September 7, 1890.
To-morrow I shall be the Spouse of Jesus, of Him Whose |look was as it were hidden and despised.| What a future this alliance opens up! How can I thank Him, how render myself less unworthy of so great a favour?
I thirst after Heaven, that blessed abode where our love for Jesus will be without bounds. True, we must pass through suffering and tears to reach that home, but I wish to suffer all that my Beloved is pleased to send me; I wish to let Him do as He wills with His |little ball.| You tell me, dearest Godmother, that my Holy Child is beautifully adorned for my wedding-day; perhaps, however, you wonder why I have not put new rose-coloured candles. The old ones appeal to me more because they were lighted for the first time on my clothing-day. They were then fresh and of rosy hue. Papa had given them to me; he was there, and all was joyful. But now their tint has faded. Are there yet any rose-coloured joys on earth for your little Thérèse? No, for her there are only heavenly joys; joys where the hollowness of all things gives place to the Uncreated Reality.