Isn't it wonderful as a Catholic to have our very own personal heroes?
I didn't care for the Victorian sweetness of my patron saint, St. Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower, for a good hunk of my life, but, by God's Grace, I've come to realize that it was my own worldly revulsion of the innocent, the deliberately helpless and pliant, the beautiful humility, that made me feel all over ooky when I read her biography.
I urge you to read The Story of a Soul, her autobiography. Normally, the autobiography of someone who died before she was thirty would be laughable (think Britney Spears). But Therese wrote it under obedience to her superior (her actual sister) and thank God we have it. If the first chapter of her childhood reminiscences is too sweet (and golly, it's sugary) for you, read parts two and three and then go back and read the first part. When you get a good grasp of her clear-headed, feminine, passionate love for Jesus and how she determined her "Little Way" of cheerful patience, enduring love in the face of pettiness and hurt, courage in illness and opposition, the first part falls into place very nicely.
St. Therese of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face, thank you for causing my parents to name me after you! Help me to be simple, to take a straight path of love instead of detouring through hurt feelings or pride or irritation.
The Great War, Vol 1, Chapter 15-2
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