I found out today – on my birthday -- that yesterday, October 1, was the Feast of St. Therese. It is also her birthday. Though I’m not Catholic, I consider St. Therese to be one of my patron saints.
She had tuberculosis as a young woman and died of it at age 24 -- she was a “highly sensitive person” and as a child she was prone to fits and tantrums because she wanted to express herself and often couldn’t do so with clarity. Born into a very devout French family, she was also deeply empathic and passionate – her spirituality was highly evolved even as a young child. Her father called her “Little Queen.” She became a Carmelite nun at the age of 15 after begging the Pope to allow her entry to the convent despite her youth. On her deathbed she said that she would spend her time in Heaven "doing good on earth" and that she would send a "shower of roses” to whoever asked for her aid. She is usually depicted with pink roses and she is known as the “Little Flower,” a name she gave herself. She saw herself as a simple and small wildflower – unnoticed by many yet blossoming before God. She is also known for her spiritual contribution called “the little way” – acts of kindness, compassion, taking one step at a time, patience, humility, and practicing holiness through small sacrifices – these all embody “the little way” towards growing your spirituality.
I first “met” St. Therese when I got divorced. It was the first time in my life that I had to live on my own – like many girls I had left my family home and gone straight to a marital home. Sure, I lived “alone” in college, but I had roommates and certainly didn’t have to maintain a home and be “responsible” like I had to be when my marriage ended and I became a full-time working single mother in the middle of my life.
I will be honest with everyone. Despite my intelligence and career success, I had many fears if I could do it. I’ve received messages all my life that I’m not capable of taking care of myself. That I stink at household duties like laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, and cleaning. Accustomed to hearing the idea that I needed someone to look after me, interestingly, I married a man who did the laundry, cooking, shopping, and cleaning. I could never seem to figure out how to manage these things skillfully. If someone else wanted to do them and was good at them, that was fine with me. Now mind you, I could actually do the laundry but not very well and it always seemed stressful and a struggle. Cooking just seemed out of the question. My brain just couldn’t wrap itself around the multitude of tasks it required. Grocery stores thoroughly overwhelm me. So I was naturally very afraid to be all alone for the very first time and have to do these things without any “help.” I felt very alone, without a compass, so to speak, and I was dreadfully fearful that I wouldn’t make it. I’d starve, I’d never have clean clothes, and everything would be a jumbled up mess. Worst of all, it would mean that all the “messages” I’d received about myself as being dependent and helpless – and worse, “lazy” -- were true.
Everything’s Coming Up Roses…
But here’s the thing: When I moved to my new little house, pink roses kept showing up. I had never been a fan of pink roses before and at first I didn’t notice them. But people would buy me a gift for my new home and it’d have pink roses on it – plates for the wall, little dishes for the coffee table, cocktail napkins, framed pictures, pillows for the couch. Pink roses were everywhere. They were even in the new kitchen dishes I’d chosen, the living room curtains, and the housewarming cards that filled my mailbox. That Fall my birthday came and more pink roses arrived - from the florist, on birthday cards, in stationery and note cards, and china salt-and-pepper shakers. I was literally surrounded with them. I had never been attracted to roses before. Never had a "rose" in my house before I moved. And now here they were everywhere.
Shortly after my birthday, I went to a psychic to get a reading for the coming year, the first year of my new life on my own in the new house. The first thing she said when I sat down in front of her was "What's with all the roses?"
Seeing the look of shock come over my face, she told me that St. Therese was sending me a message. I had never heard of her. I did some research on her and found out about her tuberculosis, her childhood, her visions, and her deathbed promise. I suddenly knew that I would be okay. That I was not alone. That St. Therese had come not just to visit me but also to live with me and keep me company now that I was on my own. She also had come to tell me I was going to be and to do just fine on my own and to take heart, to cultivate my courage. She literally, through the roses, reminded me that I was going to survive and be okay.
What I did not know was that another, deeper connection was soon to reveal itself between St. Therese and I…
That weekend for the first time in a long time I went on a road trip by myself and stopped at an antique store on the side of the road. The first thing that caught my eye sitting on a table just inside the door was a still-life of a vase of pink roses beautifully framed in old silver. The vase of pink roses had a blue, Dutch-style windmill painted on it. I bought it for the pink roses and put it on my dresser next to my bed.
I felt that when I found the old print it was another message from St. Therese to just keep going and to trust myself and that even though I felt completely alone and often uncared for, kind of lost and bewildered, I really wasn't. And so life went on and I learned how to do my laundry without stress and fretting. I have worked out simple meal plans for my son and I which also makes the grocery shopping more manageable, and I have a housekeeper to help me with the cleaning up.
