imply to give Him pleasure.

I picture my soul as a piece of waste ground and beg Our Blessed
Lady to take away my imperfections--which are as heaps of
rubbish--and to build upon it a splendid tabernacle worthy of
Heaven, and adorn it with her own adornments. Then I invite all
the Angels and Saints to come and sing canticles of love, and it
seems to me that Jesus is well pleased to see Himself received so
grandly, and I share in His joy. But all this does not prevent
distractions and drowsiness from troubling me, and not
unfrequently I resolve to continue my thanksgiving throughout the
day, since I made it so badly in choir.

You see, dear Mother, that my way is not the way of fear; I can
always make myself happy, and profit by my imperfections, and Our
Lord Himself encourages me in this path. Once, contrary to my
usual custom, I felt troubled when I approached the Holy Table.
For several days there had not been a sufficient number of Hosts,
and I had only received a small part of one; this morning I
foolishly thought: "If the same thing happens to-day, I shall
imagine that Jesus does not care to come into my heart." I
approached the rails. What a joy awaited me! The Priest hesitated
a moment, then gave me two entire Hosts. Was this not a sweet
response?

I have much to be thankful for. I will tell you quite openly what
the Lord has done for me. He has shown unto me the same mercy as
unto King Solomon. All my desires have been satisfied; not only my
desires of perfection, but even those of which I understood the
vanity, in theory, if not in practice. I had always looked on
Sister Agnes of Jesus as my model, and I wished to be like her in
everything. She used to paint exquisite miniatures and write
beautiful poems, and this inspired me with a desire to learn to
paint,[4] and express my thoughts in verse, that I might do some
good to those around me. But I would not ask for these natural
gifts, and my desire remained hidden in my heart.

Jesus, too, had hidden Himself in this poor little heart, and He
was pleased to show me once more the vanity of all that passes. To
the great astonishment of the Community, I succeeded in painting
several pictures and in writing poems which have been a help to
certain souls. And just as Solomon, "turning to all the works
which his hand had wrought, and to the labours wherein he had
laboured in vain, saw in all things vanity and vexation of
mind,"[5] so experience showed me that the