Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année, and thanks be to God for Moms (especially Marcel's)!

It's hard to believe Christmas has already come and seemingly gone (don't worry, I won't let it really go without a fight!), but the New Year promises to be here for a while, and as a dear 91 year old priest I know says, "Everything is amazing!"

Just one example: My family had the grace to be in Lisieux for Christmas! We took Marcel with us (in the form of his Conversations), and I practiced my French by often repeating "Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année" to new friends and old. I'd say it to potential new friends as well, those some might call complete strangers, but who is really a stranger at Christmas? As James Taylor sings in a Christmas carol I love (and thanks to crazy modern technology, I can listen to it while I type in the comfort of Mathis House, a Victorian tea house bed and breakfast in Toms River, New Jersey where I'm staying, praise God! . . . except that I have to listen to James and Yo-Yo Ma play Here Comes the Sun first!) - but as I was saying, and as my stay in Toms River has shown me: Who is a stranger at Christmas-tide?

Who comes this night, this wintry night,
As to the lowly manger?
The Shepherds and the Kings did come
To welcome in the stranger.

Who sends this song upon the air,
To ease the soul that's aching?
To still the cry of deep despair
And heal the heart that?s breaking.

Brother Joseph bring the light
Fast, the night is fading.
And who will come this wintry night
To where the stranger's waiting?

Who comes this night, with humble heart,
To give the fullest measure
A gift of purest love to bring
What good and worthy treasure.

Brother Joseph bring the lamb
For they are asking for him
The children come this starry night
To lay their hearts before him.

For those who would the stranger greet
Must lay their heart before him
And raise their song in voices sweet
To worship and adore him.

Brother Joseph bring the light
Fast, the night is fading
And who will come this wintry night
To where the stranger's waiting

Brother Joseph bring the lamb
For they are asking for him.
The children come this starry night
To lay their hearts before him.

Pure of heart this starry night
To lay their hearts before him.

*   *   *

If you ever find yourself needing to stay on the East Coast, might I suggest Mathis House? It's one of a kind and would require you to stay in Toms River, but that would only add to the beauty and joy that God pours so sweetly into your life. Meanwhile, if you find yourself, like we did, in Lisieux for Christmas, might I make another suggestion?

First, please take me with you!

But even if I'm not there, I'd suggest that if you can manage a late night, head over to Saint-Pierre Cathedral and see what we saw on Christmas Eve.

The photo atop this post shows the main altar of St. Pierre, the parish church of the Martin family,  Thought the early Gothic Cathedral dated from the 13th century, in 1888 the rector wanted to beautify the church to glorify God, and when he asked for donations for the new altar, St. Louis up and offered the whole enormous amount, and offered himself to boot. I'm told it was at least the cost of Les Buissonnets (which means "the little bushes"), the house the Martin family leased and which is now a place you can visit, and even (if you have a few extra shekels) contribute to so that it will be repaired in places it's falling apart.

It was a delight to discover Les Buissonnets open for visitors when we were there. It was supposed to be closed for an extended period for very necessary repairs, but in a bizarre (to my American mind) turn of events, they have no money to do the repairs, none of the needed donations to pay the workers, so it is not yet repaired and thus not currently closed. I don't want it to close, even temporarily, but I do want it to be repaired so it can remain a refuge of joy for pilgrims for all the years to come . . .

Here is what the Sanctuary of Lisieux website says: 

"In November 1877, shortly after Madame Martin's death in Alençon, the family settled in Lisieux and became a tenant of the Maison des Buissonnets located a little outside the city, on the road to Pont-l'Evêque, in the alley “Chemin du Paradis”. Thérèse spent eleven years of her life there until she entered Carmel.

"Rented by Louis Martin, the house of Buissonnets was acquired in 1909 by the cousin of Thérèse who lodged successive tenants there, often devoted to the cause of the young Carmelite. From 1911, the house became a place of pilgrimage. In 1931 the Buissonnets were entrusted to the Oblates of Sainte-Thérèse. The sisters welcome visitors, pilgrims and tourists every day. Donations from visitors help maintain the garden and the house."

