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MY FATHER at this time entrusted me into the care of his two sisters who had a dressmaking shop, so that I should learn to work, but even this did not distract me from my interior conversations with God. I constantly conversed with our Lord in the secret of my soul. I also made frequent Spiritual Communions which exercise lighted in my heart a fire of divine love that transported me so strongly even in the midst of my employment, that I found it difficult not to show my emotions. Fortunately, my aunt had placed me in a corner close to her in the workshop. Remaining there as if in a small cell of my own, and separated from the other young people, they did not disturb my peace nor notice the workings of grace in my soul.

Shortly thereafter I was granted the favor of being received into the Congregation of the Most Blessed Virgin in which my aunt was one of the superiors. Having completed the term of probation, I was duly admitted by the Council and made my Act of Consecration. Oh, how sweet was that day to me. The ceremony reminded me of my first Communion. I was, as on that day, dressed all in white, and carried a large, lighted wax candle. This congregation had been established for working girls. No vows were taken, but the society had its rules that tended to preserve piety in the hearts of the young women who were members. Every two weeks the superior would give us a useful instruction.

Our Lord, having nourished me now for quite a long time with the milk of consolations, wished to give me a more solid nourishment in order to strengthen my soul. He made me pass from Thabor to Calvary. The Divine Saviour withdrawing His consolations now abandoned me to spiritual dryness and interior aridity. This state seemed very strange to me. Alas, not to feel the love of God! Not having had very much experience in the spiritual life, I thought that if I applied myself very forcibly to meditation, I could in this way regain the taste of those delightful transports of Divine Love with which I had been favored in the past. My vehement efforts however were in vain and they only served to make me ill. When I disclosed the state of my soul to my confessor he was not surprised, but consoled me by saying that my former fervor would later return.

When, however, consolations did not come my way, I, ungrateful to my benefactor, grew lukewarm in the way of perfection and turned my heart to creatures. This brought me no peace, for although my faults were not grave in themselves, yet they were very displeasing to our Lord who demanded of me utmost generosity in His service.

At this stage I committed an imprudence which very greatly retarded my spiritual progress. Thinking that my confessor did not seem any longer concerned about my faults, I asked my father's permission to change confessor. Sympathizing with me, he consented, and himself approached my old confessor, whom I wanted to leave, who was also the pastor in our parish, and whom my father greatly esteemed, not without reason. The pastor suggested to him that perhaps I would be better off under the guidance of a certain confessor who then enjoyed a high reputation among the more devoted of the parish. The pastor, therefore, consented to my change to this new confessor, who was the Vicar General. But alas, I had occasion to repent for leaving my old confessor, because I learned that although the Vicar General had many years of experience in the ministry, he did not have any grace from God for my soul. He took me off frequent Communion. Undoubtedly, I deserved this for I was relenting in my spiritual exercises, but this Bread of the strong was necessary for me to combat my enemies.

Reaching the age of about seventeen, the attractions of the world now began to smile upon me. The priest would scold me for he could not stand anyone primping. He was seventy years old, but his eyes were excellent when it was a matter of discerning whether or not I dressed according to his taste. He did not want me to wear any ribbons, and his sharp eyes were quick to notice that I was wearing transparent stockings one Sunday. If I remained away from confession longer than one week, he was sure to come to our home to get me. What displeased me more than anything else however, was that he would, behind my back, inquire about my conduct from my older sister, and since I was not always too docile at home, and often caused her little troubles, she would promptly tell him everything, so that I found I was confessed in advance. After this priest would take me to task for something, he would finish by telling me that he was my best friend, for he would never scold me twice about the same thing.

This kind of guidance did not at all appeal to me. Yet it went on for two and a half years, during which time my life became very imperfect. Although I received some excellent advice from my new confessor I did not improve. I gave myself up to distractions and became lukewarm in the service of God. But what was yet more harmful to my soul was that I had given up the practice of meditation, that most useful method to help a soul conquer her passions.

After my mother's death, my elder sister was at the head of our house, but I was so proud that I would not always submit to her authority. A great many small disagreements followed in the household, and as I have said, she complained about it to my confessor, who was also hers. This placed me at a still greater disadvantage, and then my conscience too reproached me strongly for my infidelities to God whom I recognized to be so full of goodness. I then began to recall the happy days of my childhood when, faithful to God, I had been filled with His ineffable consolations, and I longed to return to Him, but I felt my soul chained down by its passions. But finally I decided to have recourse to Mary, my tender Mother, to whom I had been consecrated, and whom no one ever invokes in vain.

As Mary's beautiful feast of the Purification was drawing close, I prepared myself to celebrate it by making a novena. Then I went before her altar and burned a candle and soon I felt my heart entirely changed. I now realized that it was necessary for me to quit this confessor who had no grace to guide my soul and so I returned to my pastor who had been my first confessor.

