My Life with St. Joan and St. Thérèse - Chapter 4 (Third Edition)
How St. Thérèse introduced me to her "little way."
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There is little between Amarillo and Guymon except for vast stretches of open plains and a few small towns scattered along the way. The landscape remains largely untouched, with minimal human activity and wide expanses of untouched nature. In the Texas Panhandle, the expected sights in the surrounding landscape were barren ranch land and field after field of farmland. Occasionally appearing flat, yet consistently vast, the terrain stretched out to the boundaries of sight. The sky enveloped the surroundings, forming a sweeping dome that extended from one horizon to the other. The sight of the expansive landscape was awe-inspiring, while the gentle breeze carried whispers of distant sounds. A hint of earthiness permeated the air, intermingling with the scent of openness. Collectively, the towns between allowed for minimal contact with civilization during the two-hour and fifteen-minute drive.
We were driving through “Big Country.”
It was Saturday. Josey and I, married less than a year now, were traveling to our favorite Catholic bookstore. Despite the growing size of St. Peter’s parish and the new church, Guymon still had no Catholic bookstore. We had to drive over two hours to Amarillo to find one. It was fun. The experience was quite relaxing. It was a time to talk, grab a Coke at an oasis of commercial activity in one of the small towns, and kick back. As we drove through this serene landscape, a profound sense of calm washed over us, easing the tensions and stresses of everyday life. Driving through Big Country was a therapy that replenished our spirit, providing a much-needed escape from the noise and chaos of modern life.
The bookstore in Amarillo was off the beaten track. It was not in a mall or commercially busy area. The “store” was actually an out-of-the-way converted house. The moment you walked through the front door, you stood in the middle of statues, rosaries, and holy cards–just like in any good Catholic bookstore. We pulled up in the parking lot. It was a beautiful day. Strolling in, we amused ourselves by looking over the wide variety of items.
It took me only a short time to head toward the rear of the store where the books were located. I loved my new faith, Church, Eucharist, and Holy Mother. The Glories of Mary and True Devotion to Mary had ignited a fire in my heart for Our Lady. I wanted to read more to raise this fire to the Heavens.
After thumbing through the shelves, I found a curious little book. Later, I discovered it was more “little” than I had imagined. It was actually about a “little way.” Still, it was tiny in physical stature as compared to those around it. On the front was a painting of a young nun holding roses. Grace is the only way I can explain why a small book that resembled one for Catholic women caught my attention. It was not the type of book I would usually entertain. I held in my hand a copy of St. Augustine’s City of God I picked from the bookshelf. That was the type of manly intellectual reading I wanted. What should I make of this rather girlish-looking book? I only know that it attracted my attention. I wanted to read that book. So, I bought it.
That rather girlish-looking book I purchased was the most important literature, outside of sacred scripture, that I would ever read after The Glories of Mary and True Devotion to Mary. The book was The Story of a Soul–The Autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux.
St. Thérèse of Lisieux, also known as St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face, was a French Carmelite nun who lived in the late 19th century. Her autobiography, “The Story of a Soul,” provides a glimpse into her life and spirituality. The book holds immense significance in the realm of spiritual literature. St. Thérèse’s writings have have had a profound impact on countless individuals, inspiring them to embrace the “little way” of spiritual simplicity and childlike trust in God.
A week later, I sat at home in my favorite reading chair with St. Thérèse’s book resting on my chest as I leaned back to think. I was contemplating Thérèse’s words, the story of her life, and her challenges as a young woman in 19th century France entering the Carmelites, a contemplative order under the patronage of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Thérèse’s words were remarkable. Her words carried a rich spirituality that I had never experienced in my life. The book was excellent and made me feel very joyful when reading it.
There was, though, just one issue. I did not know what Thérèse was talking about. Thérèse’s words were eloquent and captivating, but unfortunately, their meaning eluded me. Despite their beauty, I found myself unable to comprehend the message she was trying to convey. Understanding Thérèse was about to become a lifelong journey for me, which I am still far from completing today. I know I will never finish that journey unless I am blessed to enter Paradise.
Although I was too spiritually dull to understand this young nun, I knew I wanted what she had. I knew I loved this little nun. I immediately devoted myself to her, and this devotion would only grow over the years. Eventually, I would come to see her as “my little mother,” the title I use when praying to her today. Mary is our true spiritual mother, as decreed by Christ to St. John while dying on the Cross. Thérèse became my “little mother” and “big sister.” I had received Thérèse’s spiritual bloodline on her Feast Day, October 1, 1984.
