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From sr Genevieve (Celine) to sr Francoise-Therese (Leonie) - April 16, 1911

From sr Genevieve (Celine) to sr Francoise-Therese (Leonie) - April 16, 1911

+ Jesus                    Easter 16th April 1911

Darling little sister,

It’s half past 6 in the morning. It’s the first moment we’ve had free, and I’m immediately writing to you. We’ve been awake since quarter to 3 and haven’t stopped singing God’s praise. Ah, how His yolk is easy and His burden light!

My heart is full of the mysteries of this day; full to bursting. We have grown so close to Jesus over the past few days that it would be impossible for me to not stay by His side and follow Him wherever He has been and is going.

Where is He going? To His Father, who is also our Father. He is going to Himself because He is going to God and He is God. “Don’t you believe that I am in the Father?” He asked his disciples. Later, he said, “Anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father.” Then He added, “You know the way to the place where I am going.” This shows us that He is both the goal and the means to reach it, because He hastens to add, “I am the way.”

Ah, yes! Jesus is everything to us, we are going to Him, and He is our road. But if He is our road, how can we hope to reach Him, and the place where He is, without passing by His path? And His path is fully visible on His Face.

O Léonie, when I look at His adorable Face, I understand everything, it seems, and nothing is hidden from the eye of my soul.

I understand why He has left us in exile to suffer and love in the shadows, rather than calling us to heaven to love in the light. This morning in the Office psalms, this verse struck me: “The righteous person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season.” I realised that we shouldn’t despair if our time in exile is longer than we imagined, because we have been planted beside streams of love. We are so close to them that our roots are submerged in Love and draw their sap and life from it. If God does not remove us, it’s because the time has not yet come for our fruit to ripen. That doesn’t mean that we are too imperfect to die, but that each plant produces fruit according to its species and in a different season. That means that God’s will alone is keeping us here below. It’s true, and with regard to little victims of Merciful Love, Jesus will make them perfect at the hour of their death. Therefore, why would they look forward to this blessed hour if not because the time for them to bear fruit has not yet come?  

Darling little sister, I’m saying this because Jesus was obliged to console me in order to make me accept staying longer here below. You know that we have all been ill with influenza. I had congestion in both lungs, but the right treatment warded of the illness so well that there was no reason to fear for my life. However, I had a 1st class ticket for heaven, going by what Francis said. So I admit I was a little hopeful, then the dream vanished and I had to resume life again here blow. Realising that, for the 1st time, I had had a first-rate ticket and missed the train was not easy to accept. But since Jesus wants me to live, let us try to use my life to love Him, win souls for Him, and find joy in suffering. That way, I won’t be disappointed.

There are many things I wanted to tell you, darling little sister, but I felt more inclined to speak about matters of the heart today.

Forgive me for not giving you any interesting news. I hope Sr M. of the S.H. will tell you about Les Buissonnets now that Mrs Hassebroucq is living there. The place is going to become a little gem. This matchless friend has bought the house in Alençon. His Lordship is very pleased about this and would very much like us to come into possession of the houses in which Thérèse lived.

Would you believe that Mrs Leriche is going to come and see us, with Berthe, who is mother to three young girls? They’re going to come out of the woodwork now, after being ashamed of our piety in the past.

I send my love, darling little sister

Céline, Sr Geneviève of St Teresa

u.c.n.