“Come very close to Me in the garden of My agony where My sweat is like drops of blood. You understand? I’ll be less alone . . . The others are sleeping. No one is here. Except My mother, who is thinking about Me. They are sleeping. This is the picture of those whose life is one long sleep where I’m concerned. Indifference. Distraction. Forgetfulness. How sad for them! Even among My friends, a little more fervor would keep them awake.
“Ask My forgiveness if you accuse yourself of any omission—not at My feet but on My heart. Remember that if the mighty ones of this world are honored with noisy eulogies and public fanfare, I am honored by the silent and attentive heart, by a delicate sacrifice known to no one, by a secret surrender, a tender inner glance. It is in this way, very simply, that My children console Me.
“Try to offer Me something of your own creation, as if every day were My feast. ‘What charming thing can I do for Him today? What more tender words shall I say to Him?’
“And in the quietest room within your secret inner shrine, dedicate yourself to Me as you dedicate your thread to the distaff. But this will be the thread of your life.
“Don’t be alarmed when your imagination gallops. It is your will that concerns Me. I died to make your will Mine. Do you want to give it all to Me? Don’t just treat Me as the guest of your great moments, but as the beloved you never leave. You know what ‘never’ means? As often as you think of yourself you find Me, because you are always before My face.”
Excerpt From: Gabrielle Bossis. “He and I.”