1

A.J.P.M.

Prayer from the Cross [Undated]

My Jesus, Mercy! I tremble when I consider that You have chosen me, a helpless child, to bear upon my weak back the weight of Your Cross. And yet "cross" is not the right word. No, a cross is something heavy, sorrowful, weakening. But this yoke is sweet, this burden light. Even if You hadn't said it, I would have known. Is there anywhere I might find more refreshment than in kissing the ground on which the drops of Your Precious Blood was spilled, of knowing that these were Your steps, that this was Your pain?

O Jesus, there is no other way. You told us that You were the Way and the Truth and the Life. And Your mission ends at Calvary, as mine does: the Truth is Your death, as I must die to all comfort and to self, and the Life is the promise of an Easter morning, wherein lies all hope.

But had this not been promised to me, did I not even know of heaven, even then would I not embrace this pain? What is there in suffering that makes my joy so complete? Why is there heaven even here on earth, so much so that I might be willing to live here always and suffer? O no, I could never live without the hope of heaven, if I had not found heaven already, if heaven had not come to me. My God, I believe, My God, I love You! Heaven fell from eternity at the Incarnation, at the FIAT of a young maiden so pure that God chose her for His abode. He Who had made the entire world, and the magnificent stars, chose of all places to dwell within the creature who was lowest in her own eyes, but was highest in God's eyes. And she was glad because he was glad, and for no other reason! My God, when will I reach such wisdom as to know that I am nothing? Then will I have reached heaven.

Never, never shall I ask why this agony, why cerebral palsy, why muscle spasms, why pain that gnaws at the base of my spine so much that I can feel it in my legs, or why a new pain that attacks my neck so that sometimes it seems impossible to hold up my head. Nor shall I say, Lord, I simply can't pray. These distractions have condemned my entire prayer life, have forbidden me to contemplate Your beauty by reminding me of this wretched little body crying for mercy. No Lord, I hand on Calvary, I hang limp on a tree and cry: My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me! And then I gain strength enough to say: Into Your hands I commend my soul. And I die. And I am placed in the hands of my Mother and offered to God. She holds a heap of burned out incense and offers it to our heavenly Father, and the gates of heaven open to countless multitudes of souls who have waited so long--and I lie there lifeless and know not their joy until they meet me at the very gate and open it for me.

My beloved Spouse, I am Yours by a chain that binds that precious load to my back. I'm a slave? No, I am Your bride. I stand not tugging at this chain, trying frantically to wear it for all to see and yet to loosen it so that it doesn't bind so tightly. Rather, I cling to it so that I might never lose it, because it binds me to You. And yet this death is impossible, that is, unless I love You. Why in the world must I go on? Why do I smile, and the heavier it gets the more I smile? Why do I love till I can no longer contain the love in myself and must spill it all over the altar of Sacrifice? And when You take from me the consolation with which You are wont to strengthen me, when You lead me into the night so black that I cannot see even Your light in the distance, why do I even then trudge on, waiting for the touch of a kiss, for the Kiss of God? Why, why, God? Because love does such things, and I love YOU!

2

April 18, 1965

Our beloved Lord and Brother Jesus Christ, You have rolled away the stone and overcome my heart. Today I consecrate anew, through our Mother, my poor littleness, singing with the joyous hope that You will fill up what is lacking in my holocaust and remove from me all that is not You, that Our Father be well pleased.

I am not a lovely "sermon" on the Holy Gospel, but please let my folly be Your glorification. Make me content even with being discontented, my joy the remembrance that my Beloved is eternally happy in the bosom of Our Father.

It is your little hobo who comes to You with such boundless confidence. Please keep me. Amen.

Little Virginia of Jesus

3

Advent, 1966

There is One among us we know not!

O but, my precious ones, because you are YOU I shall learn of Him, love Him. To know Him is to love Him. Or perhaps to love Him is to know Him. I've not time to plumb such depths. I'm too busy in the gladness that He is and you are and I am. Thank you!

Here is the time of that wonderful chaos called Christmas shopping, time to prepare a gift for Him who is THE gift. I love most of all to go before Him, my empty hands with one gesture giving and receiving, my heart unable and unconcerned to calculate the difference. I contemplate the tiny Majesty, He me, till there is but one contemplation.

