quentin. Her weakening condition results in the loss of her voice and several lengthy hospital stays. Tragically, Virginia is molested by a priest who served as an occasional chaplain at "Good Sam." As her physical condition deteriorates, her desire for "Home" increases. She makes several more trips to St. Meinrad during this time. She writes, "…I am filled by many and drained by many, but if I am Jesus' how silly to try to determine just what He's doing with me at present. I do know that when I seek to enjoy my fullness, I am parched; when my brothers and sisters come thirsting, I am a fountain that will not be exhausted. O thank God! Sometimes I want to cry out in anguish. Cry what? I don't know, for I can NEVER ask to be returned to my former selfishness. Please lead me on, and if my foolishness cries in anguish then still lead me on till there is nothing of mine to cry but only Jesus."
+
LOVE
Sunday, April 25, 1965
Mother dear, never has there seemed so much to tell you, and never has the humiliation of wrenching words from inexpressible mysteries been so poignant. All the way to the monastery I shared the parched lips and Heart of Jesus. Even my tongue was hardened and dressed in a thirsty color. And though I've built up my bodily moisture somewhat, still I thirst. When will it be finished? Because it is Jesus' I beg for added moments or days or years to call it mine and please Our Father and save souls. O but Mother, I thirst.
One there was who raised a saturated sponge to my lips. Strange it was, and wonderful. We'd never met before. At first I was to him just another stranger, condemned to hang as so many others. Almost before he knew what he was doing he offered me a drink, and through some miracle I felt his sponge soak from me any last drops of moisture that might have been found there, and in the saturation of his heart I am satisfied. It was finished. I went that he might have Life and have it more abundantly; and only death can grant this. I went to the monastery to die for him, though I had never known him before. And now he lives a part of me forever. Frater Quentin, do you know how I love you? Is this not the majestic joy of motherhood during the anguish of childbirth? I am not concerned with just what I am experiencing. God is and I am and darkness is sweet.
|
* * * * So long a time and still I do not know You, Jesus? That day of our encounter You said Your Name was Fr. Eugene And Your eyes, your every move, spoke parables where mere words long before had turned to clashing cymbals. You were a Servant, and yet I was not above You. It was my JOY to be a captive in Your Love. And when You stooped to my feet And my impulse was objection, false humility, The splendor of Your eyes spoke of a Love that serves, Of a friendship's giving and receiving, Conscious of neither in the mystery that is Love. * * * * |
Holy Thursday, '65
Holy Thursday evening I was again kissed by the spasms that shook my body two years ago that very night, making it possible that I keep watch with my anguished King. Sweet pain, spare not this clod! Please tell her, Mother, not to leave me till I've borne Home all those given to my keeping.
Good Friday Fr. Eugene became my new spiritual director. Why is it that I feel so stripped? Why am I screaming for the God Who has abandoned me and in the same breath abandoning myself into His hands? I am such a paradox I can no longer endure myself. Help me to fix my heart on only Jesus.
We began our Easter Vigil at 3:45 A.M. Before all the symbolic rituals Fr. Eugene took this little silver band and placed it on my finger for my Spouse. Please don't let me grow accustomed to wearing it but with every sight or touch of it remind me of the majestic responsibilities of being Jesus' own. He fills what is lacking; I am whole.
Easter Monday I went to spend the night in Owensboro with my
beautiful friends Doris, Tony and eight precious little ones. How delightful they are; no wonder there are
only kids in Jesus' Kingdom. There was
the biggest kitchen table I've ever seen, and those pure eyes peeping over it
at me, watching, questioning, asking to help.
They were always so very anxious to assist. One 5-year-old, Rose extended her arms in total confidence that
she could lift me right from the floor into the wheelchair, as her mommy had
done. Their family prayer was so precious,
spontaneous, the hearts of little ones singing the most wonderful prayers in
the world. When Lisa prayed for my
cure, how I extended this handicapped heart and begged that it become strong
and vibrantly alive in His Love. And
that Mary Blaise just melted me to utter adoration with one kiss. Her prayer, not "God Bless" but
"I Love"…with plenty of prompting if she forgot anyone, and the
fantastic "Thank God for my soul."
I'd never even thought to thank Him for mine.
Next morning there was a 3-ring circus for me, and rides in the wheelchair, then a nap for a hobo not accustomed to such a wonderfully hectic life. And that night the hobo returned to the monastery. Even in that little span a hobo could not rest in her haven but was called away. O bittersweet exile, when do we go Home? Please beg patience for me.
Long before I'd gone to St. Meinrad's this time Jesus kept telling me I was to forget the consolation that usually awaits me there. But never did I suspect that even the presence of those so precious to me would become as nothing. I sat crying within for some of the sweetness that usually wraps me in the presence of Fr. Eugene. And I found myself deeply disappointed, irritated with Fr. Lucien's actions. Mother, please see that my brother Quentin is filled; I am so emptied. Even singing could not lift my heart, for I sat there with John and wondered just what the hands that made the guitar sing would be doing this summer, so soon, when he'll have left the refuge of monastery walls.
Then I became so very hungry with the desire to go aside a little while with Jesus. But instead the crowds came and they had to be fed. Mother, the stupid but expressive phrase "what about me?" fits well. So I hootenannied with my brothers and listened as they extolled my "happiness," wishing they too could share it.
This morning I left without goodbye's. Faith tells me this was the most precious of all visits there. Please let my heart answer, "Yes, I know."
In the mail which I've just perused is word that Sr. Mary Christina, my Sr. Smile of Jesus, is seriously considering leaving the convent. 0 her anguish these days, my own. Please make my heart bigger tonight lest it break.
Tuesday, April 27
Today is Fr. Keith's birthday and Christmas joy is mine. Please thank our Father for the tremendous kindness of his birth and life among us.
Word from the Haydens today, from Doris, Virginia and Lisa. Aren't they just wonderful? MUST share parts of Lisa's letter with you, Mother: "I hope your father is okay and your mother and also your brother and your baby sister if you have one. I got a watch for my birthday. The watch is waterproof, and shakeproof, and wristproof."
Wednesday, April 28
Word, precious word, from my Father today. He sends me for my motto the words of Pope John, "See everything, overlook a great deal, improve a little." How precious the humble, simple advice of one who loves me with Jesus' Love. Please, loving Mother whose advice is but "Do as He tells you," help me to accomplish his wishes for me. Through you, my Mother, I abandon myself into the Father's hands with boundless confidence, with certainty of hope--with joy.
Thursday, April 29
I am emptied tonight of all but a poor love ya. Please take it for Jesus.
Friday, April 30
All day I've been with Ruby, the friend Sr. Camilla sent to me. Why do I feel so drained? It was as if she begged me for food and because I had none to give her I ran to search for it and hid my own hunger. I wonder how long this utter poverty can possess my heart. I wonder, yet I'm not frantic to change anything. There is Jesus in a depth beyond all this Who keeps telling me this is good and He loves me. It is enough.