It wasn’t until a few years later that my then 86-year-old mother revealed that she had been born in a windmill in rural England. Imagine my surprise and the feelings of synchronicity I experienced at finding out that my grandmother, who I never met, birthed my mother in a windmill just like the one on the vase. And that my grandmother died 8 years later of tuberculosis while my mother was just a young girl. I also had tuberculosis as a young child at the age of four. Here then was a deeper connection to the pink roses in the vase with the windmill on it. St. Therese was there for my grandmother, too, and my mother. And now me. In my research of St. Therese, I had discovered that she is also the patron saint for those who are suffering with or who have had tuberculosis. And I, too, had some French lineage on my maternal side.
We are all connected…
When I look at that print of the vase of pink roses with the little windmill on it, I feel a tremendous sense of connectedness. Connectedness to my grandmother, who died long ago, before I was ever born or a part of any plan. Connectedness to my mother who was birthed in a windmill – a universal symbol for power, movement, energy, and life itself. Connectedness to St. Therese who continues to this day to honor her promise to all of humanity to shower them with her love and companionship through “the little ways” and through “showers of roses.” And connectedness to my own powers of observation, symbol knowledge, and being open enough to admit my weaknesses and accept the unexpected sources of strength that embolden me.
And so here is the other thing: I am writing all of this because yesterday, on October 1, a woman in Scotland who I have never met and who recently purchased a copy of The Pinwheel Girl Takes Flight, sent me virtual “pink roses” for my birthday through Facebook. I doubt if this lovely lady knew of the deep significance this might have on me. After a spiritual boot camp kind of year, I thought “there she is again, coming to remind me that she’s here…that I am okay, that I am loved…” I smiled to myself and felt a spiritual hug from St. Therese and a huge sense of gratitude to the lady in Scotland. When I e-mailed her and asked how she knew my favorite flower was the pink rose her response was: “It’s the pinwheel energy!” Again, I received chills. Pinwheels are just a smaller version of the windmill.
Pinwheels for Peace…
How can I explain this well enough for you to understand? Pinwheels are also for peace. And my grandmother’s name was “Olive” --- which means “peace.”
I always say “…there are teachers everywhere...” and indeed this is one of the core messages of The Pinwheel Girl Takes Flight. Be open to receiving…even in your darkest days, when you are at your most lonely, when you are despairing, feeling hopeless, or otherwise less confident than you usually are. Look at what is showing up in your life and pay attention. The Universe always delivers what we need…sometimes it arrives in the simplest of forms. Like a pink rose, the turn of a card, an old antique print, a windmill, and even a pinwheel.
She had tuberculosis as a young woman and died of it at age 24 -- she was a “highly sensitive person” and as a child she was prone to fits and tantrums because she wanted to express herself and often couldn’t do so with clarity. Born into a very devout French family, she was also deeply empathic and passionate – her spirituality was highly evolved even as a young child. Her father called her “Little Queen.” She became a Carmelite nun at the age of 15 after begging the Pope to allow her entry to the convent despite her youth. On her deathbed she said that she would spend her time in Heaven "doing good on earth" and that she would send a "shower of roses” to whoever asked for her aid. She is usually depicted with pink roses and she is known as the “Little Flower,” a name she gave herself. She saw herself as a simple and small wildflower – unnoticed by many yet blossoming before God. She is also known for her spiritual contribution called “the little way” – acts of kindness, compassion, taking one step at a time, patience, humility, and practicing holiness through small sacrifices – these all embody “the little way” towards growing your spirituality.
I first “met” St. Therese when I got divorced. It was the first time in my life that I had to live on my own – like many girls I had left my family home and gone straight to a marital home. Sure, I lived “alone” in college, but I had roommates and certainly didn’t have to maintain a home and be “responsible” like I had to be when my marriage ended and I became a full-time working single mother in the middle of my life.
I will be honest with everyone. Despite my intelligence and career success, I had many fears if I could do it. I’ve received messages all my life that I’m not capable of taking care of myself. That I stink at household duties like laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, and cleaning. Accustomed to hearing the idea that I needed someone to look after me, interestingly, I married a man who did the laundry, cooking, shopping, and cleaning. I could never seem to figure out how to manage these things skillfully. If someone else wanted to do them and was good at them, that was fine with me. Now mind you, I could actually do the laundry but not very well and it always seemed stressful and a struggle. Cooking just seemed out of the question. My brain just couldn’t wrap itself around the multitude of tasks it required. Grocery stores thoroughly overwhelm me. So I was naturally very afraid to be all alone for the very first time and have to do these things without any “help.” I felt very alone, without a compass, so to speak, and I was dreadfully fearful that I wouldn’t make it. I’d starve, I’d never have clean clothes, and everything would be a jumbled up mess. Worst of all, it would mean that all the “messages” I’d received about myself as being dependent and helpless – and worse, “lazy” -- were true.
