Once upon a time there was a little boy who did not believe in God. He grew up and became even more determined not to believe in God. So he ate some food. He did some poo. Had some sex. Paid some taxes. Died.
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Saturday, 12 September 2009
You are simply impossible to ignore. Has ever a woman, later to be declared a saint, been so extensively photographed? And how did that come about in the quiet, enclosed world of the Carmel? Was, indeed ever a prospective saint so imploringly photogenic? You demand attention from everyone who gazes into your eyes.
Sister, help me. We need to have a talk, you and me. It is wrong of me, I know, but I do not like you. I know that if we were together in the same convent, you would seek me out, and now more than ever, I feel we need to meet. Something attracts me to that which I find difficult, even impossible. Something attracts me increasingly to those who are so willfully stubborn in their obedience to Our Lord. The only problem is, Little Flower, I so want to see you as a small delicate bloom clinging to a sea cliff in a raging storm, but all I can picture is a demanding, needy prize dahlia. My assumptions about you must go, the truth about you lies outside of my imagination.
Thank you for visiting the UK at this time, I look forward to seeing you, probably at the Oxford Oratory in early October.
Pray for me,