Saturday, May 1
Work, man's direct participation in Our Father's ever-present act of creation, O how precious it is. We are especially mindful of this today as we celebrate the feast of your dear Joseph, the Workman of Nazareth. Saturday mornings I dust furniture and pictures and crawl on my hands and knees to dust mop the floor of my pretty little corner. It's so little yet probably the most taxing manual labor I perform all week. And if I am tired when I am through it is a participation in Our Father's act when He looks upon the world He has made and sees that it is good and rests. Everything in this exile is a shadowed participation in His glory. If I should forget just how intimate is His Love, please remember to place me irrevocably in His hands. He will draw me so close till the beating of His Sacred Heart and mine are beyond distinction and He is my Life.
Mother dear, here it is the month especially dedicated to your queenly Motherhood. There are so very many ceremonial festivities in your name, but somehow I run from them. Yet I run always into your waiting arms. I am little and I love so very little, yet with all that I have and am, I love.
Sunday, May 2
"Do you love Me? Feed My sheep," Jesus says. I do have a little but what is such poverty to do for so many? If I keep it for myself I shall go hungry. But if I run to give it to Him for the multitude they will be filled and I too as I banquet in the midst of the least of them and find Jesus looking their way as He speaks of the greatest in His Kingdom. Here I am among the least of His little ones, the useless and abandoned ones. I love Jesus; please help me to fulfill the one proof He demands of my love.
Monday, May 3
Today is Fr. Eugene's 5th anniversary in the Holy Priesthood of Jesus Christ, and Fr. Jim's 10th. How wondrous that so many men of God have become a part of this little hobo's life. Mother of priests, please help me to be the little sister they need.
Tuesday, May 4
"Go your way; as sure as you live, it is impossible that the son of these tears should perish." I must be on my way, must be willing, for the sake of the Gospel, to go to the ends of the earth and to live till time is no more if Jesus should ask this of me. I am not worthy of His asking anything of me. Yet in His tremendous Love He lets His Sacred Humanity repose in His Father's glory and chooses instead the weakness that I am to accomplish His mission. If I live in His Love, even my tears are precious, and in complete humility I can become an Alleluia from head to toe. My brothers and sisters are safe because I ask that they be so. And a God Who is Love cannot ignore my request for them. I go my way, to Calvary, that they may have Life, abundantly.
Wednesday, May 5
It was such a burst of sunshine to pick up the phone this morning and hear Fr. Keith's voice. If I sport independence and brag to myself of detachment, one moment like that this morning proves me such a phony. O the happiness of talking to him, the lovableness of his wit, his precious way of scolding and encouraging. Thank you for such a precious little brother.
Monday, May 10
On this the 23rd anniversary of my birth into this good earth and also of the day on which the waters of Baptism let Our Father smile because He saw that this bit of creation was good (reminded Him of His Son), I come to thank you, Mother, so insufficiently yet sincerely, for the gift of Life and a Way and the Truth.
I've been hoboing around Elwood since last Thursday night, taking up daily, hourly, the cross of others' bubbling happiness that I could not share. But I am glad because they are glad; their happiness is sufficient. In the mystery of the Communion we share it is my own.
First I was at Mary Joan's, then PAT'S. O what is there to express what she is to me? How thrillingly true is the statement she is my sister; there is nothing more poignant to be said of our growing relationship. Thank you for her!
Saturday night at Pat's Myrna, Loretta, Gracie and my precious Fr. Keith were there for the birthday cake Pat had lovingly baked. There were all 23 candles, and after four huffs and puffs from your rather long-winded hobo, there was yet one candle that refused to be extinguished. Time after time I tried to direct that final blow but there it remained, almost defiant, calm, enduring, sweet little assurance that, though almost everything seem to be covered with darkness, we are children of the Light. I believe; please rid me of all disbelief.
Mother, I'm sorry I cannot write a lovely letter tonight. I long to bring you SOMETHING of loveliness, but right now there is none in me. It is painful to give the likes of me to you. Yet Jesus has loved me and what is there to respond but, "Lord, I give…"?
During the Holy Sacrifice Jesus' words once again became ALIVE in me. On this petite Christmas I know beyond a doubt that with Jesus "I've come that they may have life…abundantly." The agony and the ecstasy of childbirth is my treasured lot and today for the first time I can be called woman by one who loves me, and in humility, truthfulness, not refute the title.
What with all that is happening to my brothers and sisters, and to me in them and through them and with them, it seems I should be able to peck volumes to you, Mother, but my one delight tonight is to be your little nothing in the everythingness of Jesus.
THE TOMB IS EMPTY, ALLELUIA!
Tuesday, May 11
Thirty-two years ago today a new star appeared, and the joy that has echoed deep within my soul was proclaimed quietly to the family of Fr. Eugene. Late have I known him, yet that I should ever have met and fallen in Love with him is beyond my worthiness. In angel song I hide my own little but loving, "Glory to God!
A birthday package from Quentin today, following the 7-page letter from him I read but yesterday! Mother dear, how can I thank you for so precious a brother? O to never violate the reverence and love and intimacy and laughter of this friendship. Please seal our relationship eternally in Jesus' Love.
Thursday, May 13
This morning Jean, Lulu, Ruby and I sat chattering with the rest of Jesus' squirrels in Highland Park. How good, and appropriate, to gather in His Name. Please teach us ever more of the abundant Life that so secretly fills and transforms us.
Friday, May 14
All is still; it is wondrous night. A pleasant breeze flutters my curtains and the curtain, in turn, rubs gently against my precious Rockingchair Madonna, causing the lovely carving to become alive to me in the soothing motions of Motherhood. I find myself in your arms, rocking, abandoned, content, yours.
Saturday, May 15
"First of all, a priest must be pure not only in his body but also in his soul, and devoid of all sin. Secondly, he must be humble not merely in his external behavior and his habitual actions, but also in his inner disposition. Furthermore, standing before the altar and seeing the holy Eucharist with his eyes, he must always inwardly contemplate the Deity. More than that, he must acquire Him Who is invisibly present in the Eucharist and be conscious of Him dwelling in his heart, to enable him daringly to send his prayers to God and, speaking with Him as friend with friend, to say, 'Our Father, Which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name;' for this prayer shows that the man who utters it has present within him Him, Who by His nature is the Son of God, with the Father and the Holy Ghost. From the PHILOKALIA.
What, O what might I ask tonight on this the blessed occasion of the Ordination of our Little Brother Yvon to the Priesthood of Jesus Christ? I ask all that the Philokalia ascribed to a holy priest, but when it's finished my little heart feels unsatisfied, like there were too many words and it had no time to request of you the only thing it asks. Please make him Jesus!
