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.”