I might, I assuredly should, wish to be more
free, more light of heart. But I seemed to myself like a woman that
had borne a child in suffering, and that no matter how restless and
vexatious a care that child might prove to be, under no conceivable
circumstances could she wish that she were barren and without the
experience of love. I felt indeed that I had fulfilled a part of my
destiny, and that I might be glad that the suffering was behind me,
even though it separated me from the careless days.
I hope that in after days I may sometimes make a pilgrimage to the
place where that wonderful truth thus dawned upon me. I have made a
tabernacle there in my spirit, like the saints who saw the Lord
transfigured before their eyes; and to me it had been indeed a
transfiguration, in which Love and sorrow and hope had been touched
with an unearthly light of God.
June 24, 1891.
Yesterday I was walking in a field-path through the meadows; it was
just that time in early summer when the grass is rising, when
flowers appear in little groups and bevies. There was a patch of
speedwell, like a handful of sapphires cast down. Why does one's
heart go out to certain flowers, flowers which seem to have some
message for us if we could but read it? A little way from the path
I saw a group of absolutely unknown flower-buds; they were big,
pale things, looking more like pods than flowers, growing on tall
stems.
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