I want to make you understand by a very simple comparison how much Jesus loves souls, even the imperfect, who trust in Him. Suppose the father of two wayward and disobedient children, coming to punish them, sees one tremble and draw away from him in terror; while the other, on the contrary, throwing himself into his arms, says he is sorry, promises to be good henceforward and begs for a kiss as punishment. Do you think the delighted father will withstand the filial confidence of this child? He knows nevertheless that his son will fall again many a time into the same faults, but he is disposed to pardon him always, if always there be an appeal to his heart. I say nothing of the other child: you must understand that his father cannot love him as much or treat him with the same indulgence. VIII LETTER TO HER MISSIONARY “BROTHERS” Truly the Heart of Jesus is more grieved by the thousand little imperfections of His friends than by even grave faults of His enemies. But it seems to me that it is only when His own chosen ones make a habit of these infidelities, and do not ask His pardon, that He can say: “_These wounds which you see in the midst of My Hands: with these was I wounded in the house of them that loved Me._”[59] For those who love Him and who come after each little fault and throw themselves into His arms, begging His forgiveness, the Heart of Jesus thrills with joy. He says to His Angels what the father of the prodigal son said to His servants: “_Put a ring on his finger and let us rejoice._”[60] Oh! the goodness and the merciful love of the Heart of Jesus, how little is it known! True it is, that to share in these treasures we must humble ourselves, must acknowledge our nothingness, and that is what many souls are unwilling to do. VII LETTER TO HER MISSIONARY “BROTHERS” Our dreams, our desires of perfection are not vain imaginations, since Jesus Himself has given us this commandment, He said: “_Be you, therefore, perfect, as also your Heavenly Father is perfect._”[61] II LETTER TO HER SISTER CÉLINE Truly I am far from being a saint. I ought not to rejoice at the aridity of my soul, but attribute it to the scantiness of my fervour and fidelity. I ought to grieve because I fall asleep very often during my prayer and my thanksgiving. Well, I do not grieve! I reflect that little children when they sleep are as pleasing to their parents as when they are awake; that in order to perform operations, doctors put their patients to sleep; in fine, that _the Lord knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are but dust_.[62] HIST. D’UNE AME, CH. VIII