XXXVII.
"You are never out of temper," was once said to a woman well known to be much tried at home; "is [pg 077] it that you do not feel the injustice, the annoyances?"—"I feel them as much as you do," she replied; "but they do not hurt me."—"You have, then, some special balm?"—"Yes; for the vexations caused by people, I have affection; for those of circumstances, I have prayer; and over every wound that bleeds, I murmur the words, 'Thy Will be done.'"
XXXVIII.
My Daily Cross
If I have no cross to bear to-day, I shall not advance heavenwards.
A cross (that is, anything that disturbs our peace) is the spur which stimulates, and without which we should most likely remain stationary, blinded with empty vanities, and sinking deeper into sin.
A cross helps us onwards, in spite of our apathy and resistance.
[pg 078]To lie quietly on a bed of down may seem a very sweet existence, but pleasant ease and rest are not the lot of a Christian; if he would mount higher and higher, it must be by a rough road.
Alas, for those who have no daily cross!
Alas, for those who repine and fret against it!
What Will Be My Cross To-day?
Perhaps that person, with whom Providence has placed me, and whom I dislike, whose look of disdain humiliates me, whose slowness worries me, who makes me jealous by being more beloved, more successful, than myself, whose chatter and light-heartedness, even her very attentions to myself, annoy me.
Or it may be that person that I think has quarrelled with me, and my [pg 079] imagination makes me fancy myself watched, criticised, turned into ridicule.
She is always with me; all my efforts to separate are frustrated; by some mysterious power she is always present, always near.
This is my heaviest cross; the rest are light in comparison.
Circumstances change, temptations diminish, troubles lessen; but those people who trouble or offend us are an ever-present source of irritation.
How to Bear This Daily Cross
Never manifest, in any way, the ennui, the dislike, the involuntary shudder, that her presence produces; force myself to render her some little service—never mind if she never knows it; it is between God and myself. Try to say a little good of her [pg 080] every day, of her talents, her character, her tact, for there is all that to be found in her. Pray earnestly for her, even asking God to help me to love her, and to spare her to me.
Dear companion! blessed messenger of God's mercy! you are, without knowing it, the means for my sanctification, and I will not be ungrateful.
Yes! though the exterior be rude and repellent, yet to you I owe it that I am kept from greater sin; you, against whom my whole nature rebels ... how I ought to love you!
XXXIX.
Who is anxious for a beloved one's eternal welfare?
We interest ourselves for their success, their prosperity; we ask God to keep them from harm and misfortune; we try to start them well in the world, to make them of reputation, to procure them pleasure.
[pg 081]To spare them trouble, we sacrifice our own ease and enjoyment....
Oh, that is all very beautiful, very right; but what should we do for the soul?
Do we pray to God that this soul may become humble, pure, devoted?
Do we take as much pains to procure him the little devotional book that will really help him, as we should to obtain a transient pleasure?
Do we help him, unseen, towards that act of charity, humiliation, or self-renunciation? Have we courage not to spare the soul the trial that we know will purify?
Does it seem too hard for you?
Ah! then you do not know what real love is. Does not God love us? Yet God lets us suffer; even sends the suffering.
Love is given us to help us onwards, nearer to God. The most blessed is that which draws us nearest to Him; [pg 082] and in proportion as it leads to God we realize its blessedness.
The essence of true love is not its tenderness, but its strength, power of endurance, its purity, its self-renunciation.
The mistake we make is when we seek to be beloved, instead of loving. What makes us cowardly is the fear of losing that love.
Never forget this: A selfish heart desires love for itself; a Christian heart delights to love—without return.
XL.
To learn never to waste our time is perhaps one of the most difficult virtues to acquire.
A well-spent day is a source of pleasure. To be constantly employed, and never asking, "What shall I do?" is the secret of much goodness and happiness.
[pg 083]Begin, then, with promptitude, act decisively, persevere; if interrupted, be amiable, and return to the work unruffled, finish it carefully—these will be the signs of a virtuous soul.
XLI.
Are you full of peace? Pray! Prayer will preserve it to you.
Are you tempted? Pray! Prayer will sustain you.
Have you fallen? Pray! Prayer will raise you.
Are you discouraged? Pray! Prayer will reassure and comfort you.
XLII.
The young are seldom forbearing, because they so little understand the frailties of poor human nature.
Oh! if you could only witness the terrible struggles passing in the heart [pg 084] of that friend whose vivacity annoys you, whose fickleness provokes you, whose faults sometimes even make you blush....
Oh! if you saw the tears that are shed in secret, the vexation felt against self (perhaps on your account), you would indeed pity them. Love them! make allowances for them! never let them feel that you know their failings.
To make any one believe himself good, is to help him almost in spite of self to become so.
Forbearance is even more than forgiveness; it is excusing, putting always the best construction upon everything; above all, never showing that some proceeding has wounded us; speaking of any one who has vexed us thus: "She did not think, else she would have acted differently; she never meant to pain me, she loves me too [pg 085] much; she was perhaps unable to do otherwise, and yet suffers at the thought of having displeased me."
For a wounded heart no balm is so efficacious as forbearance.
To forbear is to forget every night the little vexations of the past day; to say every morning: "To-day I shall be braver and calmer than yesterday." Forbearance even sometimes leads us to detect in ourselves a little want of good nature, condescension, and charity.
To forbear is not only freely to forgive, but to meet half-way, with extended hand, those who timidly ask for pardon.
XLIII.
My friend, do you know why the work you accomplish fails either to give pleasure to yourself or others?
It is because it is not cheerfully done, and therefore appears discolored.
[pg 086]A joyous heart amid our work imparts to duty a brilliancy that charms the eyes of others, while it prevents those feeling wounded who cannot perform it equally well.
Joy, with us, is like a lever, by which we lift the weights that without its help would crush us.
A workman once said: "If I were to leave off singing, I should be quite unequal to my business."
Then sing always; let your heart sing as in its earliest years.
The refrain of the heart, which perhaps never passes the lips, but which echoes in heaven, is this sentence:—
"I love and I am beloved!"XLIV.
What regret we sometimes feel, after the death or departure of friends, at never having shown them the respect, the gratitude, we felt [pg 087] towards them, and how from the depths of our heart we are filled with tenderness and affection for them!
It may have been that at times we could not speak, because we thought too much of how to say it.
Another time we lost the opportunity, because we were always shirking it. Deep devotion is sometimes a little erratic; always afraid of doing too little, doing it badly or inopportunely. Oftener still the tokens of affection are checked, because we think we could show it in some better way; we put off till brighter days the dreams we cherished, the sweet yearning to open the heart to the loved ones, and let them see for once what a large place they fill there.
Alas! the days fly past, suddenly comes death, or, sadder still, separation without hope of return, leaving the bitter thought: "Others will show them better than I have done, how [pg 088] dear, how valued, they are." Ah! when we can be loving to-day, never let us say, "I will love to-morrow;" when we have the opportunity of being grateful, never put off, for one hour, the proof of our gratitude!
Conclusion
Lacordaire, in preparing for a retreat in the country, said he only required for his realization of a dream of happiness and solitude, three things,—(1) God; (2) a friend; (3) books.
God!—We never fail to find Him when we are pure, holy, and fulfilling hourly our duty.
A Friend!—Responds always to the heart's call, if only that heart be loving and devoted.
Books!—Oh! if only this little book of Gold Dust might be allowed to form [pg 089] one of the numbers of those that are carried away, far from the world's turmoil, and read in order to gain a little help and peace!
It will take up so little room!