It's late, Mother. I've just returned from a lovely evening at Ruth's. Tonight I remained rather indifferent to an atmosphere that would've usually made me feel very uneasy, uncultured, etc. Somehow it was fun to be me tonight, and somehow I was never more aware of being Another. O precious, tremendous responsibility!
Sunday, May 23
Wearily yet zealously I greet you this evening, my precious Mother. I've just returned from a week with the Sisters at Maria Stein, Ohio. It has been a stained-glass experience, but then so is life in general. And though my childishness can glimpse a little of its beauty already, there is still so much I fail to comprehend because I've not let Jesus take such possession of me that I may see with the eyes of Wisdom the hundred million miracles that are lovingly performed within and around me each day. For those that I see, and especially for those I do not recognize, please hide this Magnificat in your own's eternally exultant echo.
It was a quiet week, and at the outset my little brother Charles seemed to tell me that it might be compared to the time he spent in Jesus' Nazareth, reading and encountering at the feet of God's Eucharistic Presence the Word of God, a further flowering of the bud of my vocation. There I remained, with Jesus-Caritas booklets and A WOMAN WRAPPED IN SILENCE, and plumbing such depths as might be explored in my poor shallowness that at last a new spring is discovered and the living waters surge and fall ever so gently on my brothers and sisters who surround me and upon my aridity.
Wednesday morning I was speaking to one angelic sister when soon you, Mother, became the object of our wonderful little exchange. It seemed the more I spoke of you the greater this already great love of you became until my heart could hardly withstand further increase. There grew an intense physical pain in my right chest so great that at last I had to cease speaking, and with some flimsy excuse rush to my room and rest a little. O Love too immense for my mortal frame, please consume me. But I am not worthy; please burn all self, all waste material, from me, and be the Life and death of me.
My brothers at St. Meinrad's were to have graduated last Thursday, so that was when I chose to go aside and rest a little while alone with Jesus for my "day in the desert." No oasis this time, but you read here no note of surprise nor disappointment do you, Mother? I don't want you to. Aridity and nausea and drowsiness, such poor company for One Who complains and pleads, "Can you not watch one hour with Me?" Yet because I am not for Him the lovely bride I want so to be, my heart rests in the hope that I am pleasing to Jesus, and this is enough.
What can I write of the miracles of Divine Love I witnessed yesterday afternoon and this morning? At Bethlehem, on Calvary, Love's greatness was magnified by a manger and a cross. And to think others saw the grimaces of my face and beheld therein Love's radiant glow! Never have I been so aware of the lowliness of this handmaid. Even before I could be refreshed by this morning's first cup of coffee there were about 30 young Sisters anxious to begin discussion on today's tremendous Gospel lesson. So there we sat together on the floor. Soon all attention focused on the importance of prayer in our daily lives. The Spirit of Jesus joined us in a nearly tangible embrace. And when we were ready to leave the room, and each of my precious Sisters embraced me in the Kiss of Peace, there was one Christ loving Himself. And my heart yet hides in the beauty it beheld there. Will that living flame in their eyes still be there when "the wise" have tried to give them two tablets of stone with ten commandments upon them in trade for the hearts on which Jesus' new commandment has been freshly branded? Please, now and always, fill my Sisters with Jesus.
Monday, May 24
Please take this poor, restless heart. In my Mother's arms it will sleep and find refreshment.
Tuesday, May 25
This afternoon, at last, I was privileged to be with Ruth with her class of special children, and how special and precious they are. Fifteen angels that will never lose their childlike purity. I offer this evening, Mother dear, one of the most precious notes I've ever received. One so retiring recognized my love and responded with all the gift of self anyone might muster. There was art, atop a blue sky and at the bottom of the paper a body of water on which floated a little black ship. And between earth and heaven, "I like you virginia and i think you are Pretty. Love Jackie."
Frater Quentin began a five day retreat last Sunday evening. Please give him all that your motherly love knows is good these special days and always. Fill him with that Love that is our very life and give him my love that becomes more what it should be if he will but graciously receive it.
Wednesday, May 26
A loving little hello, Mother, after a precious day of love. How can I express my joyous gratitude at being with Fr. Keith today? A trip to the clinic necessary? I didn't think so. But my heart needed the time with him, the shared experiences and bananas and simply the joyous pleasure mere being together gives.
Doc was pretty special; please tell him I think so. We had such a nice chat. Strange that he was so sincerely interested in "my work." I answered his incessant questions almost boldly. And once again I was standing aside amusedly listening to myself. I was telling Doc the simple, beautiful truth, of hoboing and correspondence and the appropriateness of living in an old people's home, and praying. And perhaps for the first time I wasn't simultaneously making excuses for my vocation. So convinced was I of my vocation that if he should have branded me lazy and tried to convince me of some other responsibilities, I would have been undisturbed. But this was not his attitude; it was respect and a request to be remembered in my prayers. Tonight I offer his loving kindness, his curiosity, his respect, the collar repair he took care of from his own pocket that he continue to grow in his love for us little guys, for Jesus.
After the movie THE SOUND OF MUSIC, and supper together, Father drove me to Elwood, where his little flock called to him from the confessional. I sat in a little dark corner in the sacristy, so near to our Daily Bread and to him. It seemed so appropriate to be there hidden, praying, as he refreshed his sheep, so good. O thank you for him and for the triumphant burden of being a co-missionary. We've just returned to Kokomo, and though he's gone how truly he remains, a part of me forever, and I his, the least of his flock, the one I hope he will choose first to lay upon the Altar in sacrifice for the others. Will you tell him of something he must have noticed incessantly today, my poor but undying love?
Thursday, May 27
Yes, once there were green fields kissed by the sun whose warmth permeated me. Once. Green fields to remind me of harvest and make me smile. Now this little hobo's duty is but to plant seeds, to dig beneath what seems barren and put there a spark of Eternal Life. Then I must be on my way, leaving all fruit behind for the Conqueror to whom I send but one request, "Thy Kingdom come."
I am so "…alone, And in her she could feel the flow of time That had begun and would go on, To days, in silence, on and on. She was A woman now who was alone with time, And in her heart, the wait and ache of time." A WOMAN WRAPPED IN SILENCE
What of Quentin? Did he not end his retreat today? Receive his resolutions, his abiding love, all he is, and keep him, precious that he is, for Jesus.
These monthly twinges of womanhood, they are wonderful. I give…
Saturday, May 29
My precious Padre Benito writes: "Discouragement is so easy. Frustration is on a 24 hour schedule here." To him, to all of us, please reveal the wondrous fact of your Maternity. It is enough.
Sunday, May 30
"And when the blessings are all used up, then simply say: AMEN." THE PROPHET [?] To all that has happened, to all that is, to all that will be, amen!
