Little Flowers


Today is a great feast; it's the Feast of Littleness. The Feast of the Ordinary and the Celebration of the Common. This is the feast celebrating a little French girl, Thérèse, who was little known in her day, did not travel too much, performed no miracles, made no marvelous journeys to faraway missions, and from roughly her 15th to her 24th year, was "hidden" in a cloister from the eyes of the world. She died in just as much obscurity from tuberculosis before her 25th birthday. Little though she was, however, she possessed a heart that was aflame with love. In fact, she herself once wrote that love was to be her very life, her vocation!

Small though it seemed in her time and place, we know this fire had a way of being seen and felt. Darkness cannot overcome it. The smallest spark can still be seen in the deepest darkness. Today, I wonder if a Catholic church exists that does not have an image, icon, pamphlet, or prayer of St. Therese in it. That's the paradox of humility; that she who humbled herself would be so exalted. God makes big with our little. And all that is needed to become a great saint, as Therese was found of saying, is not much time, but much love.
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