Thérèse already was a permanent fixture in my spiritual life. As the months went by, I continued to peruse her book. We bought a statue of St. Thérèse for our home. Silently standing on a shelf, the statue of St. Thérèse displayed its delicate features in a serene expression. As I turned the pages of her book, the sound of each whispering leaf transported me to a world of profound spirituality. In this sacred space, Thérèse’s presence enveloped me, guiding and inspiring my spiritual journey.
One day, Josey was in the living room. I stood in the connecting dining room next to the kitchen serving bar, looking out the backyard window. I had been reading more and more about the Carmelites because of Thérèse.
“You know,” I said matter-of-factly, “we could become Carmelites. There is something called a Third Order that allows those who live in the world an opportunity to share in the spiritual riches of the Order. We could become Carmelites like St. Thérèse!”
Josey was ever happy to agree. After a few days of research, we found a Discalced Carmel with an active Third Order in Piedmont, just outside Oklahoma City. We made arrangements with the Third Order to visit. It was a five-hour journey, but we found it. The Carmelite sisters welcomed us warmly. We continued to go each month to the Carmelites for formation, usually driving the entire five-hour one-way trip to Piedmont and back, all on the same day. That is how excited we were to be associated with St. Thérèse’s Carmelites. After one year, we made our temporary, three-year promise to the Order.
One requirement when making the temporary promise was that we pick a “religious” name just as the First Order religious do. I chose as my own “St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face,” Thérèse’s own religious name. Indeed, I had a deep devotion to this young saint.
While all this was happening, and we were driving back and forth to Oklahoma City each month, the priests at St. Peter’s recognized that I had become very devoted to St. Thérèse. They encouraged me in my Marian and Thérèsian devotions. They were interested in our endeavor to become Third Order Carmelites. We now had a new associate pastor at the parish. Fr. Burger was still the primary pastor, but Fr. Duane Mallon had moved on. Fr. Joseph Haley was his replacement. He was middle-aged with an average build-short, with dark black hair.
One day, Fr. Haley saw me as I approached the chapel at church to pray before the Blessed Sacrament. He stopped me on the sidewalk. He handed me something. It was a small, golden object with a glass front. Inside and protected by the glass was a very tiny object.
“This is a relic of St. Thérèse. There is a tiny fragment of her Carmelite habit and one of her hairs glued inside. I received it years ago and am giving it to you.”
My heart skipped a beat as those words sank in, and an overwhelming surge of emotions washed over me. A mix of awe, reverence, and gratitude coursed through my veins, leaving me breathless. My hands trembled as I gingerly held the relic, feeling the weight of its significance.
As I gazed at the small glass case containing the relic, a sense of wonderment enveloped me. The realization that I was now in possession of a precious piece of St. Thérèse’s legacy filled me with an indescribable sense of privilege. It was as if time stood still, and I found myself transported to a realm where the sacred and the tangible merged effortlessly.
The relic, carefully preserved, held within it the essence of a saint whose devotion and love for God had touched countless lives. The tiny fragment of her Carmelite habit, worn during her earthly spiritual journey, served as a physical reminder of her unwavering faith and dedication. And the single hair, delicately glued inside, represented a connection to her mortal being, a tangible link to her earthly existence.
I couldn’t help but marvel at the significance of this gift. The thought that someone had entrusted me with such a precious relic, one that had been in their possession for years, left me humbled and filled with a profound sense of responsibility. It was as if I had been chosen to carry on the legacy of St. Thérèse, to honor her memory, and to draw inspiration from her remarkable life.
The relic of St. Thérèse had touched my life, igniting a flame of devotion and inspiring me to strive for greater holiness. In that profound moment, I felt an unbreakable bond forming between me and St. Thérèse of Lisieux.
Not long after receiving St. Thérèse’s relic, I did the Saint Louis de Montfort thirty-three-day preparation for consecration to the Blessed Virgin. On July 16, 1986, the Feast Day of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, I consecrated myself to the Blessed Virgin Mary.
I did not know what was about to happen. Living out this Marian devotion would ground the rest of my life, and I now had a “little mother,” a sister in Christ, who would guide me.