The Story of A Soul: The Autobiography of St. Therese of Lisieux

Title: The Story of A Soul: The Autobiography
of St. Therese of Lisieux
Editor: Mother Agnes of Jesus
Translator: Michael Day
Publication Year: 1951 (1997)
Pages: 216
Genre: Nonfiction, Memoir
Count for Year: 61

How I discovered

This one has been on the shelf in my office for a number of years. It is my wife’s book, and while I had meant eventually to read it, it wasn’t until earlier this month that I felt prompted (by the Holy Spirit? by St. Therese herself?) to read it. On Oct. 1, in the Catholic liturgical calendar is the memorial day of St. Therese. So as I was reading the Liturgy of the Hours, I came across her in one of that day’s readings. Then later that day, a woman at the bookstore where I work asked me if we had a copy of this book. I didn’t think of it anything until maybe a day or two later, this book fell (literally) off a shelf of books in my office. I figured that like my spiritual director has mentioned that God sometimes speaks to her in threes, He was doing the same for me, so I decided I should read it.

The setup

For more on St. Teresa of the Child Jesus or the Little Flower of Jesus, see a short biography here.

To be honest, I didn’t know anything about St. Theresa before reading this. I think I may have been getting her and St. Teresa of Avila confused for some reason, so the book was a revelation to me in more than one way.

In brief, Marie-Francoise Therese Martin was born on Jan. 2, 1873 and died on Sept. 30, 1897 of tuberculosis as St. Therese of Lisieux, also known as St. Teresa of the Child Jesus and the Little Flower of Jesus. She was the ninth child of Joseph Stanislaus Martin and Zelie Guerin Martin, four of whom died at an early age, and five who entered religious life. (Her parents will be beatified next Sunday, Oct. 19. For more information, see the entire press kit here.)

What I also didn’t expect in an autobiography of a saint was the humor, whether intended or not. Only six pages into her work, she reminisced on incidents in letters from her mother, which her sister, who was her superior mother, allowed her to keep at the convent:

I remember quite cleary the incidents they referred to, but it is much easier just to quote certain passages of these charming letters. Dictated by a mother’s love, they are often far too flattering to me. As an example of the way I used to show my affection for my parents, take this letter of Mother’s:

“Baby is such a little imp. In the midst of caressing me, she wishes I were dead. ‘Poor darling Mamma, I do wish you were dead!’ She is quite astonished when I scold her, and excuses herself by saying, ‘It’s only because then you will go to Heaven; you told me that you have to die to go there!’ In the same way she wishes her Father were dead, when her love gets the better of her.”

In other letter, her mother related:

“Marie loves her little sister dearly. She is such a joy to all of us and so utterly sincere. It is charming to see her running after me to confess: ‘Mother, I pushed Celine once, and smack her once, but I won’t do it again.’”

I didn’t expect her boldness either as a teen. Before entering Lisieux, she went with her family to Rome with the intent of interceding with Pope Leo XIII to allow her to enter the convent at the age of 15. Another church official already thought it wasn’t a good idea.

The priest with whom they traveled to Rome told them that he forbade anyone to speak to the pope.

I turned a questioning gaze upon Celine, with my heart beating wildy. “Speak,” she whispered. A moment later I was on my knees before him, and had kissed his slipper. He gave me his hand; then I raised my eyes, brimming with tears, to his and began my appeal: “Most Holy Father, I want to ask you a great favor.” He bent his head at once, his face almost touching mine, while his piercing black eyes to be gazing into my soul. I began again: “Most Holy Father, in honor of your Jubilee, let me enter Carmel at fifteen.” The Vicar General of Bayeux was startled and far from please. “Your Holiness,” he interrupted, “this is a child who wants to enter Carmel; the superiors are already going into the question.”

“Very well, my child,” said His Holiness, “do what the superiors decide.” I clasped my hands and placed them on his knee while I made a final effort. “Holy Father, if you said yes, everyone else would be willing.” He gazed at me steadily and said, stressing every syllable. “Well..well…You will enter if it is God’s will.”

I was about to say more, two of the Noble Guard signed to me to get up, and when they saw that was not enough and that I stayed there where I was with my clasped hands upon his knee, they pulled me up with the help of Fr. Reverony. As they did so, the Holy Father gently touched my lips with his hands, then lifted it in blessing. His eyes followed me a long way.

Her persistence, of course, paid off as in April 1888, she entered the convent at Lisieux…

…but more than anything, what impressed me about St. Therese as she related about her life was her constant focus on love of God:

If fire and iron were endowed with reason, and the iron were to say “Draw me,” surely this would prove that it wanted to be so identified with the fire as to share its very substance. This is just what I ask. I want Jesus so to draw me into the flames of His love, so to make me one with Himself that he may live and act in me. I feel that the more the fire of love inflames my heart, the more I shall say say, “Draw me,” and the more swiftly those who are around about me will run “in the sweet odor of the Beloved.”

So to me it was no surprise when I read in the epilogue that on the day before she died she told her sister Celine the following: “Love alone counts.”

If I speak in human and angelic tongues but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal. And if I have the gift of prophecy and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge; if I have all faith so as to move mountains but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.

I Corinthians 13:1-3

My final analysis: 5/5 I’m not sure if this is the best translation of the book and as I search around the Internet, I am seeing there might be better translations out there, and also with more writings from St. Therese. However, that said, I believe that this is a classic in every sense of the word and can be given no less than a five-star rating, because of the great spiritual wisdom contained for all Christians and those who have a faith in God, no matter what translation in which it is read.

Also posted at Journeying with the Saints and Just A (Reading) Fool for my Sustenance Sunday post, and for this week’s The Sunday Salon, hence the TSS in the title here.