This, then, is the precise purpose of this particular gift—a perception, apart
from all the ordinary methods, of the proximity of God to the soul. Not as
though it meant nothing more than the appreciation that God is everywhere,
but rather just one aspect of the appreciation—namely, such an idea of it as
will enable the soul to gain courage.Always the gifts mean, according to the
teaching of the Church, such arefinement of spirit as shall enable us to perceive
the least passing breath ofGod. Our soul has become so still that the slightest stir
ruffles the surfacewith ripples of a passing presence. My soul is so delicate that
instinctively Iam conscious of the indwelling of the Spirit of God and nerved in
consequence by a corresponding strength that is not the result of any
determined act of will. It is, as it were, forced on me by the very nature of the
case. Neither presence nor strengthening are in any case my doing, nor do I
participate in either.
However, when I take the further step and proceed to act in consequence of
them—when, in virtue of a strength that is not my own, I banish fear and face
resolutely the difficulties of the good life—then the gift has led to the virtue
and something that is human has blossomed out of something that was divine.
Surely, it will be of the utmost consequence to me to realize this nearness of
God and the courage that its perception will give.
In all my trials, none are so hard for me to bear as discouragement and
depression. How, then, can I now shirk my duty and the disagreeable
necessities imposed on me once I have made use of this divine friend, whose
hand is always locked in mine?
