And then there arose before her, dim and shadowy at first, but ever gaining in strength and light and beauty, the blessed picture of the Incarnate God,--of Him who is not only the light of the New Jerusalem, but the sunshine, the glory of every faithful soul in this vale of tears. "I resolved," she says in her memoirs, "to obey our Saviour's touching advice: 'My doctrine is not Mine but His that sent Me. If any man will do the will of Him, he shall know of the doctrine.' Consequently I began to act as if I really believed in Him. I at once compared my principles and actions with His teaching; and how much did I not find that required attention,--many things that before had hardly seemed to me to be faults! I had prayed before only rarely, now I began to pray frequently; and so often were my petitions answered that I became incapable of doubting the efficacy of prayer. Certain doubts against Christianity also were gradually cleared away." During this time of spiritual growth she was attacked by a dangerous and tedious illness, during which she was forbidden to exert herself in any way; even the children's education had to be entrusted to other hands. Hence she had plenty of leisure for quiet reflection, self-examination, and above all prayer. And so it came about that on the Feast of St. Augustine, which happened also to be her birthday, Amalie's eager, troubled spirit found joy and peace in a very humble confession--her first since the old days of childhood. In the saintly Dr. Overberg she found not merely a confessor, but a spiritual father,--"some one who," as she so well expresses it, "would care for me sufficiently in spite of all my unlovableness, out of pure Christian zeal; one who would look after me spiritually, train me, correct, comfort and exhort me." Soon afterward she wrote to Mitri, somewhat wistfully: "Dear child, I am obliged to grieve you so often because I must wish and will for you what till now you have not known how to wish and will for yourself; and I have had to keep you from what you most eagerly desired. Believe me, my dear son, this constant thwarting of your wishes is the hardest of my duties; for it seems to me as though thereby I might lose your love and confidence. And yet some day--perchance only after I am in my grave--you will learn to bless me for this strictness." And the day did come; for in far-distant America the grand old missionary would at times, with tears in his eyes, talk by the hour in glowing words of his "glorious mother." Amalie's children soon followed her example in submitting themselves to the Church. On Trinity Sunday, 1787, they were both Confirmed; they were now seventeen and eighteen years of age.