Everything’s Coming Up Roses…
But here’s the thing: When I moved to my new little house, pink roses kept showing up. I had never been a fan of pink roses before and at first I didn’t notice them. But people would buy me a gift for my new home and it’d have pink roses on it – plates for the wall, little dishes for the coffee table, cocktail napkins, framed pictures, pillows for the couch. Pink roses were everywhere. They were even in the new kitchen dishes I’d chosen, the living room curtains, and the housewarming cards that filled my mailbox. That Fall my birthday came and more pink roses arrived - from the florist, on birthday cards, in stationery and note cards, and china salt-and-pepper shakers. I was literally surrounded with them. I had never been attracted to roses before. Never had a "rose" in my house before I moved. And now here they were everywhere.
Shortly after my birthday, I went to a psychic to get a reading for the coming year, the first year of my new life on my own in the new house. The first thing she said when I sat down in front of her was "What's with all the roses?"
Seeing the look of shock come over my face, she told me that St. Therese was sending me a message. I had never heard of her. I did some research on her and found out about her tuberculosis, her childhood, her visions, and her deathbed promise. I suddenly knew that I would be okay. That I was not alone. That St. Therese had come not just to visit me but also to live with me and keep me company now that I was on my own. She also had come to tell me I was going to be and to do just fine on my own and to take heart, to cultivate my courage. She literally, through the roses, reminded me that I was going to survive and be okay.
What I did not know was that another, deeper connection was soon to reveal itself between St. Therese and I…
That weekend for the first time in a long time I went on a road trip by myself and stopped at an antique store on the side of the road. The first thing that caught my eye sitting on a table just inside the door was a still-life of a vase of pink roses beautifully framed in old silver. The vase of pink roses had a blue, Dutch-style windmill painted on it. I bought it for the pink roses and put it on my dresser next to my bed.
I felt that when I found the old print it was another message from St. Therese to just keep going and to trust myself and that even though I felt completely alone and often uncared for, kind of lost and bewildered, I really wasn't. And so life went on and I learned how to do my laundry without stress and fretting. I have worked out simple meal plans for my son and I which also makes the grocery shopping more manageable, and I have a housekeeper to help me with the cleaning up.
It wasn’t until a few years later that my then 86-year-old mother revealed that she had been born in a windmill in rural England. Imagine my surprise and the feelings of synchronicity I experienced at finding out that my grandmother, who I never met, birthed my mother in a windmill just like the one on the vase. And that my grandmother died 8 years later of tuberculosis while my mother was just a young girl. I also had tuberculosis as a young child at the age of four. Here then was a deeper connection to the pink roses in the vase with the windmill on it. St. Therese was there for my grandmother, too, and my mother. And now me. In my research of St. Therese, I had discovered that she is also the patron saint for those who are suffering with or who have had tuberculosis. And I, too, had some French lineage on my maternal side.
We are all connected…
When I look at that print of the vase of pink roses with the little windmill on it, I feel a tremendous sense of connectedness. Connectedness to my grandmother, who died long ago, before I was ever born or a part of any plan. Connectedness to my mother who was birthed in a windmill – a universal symbol for power, movement, energy, and life itself. Connectedness to St. Therese who continues to this day to honor her promise to all of humanity to shower them with her love and companionship through “the little ways” and through “showers of roses.” And connectedness to my own powers of observation, symbol knowledge, and being open enough to admit my weaknesses and accept the unexpected sources of strength that embolden me.
And so here is the other thing: I am writing all of this because yesterday, on October 1, a woman in Scotland who I have never met and who recently purchased a copy of The Pinwheel Girl Takes Flight, sent me virtual “pink roses” for my birthday through Facebook. I doubt if this lovely lady knew of the deep significance this might have on me. After a spiritual boot camp kind of year, I thought “there she is again, coming to remind me that she’s here…that I am okay, that I am loved…” I smiled to myself and felt a spiritual hug from St. Therese and a huge sense of gratitude to the lady in Scotland. When I e-mailed her and asked how she knew my favorite flower was the pink rose her response was: “It’s the pinwheel energy!” Again, I received chills. Pinwheels are just a smaller version of the windmill.
Pinwheels for Peace…
How can I explain this well enough for you to understand? Pinwheels are also for peace. And my grandmother’s name was “Olive” --- which means “peace.”
I always say “…there are teachers everywhere...” and indeed this is one of the core messages of The Pinwheel Girl Takes Flight. Be open to receiving…even in your darkest days, when you are at your most lonely, when you are despairing, feeling hopeless, or otherwise less confident than you usually are. Look at what is showing up in your life and pay attention. The Universe always delivers what we need…sometimes it arrives in the simplest of forms. Like a pink rose, the turn of a card, an old antique print, a windmill, and even a pinwheel.
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