It is not pride, is it, to call myself your friend, one you have called, your chosen friend? I see the traces of your love everywhere, the divine call everywhere, my vocation everywhere. You made use of trials, suffering, and illness to make me completely yours and to make me holy, first drawing me to you solely by your action within me. You have done everything. Now complete your work; make me holy according to your will; use me for others, for my beloved ones, for all your interests; use me for your greater glory, and let all be done in silence and in an intimate encounter between us alone. From the depths of my being and my misery I say, "Lord, what will you have me do? Speak, your servant listens; I am the handmaid of the Lord; I come, Father, ready to do your will" (Lk 1:38).
Patience, gentleness, humility, silence, kindness. To hide all that I can of my physical suffering, and all my moral suffering, my spiritual deprivations. To cover everything with serenity and smiles: all my discomfort, sadness, and renunciations. To try to reconcile the tastes, desires, and needs of each and to take no account of myself, not to think of what I might wish; to sacrifice even my greatest hopes, when, misunderstood, they might irritate or displease another. I shall have all eternity in which to contemplate him whom I adore, to unite myself to him, and to pray. Here, I must think of my neighbor, of others; I must sacrifice myself, and practice contemplation in action. There is plenty of material for renunciation and profound and constant self-denial in this unending abandonment of all that is my deepest longing.
Servant of God Elisabeth Leseur