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From sr Genevieve (Celine) to sr Francoise-Therese (Leonie) - April 23, 1916

From sr Genevieve (Celine) to sr Francoise-Therese (Leonie) - April 23, 1916

+ Jesus                                                                                                           23rd April 1916

                                                                                                                   Easter

Darling little sister,

Lent was long, so I’m taking advantage of my 1st free moment of the 1st day to write to you. Often, very often in fact, I think of you and I’ve dreamt that I’ve seen you among us, like during those unforgettable days last autumn. And I bless the repose that brought me such sweet joy. Yet it was not pure joy, and makes me languish after the real reunion in the Homeland, where we’ll be transformed, and where, in the words of Thérèse, we’ll not only see the outer “envelope”, but also read “the little letter” all the way through. It is then that we’ll know each other perfectly.

I’ve noticed that, however close souls are to one another here below, the sweetest resonances remain a personal secret. If we try to express them, they are most often misunderstood, if not totally then at least partially. You would almost say that they sound dissonant to other people whereas they are very melodious to one’s own heart. To me, it is like the “white stone” mentioned in Revelation, which has a name written on it that is known only to the one who receives it. Yes, we are absolutely alone with our Beloved, and no one but we can taste the divine touch of His grace on the lyre of our souls.

This is why, little Léonie, you mustn’t be upset about living far away from us or envy us. One can feel the weight of exile upon one’s heart anywhere, even under the family roof. Heaven is the only place where it won’t exist. It is for this reason, and many other more elevated reasons, that death seems like a benefit to me. As I was meditating on the Gospel last week, I could see St Mary Magdalene as she broke the vase and poured out her perfume, and I said to myself, “It wasn’t until the vase was broken that “the whole house was filled with the scent of perfume.” The same is true of us: it is only when death has broken our mortal envelope that what is inside us is revealed. The name of the vase is of no importance! It matters little if the vase, now in pieces, is reconstructed in human memories. What matters is that Jesus put precious perfumes inside it, thereby filling the whole of God’s house with perfume. Oh, how I long to fulfil this hidden and fruitful mission for Jesus! Oh, how I’d love for Him to break His vase soon, after filling it to the brim with an exquisite liqueur! I keep looking, examining every side in an attempt to glimpse the beginnings of a crack, hoping for a split. Alas! There’s still nothing there. There’s no sign to fill my heart with hope, and yet the day will come, a day known by the Lord, when my broken envelope will spill out the long-compressed perfume of my love.

Darling little sister, I will stop there, having run out of paper. I would have liked to give you some snippets of news (not very interesting snippets) but I don’t have the time or room.

I send lots of love and kisses. Your little sister

Sr Geneviève of St Teresa u.c.n. 

Offer my affectionate respects to your Mothers. – I’ve sent the medicinal handbook back to you. Thank you for lending it to us.