|The Little Flower is very gentle.|
I had to look twice. My husband was sitting next to the wood stove, enjoying its warmth on this damp and early Spring day. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, and a cat was hanging over his bent knee. Her paws dangled down around his legs and she breathed in a big sigh.
I was standing in the kitchen, wiping my hands with the kitchen towel.
Rog was deep into what he was reading, curious. His fingers were wrapped around the glossy newsletter and lay across a large photo of St. Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower. She was peering out at me.
"Watcha readin', Hun?"
"Oh, just about the Eucharist."
I soaked in the scene, my non-Catholic husband reading about the Holy Eucharist... in a newsletter that has been arriving for several months now. As usual, this new issue sat in a pile of the week's mail, cluttered with junk mail and bills, mags and a diocesan newspaper, many of it sorted and ready for recycling.
St. Therese knew the secret. Patience. I can be patient. She is gentle and quiet, and she doesn't mind waiting her turn. I can wait.
A few Sundays ago, my sons and I arrived a little early for Mass. We always do. You see, at our parish, there is a demand for the front pews, and since I'm a little claustrophobic, well, I need to sit where everyone else is beyond me. So as we were walking up the aisle, it was hard to miss what our pastor was doing. He was comforting an elderly woman.
She leaned on her walker, eyes cast down. Father put his hands on her shoulders, bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Think of Mary," he said. "She was patient. She waited thirty years until her son began his ministry. Then she waited three years while he worked in the public. Then she waited three days after his painful crucifixion to see His glory. She was a patient woman. And you're a patient woman, too, I know it."
Indeed, patience. St. Therese knew it. Still, I liked seeing the portrait of The Little Flower in the hands of my husband. Thank you, Society of the Little Flower.