Millions call her the Little Flower, but a reading of Patricia O’Connor’s biography, Therese of Lisieux, marks her as a feminine version of Job.

She was baptized Marie Francoise Therese Martin two days after birth in Alencon, France, January of 1873. Her mother, Zelie Guerin Martin, was 41 years old.

When the baby contracted an intestinal ailment, the mother, who could not nurse the infant, gave her over to the care of 37-year old Rose Taile, who lived on a farm about five miles away from the Martins.

To outward appearances, Therese returned home as a lovable, healthy 15-month old; yet, her temper tantrums and habit of hitting her head against the side of her wooden bed indicate that the trauma of adjusting to two mothers had left its mark on her.

Later, Zelie Martin wrote to her daughter, Pauline, who was away at school, that three-year-old Therese was a bright, endearing little imp. She had already learned to read, but was so stubborn she would prefer to remain in the cellar all day, rather than change her mind on something.

Subsequently, Mrs. Martin would write another letter, telling of her terminal cancer of the breast, and that Pauline and Marie must prepare to take her place in rearing Celine and Therese, which they should not find difficult.

Celine never commits the smallest deliberate fault. The little one will be all right, too, for she wouldn’t tell a lie for all the gold in the world, and she has a spirit about her which I have not seen in any of you.

At age four-and-one-half, Therese stood by her mother’s death bed with her father and four sisters. Despite the closeness of the family, no one seemed to have had time to speak with the child through the death and burial of the mother, or to listen to her thoughts of grief and fear.

After a couple of months, Louis moved his family to Lisieux, where they could be close to their Guerin relatives.

Therese became her father’s companion on walks and fishing excursions in the country, or reading together in the evening. However, Louis often took trips, which left the girls under the supervision of wealthy Isadore Guerin, whom Therese found kind, but a bit intimidating.

At the age of six, Therese, with her sister Celine and her cousins walked every day to the Benedictine Abbey of Notre-Dame-de-Pre, where the future saint said she spent “the saddest days of my life.”

Since she was so bright, she was placed in a class above her age group. Whether from jealousy, or because Therese found it difficult to relate with youngsters beyond her immediate family circle, the fact remains that she spent lonely hours on the playground.

Her days would become lonelier yet when Pauline, who had been like a mother to her, decided to enter Carmel, a convent about a half-hour’s walk from the Martin’s home.

Even though the family could visit every week, Therese was inconsolable. Eventually, she became ill with what the doctor diagnosed as St. Vitus’ Dance or hysteria.

At the end of six weeks, when she was running a high temperature and seemed to be hallucinating, Marie knelt befor the statue of Mary and prayed for her sister.

When Therese looked at the statue and saw Mary smiling at her, she began to recover her health. This is the only time Therese claimed to have seen a vision. From then on, her life is extraordinary in its simplicity.

From Carmel, Pauline encouraged Therese to prepare for her First Communion with prayers and acts of love. In her autobiography, The Story of a Soul, we hear her say, “I felt that I was loved. There were no demands made, no struggles, no sacrifices.” But trust was to be tested.

A year later, the youngster made a retreat at the abbey under Abbot Dominic and received her first bitter taste of French Catholicism, laced with Jansenism. The priest focused on mortal sin, not the compassionate Christ; on fear, rather than love; on sacrilegious Holy Communions, with the possibility of eternal damnation.

Therese described her reaction:

For me to express what I suffered for a year-and-a-half would be impossible. All my most simple thoughts and actions became the cause of trouble for me.

Marie also passed on advice she had received from Father Pichon: to put back in the attic the God of the Jansenists – to forget the malcontent God and seek the indulgent God, full of love.

Marie had suffered through scruples herself and reminded Therese that normal thoughts and actions did not translate into sins.

Some months later, Marie left home for Carmel and Leonie entered the Poor Clare’s Convent in Alencon. By Christmas, Therese felt “as though she was in a very narrow circle without knowing how to come out.”

After Midnight Mass, Mr. Martin noticed Therese’s shoes by the fireplace, as was the custom of children, for Father Christmas to fill them with gifts.

When Therese went upstairs to put her coat away, she heard her father say wearily, “Well, fortunately, this will be the last year.” She describes her reaction.

Forcing back my tears, I descended the stairs rapidly. Controlling the pounding in my heart, I took my slippers and placed them in front of Papa, and withdrew all the objects joyfully – Papa was laughing.

Therese calls this incident a conversion that brought back “the strength of soul which I had lost at the age of four (the time of her mother’s death).”

With a new sense of maturity, she searched for a spiritual guide and found him in the pages of Thomas A. Kempis’ The Imitation of Christ, which she carried in her pocket in the summer, and in her muff in the winter. Eventually, she committed the entire book to memory.

At the age of 14, she requested permission to enter Carmel, but was delayed until she was 15, despite talking with priests, a bishop, and Pope Leo XIII.

By the time Therese entered Carmel, she had read a good deal of history and science, had seen the glitter of Paris, had visited with nobility, and had observed priests outside the activities of offering Mass and dispensing sacraments.

She learned that priests can be holy, but can also be like everyone else and fail, so she prayed for them, and for many she has been an inspiration.

Therese found some aspects of convent life difficult. She fell asleep during Mass, was distracted during the rosary, wasn’t the convent’s best seamstress, nor the swiftest duster. Frequently, she was scolded.

What hurt her most was that politics had seeped through the convent walls and threatened the peace. Even so, with a good deal of self-discipline, she was able to keep her composure and to follow her way of simplicity. At 19, she was appointed to the position of assistant novice mistress.

Therese became ill with TB and suffered much before she died at the age of 24. The superior would not allow her to be given morphine to relieve her pain.

Eight years after her death, her autobiography, The story of a Soul had been translated into eight languages, bringing her message to millions:

It is trust, and nothing but trust that brings us to love.

Home

Archives