My great confidence

Céline became, then, the confidence of my struggles and sufferings, taking the same part as though it were a question of her own vocation. From her I had no fear of opposition. I didn’t know what steps to take to announce it to Papa. How should I speak to him about parting from his Queen, he who’d just sacrificed his three eldest? Ah! what interior struggles I went through before feeling courageous enough to speak! However, I had to decide. After all, I was going to be fourteen and a half, and six months separated us from the beautiful night of Christmas, the day I was determined to enter, at the very hour I’d received “my grace” the year before.

I chose the feast of Pentecost as the day to break the news,¹¹³ all day long begging the apostles to pray for me, to inspire me with the right words. Shouldn’t they help the timid child who was chosen by God to be the apostle of apostles through her prayers and sacrifices in Carmel? I found the opportunity to speak to my dear little Father only in the afternoon after Vespers. He was seated by the well, contemplating the marvels of nature with his hands joined. The sun whose rays had lost their ardor gilded the high tree tops where little birds were joyfully chanting their evening song. Papa’s handsome face had a heavenly expression about it, giving me the feeling that peace flooded his heart. Without saying a word, I sat down by his side, my eyes already wet with tears. He gazed at me tenderly, and taking my head he placed it on his heart, saying: “What’s the matter, my little Queen? Tell me.” Then rising as though to hide his own emotion, he walked while still holding my head on his heart.

Through my tears, I confided my desire to enter Carmel and soon his tears mingled with mine. He didn’t say one word to turn me from my vocation, simply contenting himself with the statement that I was still very young to make such a serious decision. I defended myself so well that, with Papa’s simple and direct character, he was soon convinced my desire was God’s will, and in his deep faith he cried out that God was giving him a great honor in asking his children from him; we continued our walk for a long time and, encouraged by the kindness with which my incomparable Father received my confidences, my heart poured out itself to him.

Papa seemed to be rejoicing with that joy that comes from a sacrifice already made. He spoke just like a saint, and I’d love to recall his words and write them down, but all I preserved of them is a memory too sacred to be expressed. What I do recall, however, is a symbolic action my dear King performed, not realizing its full meaning. Going up to a low wall, he pointed to some little white flowers, like lilies in miniature, and plucking one of them, he gave it to me, explaining the care with which God brought it into being and preserved it to that very day. While I listened I believed I was hearing my own story, so great was the resemblance between what Jesus had done for the little flower and little Thérèse. I accepted it as a relic and noticed that, in gathering it, Papa had pulled all its roots out without breaking them. It seemed destined to live on in another soil more fertile than the tender moss where it had spent its first days. This was really the same action Papa had performed a few moments before when he allowed me to climb Mount Carmel and leave the sweet valley which had witnessed my first steps in this life.

I placed the little white flower in my copy of the Imitation at the chapter entitled: “One must love Jesus above all things,”¹¹⁴ and there is still, only its stem has broken close to the roots, and God seems to be saying by this that He’ll soon break the bonds of His little flower, not allowing her to fade away on this earth!