Today October 1

Today is the wonderful, glorious feast of the incomparable St. Therese of Lisieux, the "Little Flower," (1873 -1897), a mere 24 years. One of my little devotions is to say the "Chaplet of St. Therese, in which you mention your intention and say an Our Father, a Hail Mary and 24 Glory Be's, one for each year of her life. Many little things have been granted to me because of her intercession, including a mysterious flowering of a little flower on the exact day I'd finish her novena, whenever I said it, which wasn't consistent. It never failed, this little thing, and always surprised and delighted me, though others might laugh at its insignificance. They scoffed at Therese, too -- when she was sick with a fever and recovered so quickly, and even at the end of her life when she was dying of tuberculosis. Some people thought she was just faking it. But she wasn't. She was always an intense, sensitive and honest little girl. The fact that she died so young -- and died still a novice -- probably contributes to the appellation I just gave her: "little girl." But she had nerves of steel and a will of iron, particularly after her conversion experience on Christmas Day in 1886. She overheard her father (he was a widower, his wife having died in 1877, when Therese was only 4 1/2) sigh as he filled her shoes with gifts: "Thank goodness that's the last time we shall have this kind of thing." Normally such a remark would have devastated the sensitive girl, but she sucked it up, went downstairs, exclaimed over the presents and grew up in a hurry. The next year she entered the convent, after a tough and persistent fight on her part -- against the superior of the Carmelite convent she wanted to join, against the local bishop -- she even took her petition to the pope! He advised caution and patience, but the Vicar General had seen her courage and pulled for her at the convent. She soon joined her biological sisters Pauline and Marie; Celine joined later, after their father's death.

She knew and understood the pain of having a mentally ill father -- one who mysteriously ceased to be the man, the gentle giant of her childhood. She knew the confusion in one's heart and the pain of the stigma unlike the simple pity brought on by illness, such as cancer. I'm sure she "sucked it up," too, as she did before, and as she did time and time again in the convent. The sisters who annoyed her, the bad food, the false accusations, the sudden and fatal illness. She bore it all -- cheerfully, bravely, humbly -- for love, for love! "The only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers and these flowers are every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love."

She died after a long and painful illness and what must have seemed equally hard, a long spiritual dryness (of which she once wittily remarked, "Jesus isn't doing much to keep the conversation going!"), but in peace and joy. "I will return," she said softly, "My heaven will be spent on earth." And so it has. Millions turn to her intercession and millions have read her inspirational little book, "Story of a Soul." It so resonated with John and Mary Churchgoer that her little town was flooded with visitors, pilgrims, forcing the Martin family to move. Pius XI who canonized her in 1925 remarked on the veritable "storm of glory" which had descended on Lisieux. She may never have left the convent, she may never have gone to the missions, she may never have founded an order, she may never have done any of the things the world calls "great," but this little saint, doctor of the Church, co-patron of the missions and of France, is great indeed. St. Therese, pray for us.