January 2, 1946prev home
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The Evening
A monastic cloister, an arcade, a floor with white and black square tiles. The long cloister is lost in the darkness at the end. Where I am there is an angle like this: …. [sketch]. In the point where the bow and the little star are there is a small statue of the Child Jesus at the age of about twenty-eight or thirty months. Blond, beautiful, wearing a pale blue robe with golden stars, with his right hand uplifted to bless and his left hand holding the globe. An oil lamp illuminates the statue.
As I look, it becomes animated and becomes true flesh. He smiles at me and motions with his little hand, saying, “Come here! Come here!” And He becomes luminous, very lovely. The cloister angle shines as if by starlight. I approach slightly, smiling reverently. But I halt, still too far away, and the Child insists with his voice and hand, “Why, come here! Here, close!” I go near to Him. He laughs happily and says, “Will you warm my feet with a kiss? I am so cold!” And He offers me his bare feet, one by one, upon which, to warm them, I rest not only my lips, but my feverish cheek.
He laughs. A clear child’s laugh. And He says, “I am the Child of little Thérèse of Lisieux. This is the Carmel. Do you understand? I am the Child Jesus of Sister Thérèse of the Child Jesus.”
I contemplate Him in ecstasy, now that I am really close to Him. He is so beautiful! The light then grows and grows and is so violent it cancels out the capacity to see, and everything disappears. Only the memory and the peace remain.