Weaving as her heart sings
bright as the sun!
eager to take on the world.
Her heart beating full of wonderments
for the day is calling
and life takes hold.
“Miss no single opportunity of making some small sacrifice, here by a smiling look, there by a kindly word; always doing the smallest right and doing it all for love.”
-St. Thérèse of Lisieux
Today is the feast day of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the little flower of child of Jesus. She is the catholic patron saint of missionaries, although she never left her convent. She is the youngest Doctor of the Church, a very special title for those saints whom preaching and writings have help defend and solidify orthodoxy in Christian teaching. Her autobiography “Story of a Soul” is one of the most powerful modern testimonies of Christian faith. She entered the Carmelite order when she was just 15 years old and died from Tuberculosis when she was only 24 years old.
In honor of her feast day here is one of her poems:
Though in a foreign land I dwell afar,
I taste in dreams the endless joys of heaven.
Fain would I fly beyond the farthest star,
And see the wonders to the ransomed given!
No more the sense of exile weighs on me,
When once I dream of that immortal day.
To my true fatherland, dear God! I see,
For the first time I soon shall fly away.
Ah! give me, Jesus! wings as white as snow,
That unto Thee I soon may take my flight.
I long to be where flowers unfading blow;
I long to see Thee, O my heart’s Delight!
I long to fly to Mary’s mother arms,
To rest upon that spotless throne of bliss;
And, sheltered there from troubles and alarms,
For the first time to feel her gentle kiss.
Thy first sweet smile of welcoming delight
Soon show, O Jesus! to Thy lowly bride;
O’ercome with rapture at that wondrous sight,
Within Thy Sacred Heart, ah! let me hide.
O happy moment! and O heavenly grace!
When I shall hear Thee, Jesus, speak to me;
And the full vision of Thy glorious Face
For the first time my longing eyes shall see.
Thou knowest well, my only martyrdom
Is love, O Heart of Jesus Christ! for Thee;
And if my soul craves for its heavenly home,
‘Tis but to love Thee more, eternally.
Above, when Thy sweet Face unveiled I view,
Measure nor bounds shall to my love be given;
Forever my delight shall seem as new
As the first time my spirit entered heaven.
St. Thérèse of Lisieux
June 12, 1896
St. Thérèse of Lisieux “Little flower of the Child of Jesus” pray for us!
Hues of colors playing far away
as they fiercely proclaim
the approaching dawn…
Curious and vibrant
bouncing through fields
with fierce authority
as natures bows
and stain glasses
Awaken from their slumber
stories of heroic virtues…
as if suddenly recalling
memories of a fading faith.
Peaceful and innocent
ready to remind the world
the beauty of life.
Lest you not forget!
When the spring blooms
traveled through your
out to paint the world!
The world was growing old
but we were growing young.
Holding hands with grew up together
while the world lost its patience
with our ways.
On forts built on the fields of our minds
we stood alone together
as the world went mad.
We took our swords and declared
with valiant bravado
For it was worth the fight!
Truth was drowning in a faceless crowd
chatting the end of right and wrong.
Beauty was confused for cynicism and honor
had lost its meaning.
We made our stand on the shadows
For we were not alone.
All the saints from St. Pious V to
to Joan of Arc awaited at the gates
to make new what the world made old.
The line in GK Chesterton poem in The Man Who Was Thursday that reads:
“The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay;”
The juxtaposition between the rambunctious energy of the youth and the tired and old false promises of the world hunted me ever since I first read this poem. It is a war that has been ranging since the fall of man, between the Good, the true and the beautiful and sin.
The other night this line pop again in my mind. Soon after I found myself writing the verses that made up these poor prose and my 100 post.
The world is full of a number of things,
I’m sure we shall all be as happy as kings.
Robert Louis Stevenson
A Child’s Garden of Verses
Photo by Lance Childers
A broken memory
far and lost
barely holding on.
For the though of what you lost
carries such a weight.
into a painful reminder
of what you left behind.
Yet you hope.
For the life in your eyes
to set fire to that that hold you
Today marks the one year anniversary since my first post: So it begins:
“He is a sane man who can have tragedy in his heart and comedy in his head.”
It has been a wonderful and exciting first year of blogging. I have been blessed of meeting so many great bloggers and be encourage by them. Thank you for following and all the encouragement.
O divine spark
that softly whispers
the beauty of creation
gently tugging at our hearts
with joyful bursts of inspiration.
May I ever be so vigilant
that my sights never miss you
lest my heart become restless
without you at my sight.
Dreams that will never be dreamt
Inventions that will never be created
Classics that will never be read
Art that will never be admired
Music that will never be composed or played
Histories that will never be written
Joys and sufferings that will never be experienced
Thoughts and voices that forever will be lost and silenced
Fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, grandfathers, grandmothers, cousins, nephews, lovers and friends that will never be…
All because their life was ended before they were born.
I had no right.
But words kept coming like ghosts creeping from shadows past.
Shifting thoughts shuffling through words
all wasted in a swift breath.
There is no right way to break a heart.
You try to hide the weight of thoughts in your eyes
but they can’t lie, for I have seen them cry.
If only I could…
But there is no time to waste
Youth is watching you pass by
In time Truth will heal.