Simple, small steps took you

on an elevator ride to heaven.

I want to be a saint

echoed in your being,

as your prayer

a surge of the heart

was knit in pious conversations

with the One you loved

who embraced you

in agonizing trials and deep joy.

Each moment born in love

breathed the air of sanctity

for everything was grace to you.

Nature in its various moods

mirrored your soul

with torrents of rain

like your cascading tears,

or days of sunshine and blue skies

burning away those dismal clouds.

You saw Jesus

hidden in the depths of all souls

even the difficult “holy” one

who rubbed you the wrong way,

and charity was born again

as a smile lit your face.

With missionary zeal

you yearned to travel far,

but Carmel was the desert

where God wanted you to go.

That call drew you at tender fifteen

into a journey of spiritual heights

and darkening depths.

Fragile, faith-filled flower,

mystic, Doctor of the church,

St. Therese, the tiny petals of your words

wrap me in a perfumed peace,

“I will let fall a shower of roses.

I will spend my heaven doing good on earth.”