Not enough donations, though, so if you want to donate something, oh generous reader, rich or poor as you are, here is a LINK to the Sanctuary where you can specify you want your donation to go to Les Buissonnets. I'm going to try and be the first to make my donation because, wouldn't you know it, when we were there in the flesh and I wanted to drop a sizable donation (at least for us!) into the place where you could drop donations, I had my credit card, and it seemed impractical to drop the whole card into the box . . . so the kind sister helping us with our tour in English explained that I could give later, just be sure to say the donation was for Les Buissonnets (since there are many workers and buildings connected with the Sanctuary, that is St. Therese's places, that need donations) . . .

Thanks to the angels' help, I just went to the link and made my donation, and sure enough there's a place you can type in that your donation is for Les Buissonnets. On the page that takes your billing information (name, address, email), you can add a note in "Further Information" in a box marked "Order Notes." I wrote there, "I would like to make my donation for Les Buissonnets."

But back to Therese's family's parish church . . . one of the many things I love about our little sister's hometown is that if you lived there, you could still have this 13th century Gothic Cathedral as your parish church! We discovered that the two diocesan priests stationed there belong to the Society of St. John-Mary Vianney, so the Mass we went to near midnight on Christmas Eve was stunningly reverent and beautiful. Not to mention the lovely creches in the church, of which the one on the main altar pictured above, with darling baby Jesus strapped in between good St. Joseph and Mama Mary so He won't fall off, was possibly my favorite.

The statue of Our Lord in death which lies under the altar is amazing, as are the two huge marble angels keeping watch (not pictured in my photo which sadly couldn't capture all the glory, so you'll just have to go see it for yourself), but I think my favorite thing of all here is just St. Therese's insistence on showering her roses EVERYWHERE for the glory of God so that we won't miss the message of God's infinite love for us. The cathedral was full of them, as was the town of Lisieux. Ah, roses! Thank You Jesus!

But now I must come to the real point of this post . . . 

On July 11, 1897, Mother Agnes was speaking to St. Therese (who was ill in the infirmary and would enter eternal life 10 weeks later) about the manuscript of the Little Flower's Life which would become Story of a Soul, and about the good it would do to souls. Therese replied, " . . . But how well they will understand that everything comes from God; and what I shall have of glory from it will be a gratuitous gift from God that doesn't belong to me; everybody will see this clearly."

I love this! "What I shall have of glory from it will be a gratuitous gift from God that doesn't belong to me; everybody will see this clearly."

I had the most wonderful talk with a new friend yesterday. He said that it's not what we can do, it's not about fixing ourselves, but it's about what God can do in us. Yes, Frank is so right! Therese saw this and alluded to it at every opportunity. It was not her, this goodness that attracted the other sisters to her (and later the whole world) as iron to a magnet or a moth to the flame . . . This goodness in her is God living within her and loving through her, just as He wants to love through us. And whatever we have, it is a gift, it is from the giver of all good gifts. Even our fatherhood and motherhood, if we are parents, is from God and not for ourselves but for Him.

My husband gets to read the greatest books ever because he works at a Great Books College, and he was telling me yesterday about a line from St. Augustine in The City of God. St. Augustine explains why something or other (it is awesome, but we've got to focus or we'll never get to our point here!) and in his explanation he says that then the sons of heaven (the Israelites) married the beautiful daughters of earth and had children for themselves. I was stunned and thought this was amazing - they didn't raise children for God and eternal life, but simply for themselves and this life. Ouch!

There are so many amazing things on this earth, and one of the best is parents raising little eternal souls for heaven. So Beautiful!