"Oh, my Father," I said to him, "since I left you all virtue has fled far away from me." I then begged him to have the goodness to take over once more the care of my soul.

He received me as did the father of the Prodigal Son, that is, with great charity. Shortly afterwards I made an eight-day retreat, conducted by certain missionaries, at a convent. Oh, and it was, indeed, here that the divine mercy of God awaited me. I had prayed to the Blessed Virgin to obtain for me the grace to make a holy retreat, and this good Mother deigned once again to answer my prayers. Divine Grace worked so strongly on my soul that as I listened to the sermons I felt them making a most lively impression on me. I then made a general confession after which I saw all my sins very clearly, realizing how long I had refused to cooperate with the grace of God. Meditating on the wounds as I looked on my crucifix they seemed to reproach me for my infidelity. Then my heart was pierced with a most lively sorrow; my eyes were flooded with abundant tears, and there and then I vowed to God my inviolable loyalty.

Having come out of my retreat entirely converted, I was re-admitted to frequent Communion. I now became especially devoted to Mary realizing with what mercy this divine Mother had retrieved me from the abyss. And as my confidence in her was now very strong, I began to ask her to obtain for me the grace of a religious vocation. Mary undoubtedly heard my prayer again, for I soon began to experience a great longing to leave the world. But what was I to do? I dared not speak of it to my confessor.

One day as grace strongly urged me to follow my vocation, and not knowing how to go about it, I felt extremely pained, and in my dilemma I went to church. Kneeling before Mary's altar, I opened my heart to her, telling her of my great desire to become a nun, and of my troubles in regard to attaining this end. Mary immediately dispelled my worries. It so happened that there was a confessional box located close to the beautiful statue of Mary. This confessional was ordinarily occupied by one of her zealous servants, the very same priest about whom I have already spoken as being the one who had given me the role of a religious in the Catechism class, where also I was asked if I wanted to become a Carmelite. It was there, while I prayed before the statue of the Blessed Virgin, as I have mentioned, that suddenly I saw this good priest go into his confessional, and he seemed to beckon me to enter.

I cannot understand how he became aware of my worries, for I had never spoken to him about my soul, yet when I entered the Confessional he began to tell me everything that passed through my heart.

"You desire to become a religious, my child, and it seems to you that to reach such a goal, you must scale a mountain. Isn't it true that I guess correctly?"

Overwhelmed at finding such a consoler, I opened my heart to him in all frankness. He, weighing seriously everything I told him, then and there declared that I had a real vocation to the religious life. Encouraged by his advice, I went immediately to find my confessor to whom I had not dared as yet to open my soul on this subject. When I told him of my desire to become a religious, he in turn answered as follows:

"I am in perfect accord with you on this matter. As for myself, I have always believed that you would become a nun."

His answer filled me with joy. A few days later he told me to plan entering the religious life sometime in the spring, as it seemed to him a favorable season for leaving. But, alas, I was to pass into the hands of another spiritual father who was not quite so quick to decide sending me to the convent. Instead he was to work for five years breaking down the wall of my pride and self-love with the hammer of mortification before he would find me worthy to dwell in the solitude of Carmel. This is how it happened.

My regular confessor was obliged to go to Paris for medical treatment for he was about to lose his sight. Since he knew that I needed an experienced guide to direct me in my vocation, he sent me to a learned priest — one who had proved himself of great service to the religious communities of the diocese which he visited often. He was, moreover, particularly enlightened on the subject of the interior life, and he was known for this throughout the city. Mothers felt very much flattered when their daughters went to consult him. He was continually engaged in sending young ladies to the convents, and it was generally known that none of those whom he sent had ever returned to the world.

I approached him and told him that I wanted to be a Carmelite nun. He received me with much charity and encouraged me to pursue my vocation. However, he told me that he was not willing to undertake the direction of my soul until he had first consulted our Lord about this in prayer.

In the meantime, this new confessor's counsels proved of so much benefit to me that I begged him to be willing to assume charge of my soul even after my old confessor had returned from Paris. Then after considering this for some time, he gave me the following answer:

"My daughter, I take charge of your soul for the glory of God and for the salvation of your soul."

These words inspired me with great confidence in his direction. Then wishing to sound me out, he asked me to submit to him in writing an account of the way our Lord had in the past directed my soul, as likewise a brief resume of my present dispositions. After I had sent him this written account, he made me draw up for myself a rule of life.

Then when some time had elapsed, I begged him to see about my being received into some convent to which he replied:

"Oh, my daughter, you have only begun to make war on your passions. They must be overcome."

As I was very eager to become a Carmelite nun and would have passed through fire had this been necessary in order to become one, I therefore began with renewed fervor to strive after perfection. And as the advice which this priest gave me continued to make the deepest impression on my heart, I took care not to forget any of it.

He began by warning me against those small weaknesses so common among many devout souls.

