Today is the Feast of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, a Doctor of the Church. I have grown to love her “little way,” since most days I feel (okay, act) pretty little, myself.
Anyway, I have heard wondrous stories of people experiencing the fulfillment of Thérèse’s promise to “let fall a shower of roses.” And, earlier today, I was wondering – quite unattractively, mind you – where are MY roses?
Alright, so it’s totally selfish. I get it. Patience is a virtue and all that. But my husband and I said the St. Thérèse novena over the past nine days, and I was wondering, not if, but WHEN my roses would show up.
Today also happens to be my spiritual director’s feast day. She said they don’t celebrate birthdays in her religious order, but they do celebrate their feast days, so I thought I’d drop off a card on my way to an appointment.
Turns out, she had taken her feast day off, lucky lady. I dropped off the card and, since she wasn’t there, I had a few extra minutes to say a quick prayer in the on-site chapel.
My eyes fixed on the tabernacle straight ahead, and I had to smile.
There, on either side of the tabernacle holding the Precious Blessed Sacrament of Jesus Christ, were two vases holding the most gorgeous, perfect, vibrant pink roses I have ever seen.
Now, I know those roses weren’t originally intended for me, and yet they were meant for me so I could see the absolute folly of my silly demand for roses. Thérèse was showing me, in her simple yet profound way, that my consolation always has been and always will be waiting for me in the tabernacle. She used “my” roses to adjust my attitude and point me in the right direction.
Thank you, fair Maiden of Lisieux, for the heavenly reminder. May Jesus be praised now and forevermore.