This was the case with our dear Marcel. His mom often gets a bad rap - at least she did from me until my dear friend and benefactor, Jack Keogan, recently pointed out that Marcel's Mama (or Mama-Marcel as we'd say in Nigeria) was an absolute brick of a woman. I like that expression (Jack said it much more elegantly and without my harsh sounding idiom) because it shows someone who is tough yet really comes through. Or maybe is tough and so really comes through. Or perhaps really comes through, and in doing so develops the toughness needed to live constantly in God's will.

Here is what Marcel says to Fr. Boucher ("bearded Jesus," his spiritual director and novice master who requested he write the story of his life so far at 16) about his dear Mama in his Autobiography:

My dear Father, I have pointed out to you already the love that God has shown towards me in placing me from birth into a privileged family, a family blessed materially, but above all spiritually. It is thanks to the practice of virtue in my family that I have learned from my childhood to turn towards the heart of God. He has given me a tender heart which loves to be happy and to be cared for. Let me say that these were equally the intimate feelings of little Therese. Hand in hand with this delicacy of feeling, God has also given to me, as I have already said, a virtuous and prudent mother. It is by the hands of such a mother that I have been fashioned. I once heard her say in speaking of me, "The more he grew, the happier I was with him." Yes, that was how it was. (41)

When little Marcel was only seven, he wanted to stay with a priest at a parish a distance from his home so he could begin his studies for the priesthood. After he and his mama visited the priest for a few days, his mom consented to his wish to stay. Marcel writes:

I learned that my mother had left that day at nine o'clock, and that the ten o'clock train took her back home. My heart continued to beat regularly, my eyes remained dry and my soul was ecstatic at the thought that I was following the example of Jesus remaining in the temple . . . But what were my mother's feelings? It was after five years of separation, in meeting me at the house when I had fled for the first time, that she opened her heart to me during an afternoon of intimate exchanges. 

"That day," she said, "what bitterness tortured my heart whilst thinking of you, my dearest child. I did not pay any attention to the countryside which unfolded along the route because it all brought back to me the memory of my little angel. When I got on the train I could only sit down, exhausted, and say the rosary. I thought the rosary would help me to forget your image but, on the contrary, it brought it back to me in a harrowing manner, because so many times have I told my beads whilst you sat on my knee. Honestly, each Hail Mary was a tear falling on my breast since my empty hands no longer felt the touch of your little fingers. I was sighing, 'Lord Jesus' .  . . and I asked God to strengthen my soul. At that moment your voice was heard no longer saying repeatedly, to console me, 'Mammy, why are you crying like that? Enough! Don't cry any more, because we are the children of the good God.' You were an angel of peace sent by God to console me on days of darkness. Cousin Suu was very attentive and tried to console me, but I felt more and more alone and could only repeat: 'God understands me.' I was worried about you, asking myself if you would be able to persevere, or if, once the initial attraction had passed, your would give it all up, which, for me, wouldn't be a more painful trial still, since in separating myself from you at the cost of much bitterness and suffering, I wished by these sufferings to please the heart of God: that is to say, to obtain for you the strength to persevere in His service until the end." (127)

Marcel comments: "My mother's words were words of good advice given to me."

Oh Love! How you give us joys and sorrows in this life, our meetings, our friendships, our families, and our separations . . . and yet it is Your hand which guides everything! Help us to trust You and to open our hands as Therese and Marcel did following their parents' example. May we leave our hands open so You can freely take and give as You please, for Your will is our peace, our joy, our life, our all! What is there but goodness and love that come from Your hand and Your Sacred Heart? Nothing else but love and mercy - that's what You ARE as the Gospel and St. Therese teach us. Be merciful this day to all our friends, new and old, and all our potential friends, those who are as yet complete strangers, but in Your loving providence, not forever. Even if we meet them only in Heaven, may You bless our prayer for them now. For the whole world! Let no one be lost today . . . and for those who seem lost, send Your angels to guide and protect them and bring them safely Home - and bring us safely Home too!

Draw me . . . we will run!