Monday, May 31
To what other "Queen" might I run so happily and find always an affectionate embrace? With little Therese I'm ALMOST inclined to think, "We are more fortunate than she, because…she had no Blessed Virgin to love."
Tuesday, June 1
Please teach me more and more each day of the burning, loving Heart of Jesus during this month especially devoted to Its vastness.
Word from St. Meinrad's today that several Fraters have been dispensed from their vows and are now elsewhere. And what of the others? Mother, I place the matter, as I place everything, wholly and confidently in your care. Please hasten to relieve my precious "seasick" Benedictine family, the entire Church, that is reeling under the majestic burdens of the era. Please open your wide maternal embrace and welcome us all to security in that place where, above all others, we learn of Jesus. If He is our Way and Truth and Life, how can anything be wrong?
Wednesday, June 2
How inclined we mortals are to give our God the last-fruits, the leftovers. This morning I had a quite convenient schedule worked out: The Eucharist, coffee, 3 quick letters, and in what time was left, moments with Jesus before the day's hoboing began. But Divine Kindness brought me to our little chapel then put our elevator out of order till 9:30. All that time to be in the precious company of my Beloved. Please thank Him for always frustrating my insufficient plans.
Sunday, June 6
Please ask God to renew the face of the earth, to recreate all things in the image of His Beloved Son and in all things to be well pleased. Jesus has ignited our hearts; the Holy Spirit now enflames them. All becomes radiantly alive. Make us, Mother dear, vibrantly aware of all things in the majestic totality of our God.
The Gift given me to especially request this year is Counsel. Precious spouse of the Holy Spirit, will you not ask for me this superior prudence, this light, this eternal reason, this exalted rule of the will of God? Make my decisions quick, sure, audacious. O for the security of knowing God's Will!
Please give Quentin from his very little sister, too little to find something worthy of him herself, the Gift of the Father, the Holy Spirit, and all that the Flame of this Love accomplishes in one tremendous heart such as his.
O Mother, please look upon your children tonight, as we speak with diverse tongues, the uniqueness of our being, the wonderful works of God.
Monday, June 7
Just a little while ago I passed the desk in the hall and saw thereon a newspaper with print too bold to miss, "THEY MADE IT!" Yes, our two astronauts have returned after their successful mission. What good these expensive space explorations accomplish baffles me. But I do hope you'll fling me soaring into our Father's hands, and I'll feel the warmth of His pleasure that I made it, because (O incomprehensible wonder) He loves me, and I have glorified His Name.
Tuesday, June 8
In today's Prayer we ask that the power of the Holy Spirit come very gently to purify our hearts. On this Pentecost Tuesday, 23rd anniversary of Fr. Lucien's ordination to Jesus' sacred Priesthood his wee sister begs this especially for him. Please let me remain especially intimately united in the Holy Sacrifice he lifts daily in our perfect Gift to the Father.
Wednesday, June 9
Today brought the group picture Julie took of the bunch of us as we gathered at her home last Saturday night. Everyone is SO radiant, except Father and me. Father looks fine, just needs his eyes opened. And I have SUCH a sorry puss. Should be radiant with joy, for I had the privileged spot right next to him. His priestly hand is holding me steady. But chest spasms were so frequent that night. So let me accept the humiliation the mammoth circulation of this picture will bring for him, my missionary, at once my Father and my brother, my hands, feet and voice in the tremendous apostolate of bringing many and great souls to Jesus.
Thursday, June 10
This afternoon we were gathered together in one place (Jean, Lulu, Mary, Jane, Peg and Ruby with their little sister) to receive the Holy Spirit and all His gifts. How else can we express our gratitude for these unless we employ them, abandon ourselves to His direction, be filled to overflowing so that others may drink from our cup and with our happiness in Jesus renew the face of the earth? Please make us gracious receivers, little servant girls of God.
Peg drove me back to Sam. It was our first time alone together, always a precious experience with every soul. She's searching so; please lead her to Jesus and the tranquillity of abandonment in Our Father's arms. Again I found myself required to be a witness to the vital importance of "time alone with God." It seems the deeper this conviction grows within me the more I'm required to expose my little flame. How many are groping for this Light!! Please let little ones see and understand this Light though I walk in such darkness. Take this weeping so that my brothers and sisters face the dawn rejoicing.
DEE was here for a little bit this evening. Thank God for sending my brother whom I love so. How is he, Mother? This little heart so accustomed to "laughing on the outside and crying on the inside," finds a deep kinship with his.
Ruth and I just returned from a sweet little jaunt. We've never shared so much; today we've been intimately united in love's crucifixion. Once again I am grateful for the sincerity with which I may tell another, "I understand." There are some who admit hesitation in coming to me, their little sister. They say I appear so free of their vicissitudes. Please teach me to be honest, to be very little and approachable.
Friday, June 11
What has Jesus in store for me in calling me aside tomorrow to be with Him and His? Please let me be that cup on His table that, emptied or filled, is His.
Friday, June 25
O precious one in whom the Sacred Heart of Jesus was formed and took its first omnipotent beat, and whose blood poured itself into that Heart that it in turn pour it upon us and we be truly called your children, we love you. Jesus exchanged His Heart with St. Margaret Mary, and thereafter she was never relieved of the precious pain in her side. Please let the incessant heartache I bear be this, that Jesus has given me His Heart and my littleness cannot contain its immensity, and in its lack of universality reels but, O please, does not skip a beat.
It's been two weeks since I last had the happy opportunity to peck a "love ya" to you Mother. There is lots to tell you, yet words seem to flee. Let only that Word God spoke through you to me remain.
The retreat? Yes, it was the best ever. I don't know just what Jesus is accomplishing in me these days. It's not for a little one to ask. O the tremendous peace of knowing that I am only because through me Jesus wishes to manifest His Love to my brothers and sisters. No conference in my memory, nothing appealing from him who seems to thrill my 1oved ones, only moments of weariness somehow overcome and others not overcome, this was my retreat. I AM that others might have life, abundantly. How or when is not for me to ask.
I sat in my little corner while Fr. Farrell's tremendous mind expounded one exalted truth after another. From out of somewhere Jesus' little fox echoed, "Words are a source of misunderstanding." Simplicity itself can be so (damned) complicated. Mother, please bear with me. I may be sorry that the little one I give you isn't lovely, but please let me never catch myself giving you a figment of pious imagination. I'm yours; you're so gracious in loving the unlovable. That is why each evening flinging myself into your arms whether in fear or delight or exhaustion, is my peace.
This ring, which even now I am fingering, who can know the totality of its significance? Least of all did I comprehend that as I ran to my Spouse, Jesus Christ, last Easter. Never did I run to Him with such abandon, and never could He have taken me before in such entirety. Now I have nothing, till one of my brothers or sisters stretches a hand to me. I stand there speechless; how can I tell them what utter poverty I am? I needn't tell them, for somehow there is enough to fill their cup. There's always enough for them. To this hope I cling. "God alone is sufficient." Then my heart wants to cry to them for help. It wants to tell them of poverty they'll never expect here. But why? Out of these depths I cry to God. Only He would endure my voice. Though I might try to seek the sympathy of everyone I meet, no one would want to hear my babble. And "before a word is on my lips He knows the whole of it." Please hush me.