Then I notice others flocked about Him, all with their trinkets that please Him so. I grow ashamed! There I am, His. What gift is there after that? There is but the painful ecstasy of His acknowledging what is His own. And so last year he, as you know, received my lullabye. O but now He asks something much more precious. He's given me 325 correspondents. My joy is now to give you back to Him. O yes, there is the pain that alone makes it a joy. To love you so and not express that love? No, He'll never ask that. And so each time you await my note and come upon one wilted red rose or an empty corner, know again THE WORD IS FLESH and hear me, please.

Once He came, and there was no room. But today even before He knocks, His own receive Him. How can I express His Love unless I make my own the heart of the little king of all hobos?

I have a family! O how can I tell you of it? A real family, alive with the love that kept Nazareth's hearth warm. It is mine, and I belong to it. We are Ted and Ruth Kiefer, Terry, Ginny, Bob, John, Marky, Lis, Greg, Kathy, Steve, Tim, Theresa, Nicky, and our white cat. Let's see, did I miss anyone? Isn't it grand? O the wonder of discovering each of them. I'm second oldest, and Nicky will soon be 3. When the gang approved me, there was one reservation…Nicky says, it's fine, but he wishes I were a boy! Sorry 'bout that! O to learn to be a good sister!

Forever and ever and ever…

Little Virginia of Jesus

4. 

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Love

July 12, 1963

Hi! This is a rather difficult assignment, dear one. Write an article for others on how a CP feels about "things?" If you weren't such a great relative of mine I might chicken out. But as things stand, I love ya loads and owe ya lots, so…

There are O so many things we could tell our friends. Lots of times I say thank you till it begins to sound rather artificial from familiarity. O if you only knew what that thank you really means! For example, during my recent visit. To come to your lovely home, to be there not so much as a "guest" or the other extreme, a piece of "cumbersome" furniture, but simply one with you, that was quite a privilege. Of course, you know how I felt about it. Feelings are rather hard to control, and it's no wonder I'm tied to this little buggy (wheelchair). Otherwise I might be trying to bum a way home from the moon.

Of course the popular commercial of the day must be selling lots of "charity pills," and to tell the truth I need a couple myself now and then as I suppress a tremendous desire to scream "I'D RATHER DO IT MYSELF." After I've been with others a little while they learn the many, many little things unruly hands and feet can perform quite well. I'm sure it's much easier to get it done quickly and easily with your own efficiency than to sit and watch us fumble. So…just don't sit and watch us! Simpler for everyone that way. Right?

It's such fun for me to be on the floor. Maybe because there's less gravity to fight. Think so? Anyhow, most people, on learning that I'm going to take the plunge, run for blankets and pillows and just anything their desperation can think of. And because of the hubbub, all the fun disappears for me. Instead, I get the feeling of being a bother, disturbing an otherwise enjoyable time by such superfluous attentions. Then you soon learn I'm not the champion diver my brother is, and I have to laugh to see your faces as I flop at your feet. Laughter, such beautiful music. And then you join me, beautiful harmony. We must fill each other's life with that happy sound. O truly it's worth living.

Surely your super hamburgers have been praised by every word appropriate. But did you realize the special something I liked about them? They're so easy to handle, my favorite meal. Our desserts in nice deep bowls; straws with our drinks; liquids often during the day; repeated reminders that I needn't hurry; O such thoughtfulness. Letting me wash up at the side of the tub, permitting me to leave my towels and washcloths there so conveniently near, even your daily compliment on my appearance and care and dress. These are rather inflating to one's ego, to say the least. They sound good now and then. The woman in us is certainly not missing. But rather, I think that each time our body cannot perform a woman's function, our heart must expand to meet the challenge.

I love to BE with people, that's all. No handicappers last five minutes in the crowd. Our wiggles are irrelevant; our opinions weighed. We are one with you, and we are happy. It's important to maintain a joyful openness. Just to let others know what we can and cannot do, then we reach an understanding that gives us time for fun, a relaxing atmosphere we so appreciate. You made me feel so good there at your home. You didn't fret about constantly entertaining me, but left me to my own fancies much of the time. With you I felt like just ME, and we chatted and giggled and LIVED together those few days. Though there is such a debt of gratitude in my heart, I can't help feeling that God let me give YOU something too. That's life, and I love it!

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