The Soul’s Sweet Guest

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 a refinement of spirit as shall enable us to perceive the least passing breath of God. Our soul has become so still that the slightest stir ruffles the surface with ripples of a passing presence. My soul is so delicate that instinctively I am 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?

Gifts that Perfect the Emotions