This, then, is what I think about the Justice of God; my own way is all confidence and love, and I cannot understand those souls who are afraid of so affectionate a Friend.  Sometimes, when I read books in which perfection is put before us with the goal obstructed by a thousand obstacles, my poor little head is quickly fatigued.  I close the learned treatise, which tires my brain and dries up my heart, and I turn to the Sacred Scriptures.  Then all becomes clear and lightsome—­a single word opens out infinite vistas, perfection appears easy, and I see that it is enough to acknowledge our nothingness, and like children surrender ourselves into the Arms of the Good God.  Leaving to great and lofty minds the beautiful books which I cannot understand, still less put in practice, I rejoice in my littleness because “only little children and those who are like them shall be admitted to the Heavenly banquet."[6] Fortunately—­“there are many mansions in my Father’s House":[7] if there were only those—­to me—­incomprehensible mansions with their baffling roads, I should certainly never enter there . . .

VII

July 13, 1897.

Your soul is too great to cling to the consolations of earth, and even now its abode should be in Heaven, for it is written:  “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."[8] Is not Jesus your only treasure?  Now that He is in Heaven, it is there your heart should dwell.  This sweet Saviour has long since forgotten your infidelities.  He sees only your longing after perfection, and the sight makes glad His Heart.

Stay no longer at His Feet, I beseech you, but follow this first impulse to throw yourself into His Arms.  Your place is there, and I see clearly—­more clearly than in your former letters—­that all other heavenly route is barred to you save the way your little sister treads.

I hold with you when you say that the Heart of Jesus is more grieved by the thousand little imperfections of His friends than by the faults, even grave, which His enemies commit.  Yet it seems to me, dear Brother, it is only when those who are His own are habitually guilty of want of thought, and neglect to seek His pardon, that He can say:  “These Wounds which you see in the midst of My Hands, I have received in the house of those who love Me."[9] But His Heart thrills with you when He had to deal with all those who truly love, and who after each little fault come to fling themseleves into His Arms imploring forgiveness.  He says to His Angels what the prodigal’s father said to his servants:  “Put a ring upon his finger, and let us rejoice."[10] O Brother!  Verily the Divine Heart’s Goodness and Merciful Love are little known!  It is true that to enjoy these treasures we must humble ourselves, must confess our nothingness . . . and here is where many a soul draws back.

VIII