Jesus wants a clown? Here I am laughing on the outside, crying on the inside, making Him smile because I think my heart is so heavy and forget that I've given my heart away.
What is this new awareness of Fr. Keith? One week ago this evening he sat at the table opposite me during our Review of Life. His eyes, nothing could distract me from them. They were so very tired and filled to overflowing with love. How can I tell him my heart aches because it loves him so? He is not one who needs to be told; his heart is too tremendous for that. Please tell him I'm glad he knows.
Since Wednesday morning I've been at Velma's. We've shared more than I've ever hoped we might. My hopes can never meet the wonderful things Our Father has prepared for us. Please let me never try to limit His designs by my ideas.
Fr. Keith has just returned me to Sam, and I am so very tired. Tuck me in and care for him, please.
Saturday, June 26
How sweet to return to the routine, the security, of Nazareth. Rising while everything is still atingle with freshness, the simplicity of the Supreme Sacrifice, pecking of my typewriter, the boost of an afternoon nap, even a bit of music on TV this evening, and finally this note to you and quiet with Jesus and abandon in Our Father's arms. What day would not thrill your little one? Only that on which she refuses to listen and open her eyes and live.
Tuesday, June 29
Mother, your little hobo once again. Nazareth's sweet routine wasn't mine very long, for last Sunday afternoon Daddy came insisting that I return to Fowler with him. Dear Daddy, how I wish I might love him more "easily." Isn't that a ridiculous wish? I know, but because I'm your little one those attitudes go by nearly unnoticed; please hide all such childish selfishness in the infinity of your maternal love. I just want to rest a little while with Jesus, but why the surprise that men follow us? It's always been this way; how well you know. What gentle words of welcome you must always have had for them, your words the echo of His Heart Who came that these might have life abundantly.
My poor little family, how much I long to feel my participation therein yet how very little I'm needed there. Yesterday Daddy spent the entire day in Indianapolis, Jim was baling hay for his girlfriend's father, I asleep most of the time in the living room. We were together at supper time, but when I waited for Daddy to sit down with us, quite content to wait for him, he snapped at me as though I were demanding his attention immediately, barking something to the effect that I expected him to forget poor old Grams to cater to me. He just cannot see how I long to be a part of his life. There is no room for me there, But I cannot stop knocking. Jesus doesn't want me to, does He? To love is to hope in another forever. That's a long time, Mother. It is impossible; but with Jesus' Love this and how much more am I capable of. Yes, charity begins at home, and because I am a little hobo home is everywhere. Everywhere my love must BEGIN. Every minute is my failure and my beginning; this thought alone drives away discouragement. Please watch over a beginner.
Wednesday, June 30
Precious word from Fr. Eugene today. He says of the university, "Well, the whole thing seems like a big dream. I can't quite believe I'm really here and am not too sure that I want to be here, but then it's all very wonderful too and somehow I feel that it is good for me to be here. Know what I mean? I'm sorta confused, so I guess everything is normal and okay." Now Mother, isn't that a precious and quite convincing way of reassuring me in my own dilemma? Even here he helps me so secretly, no glitter, just the hidden, most precious treasures he always offers me. Please keep him, treasure that he is.
Thursday, July 1
Here I am, Mother, "a cup filled by the ministering angel of the day to quench the thirst of another angel. Yet whether that cup is full or empty it shall stand crystalline upon the board of the Most High." Gibran. I love being this chalice. Yes, I am filled by many and drained by many, but if I am Jesus' how silly to try to determine just what He's doing with me at present. I do know that when I seek to enjoy my fullness I am parched; when my brothers and sisters come thirsting I am as a fountain that will not be exhausted. O thank God! Sometimes I want to cry out in anguish. Cry what? I don't know, for I can NEVER ask to be returned to my former selfishness. Please lead me on, and if my foolishness cries in anguish then still lead me on till there is nothing of mine to cry but only Jesus.
On this feast of the most precious Blood of Jesus, this feast of divine love's prodigality, please lift a little chalice to Our Father. This is enough.
Friday, July 2
"One learns to love God by loving men," our little Br. Charles tells us, and today Holy Mother Church contemplates your haste to be with Elizabeth. How can a little one know the difficulties of such a journey or that breathless moment when you stood on her threshold and softly called her name and awaited there a Sign or the joy of her salutation that would release the song of your heart? No, please let me be content here with awe till I find, "now, the sound is lost, and in a space, The day is dull again, and Zachary Could only hear a woman and a child Who shyly spoke of things that women say." A WOMAN WRAPPED IN SILENCE
Saturday, July 3
"He who plants kindness gathers love." Please Mother, teach me to be kind and bury this little seed in the specific desert Jesus wishes for me and let Him come soon to reap many and great lovers of Him.
Sunday, July 4
Please help me to shower upon others a bit of that exquisite kindness Our Father smiles upon me.
Tuesday, July 6
Twice today our elevator was out of order, and once yesterday and the day before. It's so often; please aid Sam. Our funds must be quite low. It is at times like these that the Old Boy keeps throwing suggestions at me like, "Perhaps they'll close the place. Besides, three years is much too long for you to be here. You're young and already throwing away precious years. Do something. Make it so that others NEED YOU…." On and on he goes, and I with him till my foolish thoughts halt and I know that the labors of those who work under poverty of means are blessed also, a hundredfold. No one sees our harvest, for one cannot number souls. They're for Jesus alone.
This week, at every hour of prayer, Holy Mother Church has her children begging that She "May know the joy of serving You without disturbance." There is disturbance; Jesus' Mystical Body seems to sway from one side to another. It would be so easy to cry, "Lord, we perish!" if we were to forget that Jesus is resting in His arc. Let us look to see that He is here and not disturb Him. All is well.
Wednesday, July 7
From "Huaraz, Land of God, No date--" Padre Benito writes, "The Lord is closer now…" I was sure, Mother, that it was enough simply to tell you of his discouragement and frustration. Our Mother's tenderness heals all. My joy is to bring the cut and bruised little ones to your feet where I too have been so often soothed and am comforted again in their ease. Thank you!
Thursday, July 8
Just a few minutes ago, as I made the long trek from here to the John and back again, with tired arms that make it twice the journey, I found in my heart one incessant prayer. "Lord, he who sees me sees my brother also!" Tonight I AM this prayer, and I know that I cannot tumble into the strong arms of Our Father without taking with me each brother and sister He's given me. Please hasten me into my nightie; I'm impatient to abandon the world to God!
