III

August 14, 1889.

You ask for a word from your little Lamb.  But what shall I say?  Is it not you who have taught me?  Remember those days when I sat upon your knee, and you talked to me of Heaven.

I can still hear you say:  “Look at those who want to become rich, and see how they toil to obtain money.  Now, my little Therese, through every moment of the day and with far less trouble, we can lay up riches in Heaven.  Diamonds are so plentiful, we can gather them together as with a rake, and we do this by performing all our actions for the love of God.”  Then I would leave you, my heart overflowing with joy, and fully bent on amassing great wealth.

Time has flown since those happy hours spent together in our dear nest.  Jesus has visited us, and has found us worthy to be tried in the crucible of suffering.  God has said that on the last day “He will wipe away all tears from our eyes,"[2] and no doubt the more tears there are to dry, the greater will be the happiness.

Pray to-morrow for the little one who owes you her upbringing, and who, without you, might never have come to the Carmel.

IV

(During her retreat before profession)

September 4, 1890.

The heavenly music falls but faintly on the ear of your child, and it has been a dreary journey towards her Bridal Day.  It is true her Betrothed has led her through fertile lands and gorgeous scenery, but the dark night has prevented her admiring, much less revelling in, the beauty all around.  Perhaps you think this grieved her.  Oh, no! she is happy to follow her Betrothed for His own sake, and not for the sake of His gifts.  He is so ravishingly beautiful, even when silent—­even when concealed.  Weary of earthly consolation, your little child wishes for her Beloved alone.  I believe that the work of Jesus during this retreat has been to detach me from everything but Himself.  My only comfort is the exceeding strength and peace that is mine.  Besides, I hope to be just what He wills I should be, and in this lies all my happiness.

Did you but know how great is my joy at giving pleasure to Jesus through being utterly deprived of all joy! . . . .  Truly this is the very refinement of all joy—­joy we do not feel.

V

September 7, 1890.

To-morrow I shall be the Spouse of Jesus, of Him Whose “look was as it were hidden and despised."[3] What a future this alliance opens up!  How can I thank Him, how render myself less unworthy of so great a favour?