Little faults become great in our eyes in proportion as the pure light of God increases in us, just as the sun in rising reveals the true dimensions of objects which were dimly and confusedly discovered during the night. Be sure that, with the increase of the inward light, the imperfections which you have hitherto seen will be beheld as far greater and more deadly in their foundations than you now conceive them, and that you will witness, in addition, the development of a crowd of others, of the existence of which you have not now the slightest suspicion. You will find the weaknesses necessary to deprive you of all confidence in your own strength; but this discovery, far from discouraging, will but serve to destroy your self-reliance, and raze to the ground the edifice of pride.
Our faults, even those most difficult to bear, will all be of service to us if we make use of them for our humiliation without relaxing our efforts to correct them. We must bear with ourselves without either flattery or discouragement, a mean seldom attained. Utter despair of ourselves, in consequence of a conviction of our helplessness and unbounded confidence in God, is the true foundation of the spiritual edifice.
Discouragement is not a fruit of humility, but of pride; nothing can be worse. Suppose we have stumbled, or even fallen, let us rise and run again; all our falls are useful if they strip us of a disastrous confidence in ourselves, while they do not take away a humble and salutary trust in God.
Carefully purify your conscience from daily faults; suffer no sin to dwell in your heart; small as it may seem, it obscures the light of grace, weighs down the soul, and hinders that constant communion with Jesus Christ which it should be your pleasure to cultivate; you will become lukewarm, forget God, and find yourself growing in attachment to the creature. The great point is never to act in opposition to the inward light, but be willing to go as far as God would have us.
Motives.
God does not so much regard our actions as the motives of love from which they spring, and the pliability of our wills to His. Men judge our deeds by their outward appearance; with God, that which is most dazzling in the eyes of men is of no account. What He desires is a pure intention, a will ready for anything and ever pliable in His hands, and an honest abandonment of self; and all this can be much more frequently manifested on small than on extraordinary occasions; there will also be much less danger from pride, and the trial will be far more searching. Indeed, it sometimes happens that we find it harder to part with a trifle than with an important interest; it may be more of a cross to abandon a vain amusement than to bestow a large sum in charity.
The greatest danger of all consists in this, that by neglecting small matters the soul becomes accustomed to unfaithfulness. We grieve the Holy Spirit, we return to ourselves, we think it a little thing to be wanting toward God. On the other hand, true love can see nothing small; everything that can either please or displease God seems to be great. Not that true love disturbs the soul with scruples, but it puts no limit to its faithfulness; it acts simply with God; and as it does not concern itself about those things which God does not require from it, so it never hesitates an instant about those which He does, be they great or small.
True Prayer.
True prayer is only another name for the love of God. To pray is to desire—but to desire what God would have us desire. He who asks what he does not from the bottom of his heart desire, is mistaken in thinking that he prays. O how few there are who pray; for how few are they who desire what is truly good! Crosses, external and internal humiliation, renouncement of our own wills, the death of self, and the establishment of God’s throne upon the ruins of self-love,—these are indeed good. Not to desire these is not to pray; to desire them seriously, soberly, constantly, and with reference to all the details of life,—this is true prayer. Alas! how many souls full of self and of an imaginary desire for perfection in the midst of hosts of voluntary imperfections, have never yet uttered this true prayer of the heart! It is in reference to this that St. Augustine says, “He that loveth little, prayeth little; he that loveth much, prayeth much.”
Our intercourse with God resembles that with a friend; at first there are a thousand things to be told and as many to be asked; but after a time these diminish, while the pleasure of being together does not. Everything has been said, but the satisfaction of seeing each other, of feeling that one is near the other, of reposing in the enjoyment of a pure and sweet friendship, can be felt without conversation; the silence is eloquent and mutually understood. Each feels that the other is in perfect sympathy with him, and that their two hearts are incessantly poured out into each other, and constitute but one.