Friday, July 9
Please take for Jesus my entire day's work, a little poem written weakly, nearly illegibly, upon a piece of scrap paper. Title? There is none, but in the corner is not so much a complaint as a giving of myself to Him, "I'm tired, Jesus."
|
Here lies the day before me, But I am O so tired; A day to live with Jesus, Already I've retired! Typewriter keys are quiet. No din from record player. My books are neat upon the shelf. O why pretend at prayer? Our Father, please receive me. There's nothing else to do But fling myself into Your arms And fall in Love with You. |
Among today's letters are three from disturbed friends. Their needs, their demands are so great it frightens. But I rest assured that for them I am strong and filled. Let them lean for I am securely fastened to Jesus' Cross.
Saturday, July 10
This evening Ruth and I strolled to Wolfcale's for a Coke. My precious Ruth! The waitress asked if we were sisters, said we look so alike, and please pardon my peacockishness. How I want our hearts to look alike for Jesus. If a mere thought of her gives me a thrill of joy, what pleasure she must bring to Jesus. Give her to Him again and again that my Beloved be delighted.
Janice and I just finished her birthday celebration with our Cokes and pie, the closest we could come to ice cream and cake. And it seems she couldn't have been more tickled. How very, very big are the little things of love, a smile, a note, sharing a bottle of pop. Please help me to echo the exquisite kindness of Our Father in bringing to those I live with the O so hidden happinesses of Nazareth. I remember the worn phrase, "Little things mean a lot," and feel Him bending to me and so gently whispering, "Hi, little thing!"
Sunday, July 11
Blessed be God on this day my dear brother Emmanuel was ordained as a Little Brother of the Gospel in the Holy Priesthood of Jesus Christ! In the joy of this universal family of ours please mingle one little hobo's poor hymn of praise.
Monday, July 12
Two letters from Ghana today, one from the Sisters of Mary Immaculate and the other from Fr. Pwamang. Soon I shall see him. How lovingly I'll raise my eyes to that tall, black brother's flashing smile and know that we can smile at one another because our love has grown beneath the Cross.
Tuesday, July 13
Word from my precious Velma today, and an excerpt from the life of Madame de Chantel… "After the first blissful year or two and the ecstatic prayer, she entered a state of aridity and desolation that lasted almost without intermission for the rest of her life. She accepted it in a stark act of faith, constantly renewed. She lived on her bare will, in what her director called the fine point of the soul, tempted against faith and hope. Outwardly serene, she was able to pass on confidence and peace to all who came to her for help, while she herself suffered spiritually for the rest of her life. She had offered herself as a sacrifice and God took her at her word…"
That tale does find such an echo here. Often I feel this anguish is lifelong. Agony, ecstasy, is there really any difference since Jesus is crucified? I do know that at Eastertime I plunged myself into my Father's arms as never before, and nothing is or will be the same. God took me at my word. Such respect He has for His creatures. Now I implore the self-respect to know how irrevocable is the giving away of my heart and to kiss this ring that is the symbol of my servitude to total freedom.
Wednesday, July 14
How can I tell you about today, Mother? Perhaps if I explained it to Saint-Exupery he could find some poetic description, or some ridiculous picture a child's wisdom could understand.
There is nothing to say but that it's been a rendezvous between the Little Prince and His red rose. It began with the longest, most sacred journey ever made, when (and truly this is so ridiculous only a child can't remain incredulous) God became man. A Little Prince came to earth because of a rose. "Oh, Little Prince! Bit by bit I came to understand the secrets of your sad little life…." It is such a proud little thing on whom You've wasted Your Life. But if tonight I at last respond, "I have been silly. I ask Your forgiveness. Try to be happy…" then may I not see His precious smile? But if for a while I must wait for Him Who has waited eternal years for me, then let me look at the moon and the stars and await the movement of the planets and sunrise, and be content with waiting and remembering. Such an unfaithful little flower I've been. Still, He loves me; that can never be denied. He'll return, before the baobabs can grow much larger. I know He'll return. Tell Him how I've hidden my sweetest perfume for Him. No, I guess you needn't tell Him. He's got eternal hopes in me. Once I hurt Him so. If He should find that a caterpillar nibbled upon me or the night winds blew me over, He'll know that I've simply wilted in the fire of His Love, that at last I am wasted for Him. "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly." He'll smile, because He knows I live in Him.
Thursday July 15
After I've been disappointed, hurt and disappointed again, please let the flame of my hope in those I love but brighten. That is the way Our Father seems to love me, and how fittingly Piety demands that I look upon my brothers and sisters and do likewise.
Saturday, July 17
My precious "Elfish" is disturbed. Her little note today tears at my poor heart. I'll go to her tomorrow. Please ask Jesus to put in the great love He's given me for my sister that exquisite tenderness with which He hushes my own whimpers. Because I've asked this of you, I go to her with haste, with anxiety to deliver to her the gifts Jesus is even now so secretly preparing for her in my heart.
Sunday, July 18
"Hey, Mom!" Yes, I try so hard to be grownup, but will always use every excuse to revert to your tender care. I need you so, and I'm glad for such need because YOU are my Mother.
Monday, July 19
"They are your masters and you will find them terribly exacting masters…It is only by feeling your love that the poor will forgive you for your gifts." Jerry, the poor unlovable one, I've just taken him a candy bar. He eats like one famished; he is hungry. Even decent meals are reserved here for the likable. Does he forgive me my gifts, the candy bars my friends bring and the roll I save from my own tray that he not lie awake hungry? Does he feel my love? Have I truly risen above being the self-congratulatory gift giver to being the gift? Please ask my brothers to forgive my gift, to forgive me.
Tuesday, July 20
Who am I to presume to judge my friends' needs, I who know not my own? But please don't let my ignorance send them away hungry.
Thursday, July 22
Mother, teach me to exercise my womanliness. It is not for me to choose "the best part." Too many times each day you direct my prayer, "Father, I abandon myself into Your hands. Do with me what You will." I know that whatever part my Father chooses for me is the best part. And it will not be taken from me, please, even by my foolish self.
Friday, July 23
Heat, cold, fatigue, work, laughter, friendship, rest, all life is O so precious because God became man. He lived and made life worth living.
Saturday, July 24
Routine, the sweet little things of Nazareth, I've loved each day. Thank you, Mother. In simplicity alone are discovered mysteries unsuspected by the wise. And now your little hobo must be on her way. Where? I know little about the paths from which Jesus calls, but they all lead to Calvary, to that throne which alone is worthy of homage, to torture, betrayal, poverty, death, to abundant Life for those for whom I've come. Please don't let my hesitance, my unworthiness, keep them waiting. My eyes are upon Jesus and I run!
