ster's Will, and so I, poor Little Flower, obey my Jesus when I
try to please you, who represent him here on earth.

You know it has ever been my desire to become a Saint, but I have
always felt, in comparing myself with the Saints, that I am as far
removed from them as the grain of sand, which the passer-by
tramples underfoot, is remote from the mountain whose summit is
lost in the clouds.

Instead of being discouraged, I concluded that God would not
inspire desires which could not be realised, and that I may aspire
to sanctity in spite of my littleness. For me to become great is
impossible. I must bear with myself and my many imperfections; but
I will seek out a means of getting to Heaven by a little way--very
short and very straight, a little way that is wholly new. We live
in an age of inventions; nowadays the rich need not trouble to
climb the stairs, they have lifts instead. Well, I mean to try and
find a lift by which I may be raised unto God, for I am too tiny
to climb the steep stairway of perfection. I have sought to find
in Holy Scripture some suggestion as to what this lift might be
which I so much desired, and I read these words uttered by the
Eternal Wisdom Itself: "Whosoever is a little one, let him come to
Me."[4] Then I drew near to God, feeling sure that I had
discovered what I sought; but wishing to know further what He
would do to the little one, I continued my search and this is what
I found: "You shall be carried at the breasts and upon the knees;
as one whom the mother caresseth, so will I comfort you."[5]

Never have I been consoled by words more tender and sweet. Thine
Arms, then, O Jesus, are the lift which must raise me up even unto
Heaven. To get there I need not grow; on the contrary, I must
remain little, I must become still less. O my God, thou hast gone
beyond my expectation, and I . . . "I will sing Thy mercies! Thou
hast taught me, O Lord, from my youth and till now I have declared
Thy wonderful works, and thus unto old age and grey hairs."[6]

What will this old age be for me? It seems to me that it could as
well be now as later: two thousand years are no more in the Eyes
of the Lord than twenty years . . . than a single day! But do not
think, dear Mother, that your child is anxious to leave you, and
deems it a greater grace to die in the morning rather than in the
evening of life; to please Jesus is what [s]he really values and
desires above all things. Now that He seems to come