Ever since I came to the Carmel I have thought that if Our Lord did not take me quickly to Heaven, my lot would be that of Noe’s dove, and that one day he would open the window of the Ark and bid me fly to heathen lands, bearing the olive branch.  This thought has helped me to soar above all created things.

Knowing that even in the Carmel there must be partings, I tried to make my abode in Heaven; and I accepted not only exile in the midst of an unknown people, but what was far more bitter, I accepted exile for my sisters.  And indeed, two of them were asked for by the Carmel of Saigon, our own foundation.  For a time there was serious question of their being sent, and I would not say a word to hold them back, though my heart ached at the thought of the trials awaiting them.  Now all that is at an end; the superiors were absolutely opposed to their departure, and I only touched the cup with my lips long enough to taste of its bitterness.

Let me tell you, dear Mother, why, if Our Lady cures me, I wish to respond to the call from our Mothers of Hanoi.  It appears that to live in foreign Carmels, a very special vocation is needed, and many souls think they are called without being so in reality.  You have told me that I have this vocation, and that my health alone stands in the way.  But if I am destined one day to leave this Carmel, it will not be without a pang.  My heart is naturally sensitive, and because this is a cause of much suffering, I wish to offer Jesus whatsoever it can bear.  Here, I am loved by you and all the Sisters, and this love is very sweet to me, and I dream of a convent where I should be unknown, where I should taste the bitterness of exile.  I know only too well how useless I am, and so it is not for the sake of the services I might render to the Carmel of Hanoi that I would leave all that is dearest to me—­my sole reason would be to do God’s Will, and sacrifice myself for Him.

And I should not suffer any disappointment, for when we expect nothing but suffering, then the least joy is a surprise; and later on suffering itself becomes the greatest of all joys, when we seek it as a precious treasure.

But I know I shall never recover from this sickness, and yet I am at peace.  For years I have not belonged to myself, I have surrendered myself wholly to Jesus, and He is free to do with me whatsoever He pleases.  He has spoken to me of exile, and has asked me if I would consent to drink of that chalice.  At once I essayed to grasp it, but He, withdrawing His Hand, showed me that my consent was all He desired.

O my God! from how much disquiet do we free ourselves by the vow of obedience!  Happy is the simple religious.  Her one guide being the will of her superiors, she is ever sure of following the right path, and has no fear of being mistaken, even when it seems that her superiors are making a mistake.  But if she ceases to consult the unerring compass, then at once her soul goes astray in barren wastes, where the waters of grace quickly fail.  Dear Mother, you are the compass Jesus has given me to direct me safely to the Eternal Shore.  I find it most sweet to fix my eyes upon you, and then do the Will of my Lord.  By allowing me to suffer these temptations against Faith, He has greatly increased the spirit of Faith, which makes me see Him living in your soul, and through you communicating His holy commands.