Friday, July 30
A breathless hi, Mother. I've just returned from Ft. Wayne where I spent a few days at the Villa. Yes, they were good, filled with memories of the only happy days I knew in childhood. My little retreat, and I've had five days of thanksgiving. You see, we must even thank God for permitting us to say thank you. Now who would be so foolish as to try to get even with a Love such as that! (me)
Renewed acquaintances, new loves, souls, souls and souls. And Jesus' vocation is mine, that they may have life abundantly. Father, glorify Your Son!
Saturday, July 31
Please Mother, in the grind of exhaustive hoboing or crushing routine, make me truly one with the Beloved Who calls Himself the Bread of Life.
Monday, August 9
Just now I've put in place the contents of my knapsack and here I am for those precious moments with you my poor heart needs so. Mother, please assure me again that you can love such as me, that you too anticipate these precious chats. It's so hard to imagine your love of me, but you know I do believe in that love. It is the last spark in my life. Everything else seems so cold, but what matter? You are, Mother, and no minute of my life is devoid of beauty. Every fiber of my weakness calls you blessed, Mother.
Though I've deposited my knapsack for a little while, my heart is heavy with the burden of man's inhumanity to himself. What is this cry that nestles in my throat? I cannot free myself of it once for all nor swallow it in forgetfulness, so I wearily yet welcomingly embrace this new companion. O what is becoming of me? Mother, please help me! What is driving me to discontent, to despair over my age because it seems so long till there will be any rest? I know that this exile is precious, that my Beloved is already living and loving in me. Why this? Do I owe Him an apology for my thrashing about, or is even this one of His gifts? Do I really expect these queries to be resolved; do I not already accept the fact that this suffering may but intensify till a death that now seems to me a century away? With one of the saints can I not learn to pray not for death but only for suffering? Mother!!! It seems that the name I seemed to say so softly and sweetly I now shout in desperation. Mother!!! Please hush me. What princess whose Kingdom was as near as her very heart ever carried on like this? Explain such ingratitude to Our Father for me; I can't for I do not understand such things as you do. I'm sorry that in giving myself to you I must offer you something so miserable, yet I beg the grace to always give myself to you and not some lovely creature my fancy might create. It's so good you're here.
I've just spent a week with Blonda and Vic, and I'm so weary of hiding this anguish so as not to add to their burden. Of course I want to bring YOU my best, yet you see that tonight my best is the ugly in me. The moments with Vic, my first, were precious. Please let him who has been so hurt rush into the flames of love again. Tell him he is not alone; little and miserable as his little sister is, she loves him.
Looking back, with Jesus I weep over this visit. If only I had laughed a little more, wept a little more, said a little more, listened a little more. Never have I shouted, "Crucify Him!" yet often have my actions stuttered, "I don't know the fella!" I have known; God forbid that I have not loved. Now I've deposited everything here, Mother, and am here limp, ready to be tossed forever into the strong hands of Our Father. That is the meaning of Good Night.
Tuesday, August 10
"Here are the true treasures of the church." Here are my precious people, waiting now, just waiting to go home. I cannot point to the most beautiful of them. She was here when I left but the Discerner of all treasures could no longer delay complete possession of her. We miss our precious Aunt Kate, yet because we know our Father loves her so we're happy He's taken her to Himself. She was lonely; she was waiting. He could resist full possession of her no longer. Alleluia!
Wednesday, August 11
This little corner has been happily bustling with visitors today, Jean and Lulu, the welfare lady, doc., Ruth. Each has left a particular blessing; please see that one is returned.
One precious goodie I must share with you, Mother dear. I share because I love you too much not to. The welfare lady was such an angel. After two hours of filling out her extremely detailed paperwork she must still make another trip to finish. Yet how graciously she told me so; even her face said she'd be happy to give me yet more of her precious schedule. What was most delightful was that right in the midst of all the tiring data there was a space in which she was to list my hobbies. She smiled and without further consideration wrote, "PEOPLE."
Thursday, August 12
Three letters from three of my beautiful sisters today. How filled is the littleness of my heart. Can I possibly have room for one more such precious one? Each love is an expansion, and one day surely I'll die of love. This mortal frame is melting in the Fire Jesus casts.
One of the letters is from Claude. O what is there to say of her exquisite beauty; the mere thought of her simplicity makes me happy. She my sister, you my mother, truly Jesus has already opened heaven's door a crack. I've peeked and exile has become for me truly blessed.
Friday, August 13
I'm so tired, Mother, and so yours.
Saturday, August 14
Please Mother, take your little one's prayer to purify it for tomorrow morning's Holy Sacrifice:
"Father, the Queen of co-missionaries gives my heart away. Only what she knows to be
irrevocably hers would she so freely distribute to another. I am hers!
"At the foot of the Cross there was at last a place for Mother to call hers. I am O so lonely for my Fr. Keith. The multitude presses upon him, needs him. Let me be unseen in that crowd. Only, please reserve for me his sufferings. His little red rose's petals falls one by one, as he is transformed into Jesus."
Sunday, August 15
Yes, it's very late, but please permit a wee goodnight on this your glorious feast.
I've just returned to Sam. It's been a big day, the dedication of the church, supper, and 1001 renewed acquaintances. But it all fades from view in the happiness of just having spent precious, more than precious, moments with Fr. Keith in one of the little spots Our Father seems to have designed just for him. There we were together, and even yet I know not which were words and which prayers we said. Now here I am at Sam beginning a third year for him. Something in me rebels at having been here so long, cries that I'm too young to consider an old people's home anything like permanent for me. And something in my more sensible self tells me I am just where I belong. Queen of peace, please remember that I'm yours. Lifetimes are very indefinite considerations. But today is to be accepted, every little particle of it, and lived to the fullest. Fr. Keith's red rose must some day open wide, be utterly spent. And the proper time is now and the place here, anywhere I am put. What flower ever transplanted herself? Please send me sunshine and rain, and most of all sing when I whimper so Jesus won't hear my complaint.
Monday, August 16
I had a request this evening, Mother. I wanted to make a worthy plea that you teach me that respect, that dauntless kindness each man has a right to. Instead my head is reeling from this increased medication. I'm so tired fighting it. Please take the rest of your little tippler who has all day been leaning against the Son.
Tuesday, August 17
Today I've wept at being so loved. Mother, it is humiliating, crushing to see myself and to realize someone has seen me and found me lovable. It's so hard to be so loved, so hard to know that love can never be requited by my poverty. But now I am wearied with all this weeping and fling myself, rather exhausted than abandoned, into raging flames that but kiss.
Wednesday, August 18
For the priest who graced my little corner this afternoon, for my precious missionary, for the newly ordained, for those whose burdens have dulled their zeal, for priests whose health prevents their offering the Holy Sacrifice, for those imprisoned, for those ignoring the sacred character their Ordination has placed indelibly upon, for those called tonight to carry home a lost sheep, for priests whose burdens keep them awake, for those sleeping over the Breviary they well intended to finish, for all priests, your priests, I peck tonight's note, Mother dear.
