Letter 1822. To the same

In a word, my very dear Mother, we will tell you, please God, on our return many things that I cannot write. Oh, my God, what one has to put up with in this miserable life! My desire is to be hopeful about everyone, but, my dear

Mother, let us, I entreat of you, accustom ourselves to receive blows from the hands that ought to caress us. Let us then receive them lovingly and never retaliate. There is hardly anything harder to bear; but let us not complain, or, I should say, complain only to God, confiding to His care every little subject of bitterness. May Providence heal and draw much good out of them all.

Neither you nor I, through divine grace, desire, I think, aught save to do His holy will and to follow Him, regardless of our inclinations and satisfaction. Oh, my dear Mother, how rare is pure and perfect charity! and all,it seems to me, because we do not apply ourselves to humility and lowliness. The spirit of the world and of self-interest spoils everything. May God thoroughly annihilate it in all His servants. Take care of yourself for the sake of our good sisters, whom I salute with all my heart. I feel sure your prayers and theirs will accompany me on my journey. Yours, etc.