"My daughter," he would say to me, "do not consult, as many pious persons do, some thirty-six different spiritual directors. If you desire me to be truly your father, I desire that you be truly my daughter. Be simple as a child. It is here that you must tell all and not elsewhere, for otherwise it is nothing but a sad waste of time, and is worth nothing. Never speak about your confessor nor about your mortifications. Go straight to God in a spirit of faith. Do not allow your soul to swerve from its course, for all back-sliding is only so much straw for the fires of purgatory. Endeavor to know yourself and to know God, for the more you will know Him, the more also will you love Him. Be always cheerful and not like those sad people who in carrying the yoke of the Lord seem to be carrying a burden. Oh, my daughter, how beautiful is the road which our Lord has chosen for you to follow. Look to the end! Prepare yourself well for the great designs God has on your soul."

Such was the wise counsel which I received from this priest, which through God's grace bore fruit in my soul. He loaned me books which treated of prayer and of the interior life, and also biographies of the saints. All these spiritual helps nourished my soul, and enkindled in my heart an ever more lively longing to embrace the religious life. But whenever I expressed this desire to my confessor, and told him of my longing to leave the world and become a Carmelite nun, he would simply answer in a very unconcerned manner: "My daughter, the habit does not make the monk."

By this answer I understood that there was still work ahead of me. I prayed constantly to the Blessed Virgin, my dear protectress, to allow me to become a Carmelite nun in one of the houses where she was much beloved. I also prayed very much to the glorious St. Joseph, and asked him for the gift of prayer. In order to obtain this precious grace, and all the other graces of which I had such great need, especially that of becoming a Carmelite, I would make small pilgrimages to his shrines. In his honor I would eat dry bread for breakfast on Wednesdays and also on Saturdays in honor of the Blessed Virgin. Thus I constantly practiced a great devotion to the Holy Family, as I became entirely taken up with thoughts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. "Oh, blessed family," I would say, "if I had had the good fortune to live at the time when you dwelt upon earth, believe me, no matter in what country you would have lived, I would have gone out to find you in order to have the honor of being your servant in the form of a little domestic."

So when my director loaned me a book on the Life of St. Teresa my joy was, indeed, extreme, for in it I read about the promise our Lord made her on the occasion of founding her first monastery at Avila, saying that He Himself would dwell in that house, and that the Blessed Virgin would be watching the door on one side of the convent and St. Joseph on the other side. I now prayerfully pleaded to be allowed to have a place in Carmel for this reason above all others, that there I might live together with the Holy Family.

I repeatedly urged my confessor to help me in getting settled in a Carmelite monastery, but he still persisted in trying me by giving me the same evasive answers: "We will see about it. God's time has not yet arrived." Then one time he added, "Do you think, my daughter, that I want you to imitate those young women who rush off to a convent and soon afterwards come back home? No, my child, when I send you there, you will be prepared to stay."

Such were the answers he would invariably give me. Although they were very wise, they made me suffer a great deal because of my vehement desire to be a nun. In the meantime, while awaiting the honor of going to Carmel in order to serve the Holy Family there, Divine Providence furnished me with an excellent means of satisfying my longing to serve the Holy Family. Next door to our house there came to reside a poor family consisting of three persons, a poor laborer, his wife who was blind, and their little son, a boy about four or five years old. They were so impoverished, especially in the winter when the man was without a job, that I found their poor little house resembling the stable of Bethlehem. There they were, often without fuel and without bread. I saw here an excellent opportunity to honor in the persons of these poor neighbors the Holy Family itself and I resolved therefore not to remain idle in their regard. By the grace of God I began with great affection to render them every service which their sad condition demanded from the time they moved next door to our house until the time I entered Carmel. Since my meager financial resources did not permit me to satisfy all their needs, the Holy Family, whom I served in their persons, granted me the grace of so eloquently pleading their cause among people whom I knew in order to secure further help for them that no one was able to refuse me.

All my happiness now consisted in visiting them, and in instructing them in the practice of our religion, which their extreme poverty undoubtedly led them to neglect. I induced them to go to confession and also made the husband attend an eight-day retreat in a religious house where these retreats were conducted. But if I loved this poor family, I was also loved by them, so much so that when the husband would be mean to his wife, which happened from time to time, I was called in to be the judge of the matter and restore peace.

Despite my unworthiness, the Holy Family knew well how to recompense me with abundant graces for the service which I rendered to this poor family. I will declare, for the glory of God alone, that my soul made rapid progress in virtue. Here is what our Lord gave me the grace to practice in a more special manner during the five years I spent as an aspirant under the direction of my new guide, who had me take a vow of chastity which I renewed on all the Feasts of the Blessed Virgin, and a promise of obedience to his orders.

The virtues which I strove to acquire were mortification, prayer, humility, obedience and charity towards my young companions, and our Lord gave me the grace to succeed.