Thursday, August 19
Precious night, Thursday night. May I not watch one hour with Jesus, or if not an hour at least a little while? My people here are resting; the night is comfortingly cool. Some children are playing in the street below. They are out so very late every night. At least the cursing that accompanies a family quarrel isn't piercing my window right now. I'll hop into my nightie now and kneel here for a while with Jesus, the burden of all these, His own, upon me. Lord, deliver me…yet please not my will!
Friday, August 20
Waiting, all day waiting for that which does not come. All day anticipating some joy and now tonight seeing it has not arrived and no explanation has been given me. Nothing intentional. It's not a broken promise, but rather a forgotten one. I cannot be hurt; my heart is smiling, truly. For today is my own little motherhood recognized. I am taken for granted; I am forgotten with never a thought of apology. You know what it is, this little innocent oversight. Motherhood is a claim to it. How can he who today forgot me know what a joy it has been? I do love him all the more for it. And I pray that when I too am presumptuous I may cause you this happiness. Let it simply be a proclamation of your motherhood and of my great need of you.
Sunday, August 22
Immaculate Heart of my Mother, please love Jesus through, with, in and for your little one.
Yes, I was at Sharon's wedding yesterday, my only joy, and so sufficient it was, to see Fr. Keith's heart overflowing with the happiness of presiding at the celebration. It was So big, Mother, and I dodged one post after another in Father's new church to see the altar. Finally when there were no more posts I was face to face with the pulpit. So little hobos are to be seen but not to see? Sometimes this elephant would so wish to be a mouse, to be so little and hidden. But then my brothers and sisters smile at my clumsiness and I'm thankful for the lovable oddity of things.
Last night I stayed at my precious Velma's. And this morning I once again got to speak with Jesus in His confessional. Please tell Him how grateful I am, how I long for my very unworthiness to magnify Him. He is so sweet, so silent and patient and loving, so supremely kind to permit me to solve riddles even while I'm trying to put them in words for Him.
Friday, August 27
Me again, your little one who needs you so. I'm happy for this need, my only treasure. Do take it now and offer it again to the loving Father Who kindly made me so little and poor.
Saturday, August 28
This morning, opening the pages of dear Gus' CONFESSIONS, I chanced upon this underscored thought, "I find nothing concerning Thee but what I have remembered from the time I first learned of Thee." Each evening I sit here with you, Mother, to hear that which is the first knowledge you gave me, that which will be the last, besides which you'll give no other, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, the beginning, the end and the way. And there is nothing for me but the thrill of this repetition.
Sunday, August 29
Again Jesus has comforted me in His wonderful sacrament of Penance. I lay at the side of the road leading to Calvary, having exhausted myself in business that isn't my own, only Our Father's. Today's gospel is beautiful; this time the priest did stop. He set this little thing back on the Way, lay her precious burden securely upon her shoulder, and somehow in my loud protestation of weakness I have been strengthened.
No reprimand, no kick for the fall. Instead the wonderful responsibility of seeing my Beloved in the eyes of everyone on this Way. It is so possible, IF I don't forget to look. Please remind me at every step, Mother. How good that you are with me; otherwise how futile that I even set upon this Way.
Do I smile in my sleep? I should; each heartbeat, breath, every second of life is a proclamation of God's goodness.
Monday, August 30
Just this evening I watched a movie depicting the cruel martyrdom of the early Christians. As I watched those joyous hearts sing themselves to death, I knew that my longing for death is so selfish. And perhaps for the first time I preferred suffering, a lengthy exile, to the too glorious martyrdom I might have fancied for myself at one time. Who is to admire one for rising in the morning, for laughing with the happy, weeping with the sad, pecking notes, visiting, falling asleep? Yet what is my martyrdom but living? This I accept.
Tuesday, August 31
Mother, I just came from the 2nd floor kitchen where Betty and I were chatting. It's late. It's wonderful night. If it seems long to another, do let me be of some little assistance in whiling it away. It is never long enough for me. I'm grateful for this deep appreciation of night. Some day there will be only the Son. Till then I'm glad to be hidden from even myself in this darkness. A seed buried deep can better develop sturdy roots. What matter just when I break through the soil? Just tell Jesus I am here and His.
Saturday, September 4
Please help me! I'm nearly afraid to be with others. This anguish, how much longer can it choke me? I'm so wearied with pretending, with laughter and singing and being the nice little girl everyone expects me to be. Yes, it must be the increased medication that has stripped me of my usual resistance. but please, Mother, help me to transmit Joy while my broken heart remains hidden for my Lover alone.
Sunday, September 5
Made whole again by Jesus, I kneel at His feet in gratitude to hear His wish for me now. "Go home!" Go to those with whom you live and let them rejoice in your cleanness and seek for themselves Him to Whom you wish to lead them. He must increase; forget the miracle in memory of the Miracle-Worker.
Monday, September 6
Surely, in spite of my poverty, I may fill my brothers and sisters who come to me. Please let me be their fullness; how irrelevant that the chalice is emptied. A chalice is made simply to be drained, to serve always, to find fulfillment only in this.
Fr. Keith sent "the only relic of my First Communion day, the candle stand placed on the altar of St. Philip Church for the occasion." O how I know I am not worthy, not worthy of offering my life that he become ever more Jesus. But because I'll never be worthy of anything, I accept this pain, his love and the humiliation it brings me because I know how unworthy of it I am. Please be tender with him for whom you offer my poverty. Thank you, Mother. In sweet hope I'm glad to live and die for him who ignited an eternal Flame in me. Let me be his candle stand, he the tall white candle that casts light upon all who draw near. When he has been consumed and I'm left with remnants that have fallen upon me, then let me be with him where there are neither candles nor stands but the Light of the world and those who no longer plod through darkness.
Wednesday, Sept. 8
Happy birthday, our Mother! Atop all the frivolities of this day I place once again the tall white candle that is my Fr. Keith. Contrary to earthly customs, your smile will but brighten his flame. And seeing him, remembering your Son, how can you but smile? O you are beautiful!
Thursday, Sept. 9
What does tomorrow hold? My brothers, Quentin, Fr. Eugene, let me be for them what they need. And will Jesus not permit my poor heart to find a bit of rest in their loving companionship? That's truly irrelevant; Jesus fills me, for them. His funny little cup sits upon His table. This is enough.
Thursday, Sept. 30
A full three weeks, filled to overflowing with heartache and exaltation too entwined to distinguish either. Tonight I'm tired that's all, your little one come to rest. And if my spasm-racked chest sighs Quentin's name with Jesus' and God's and Love's and gets them all jumbled, then still you know what I wish to say. Love is vast, and I'm grateful for the night and abandonment and for wordlessness in the Word.
Friday, Oct. 1