In a 1940 letter, Dorothy Day, co-founder of the Catholic Worker, told of a story a friend had read in The Saturday Evening Post in which:
“a young girl is wildly in love with a wastrel until later on when this had been broken up and she had been married for a year to a man of good solid character, she ran into her former love again. She confessed to her husband that she had been afraid of meeting him for fear some of the old glamour remained, and she said to him: ‘Now I can see him as he is.’ And her husband, who must have been a man of great discernment, said to her very sadly: ‘Perhaps it was before that you were seeing him as he really is.’" "Or as he was meant to be," added Day.
Isn't that beautiful?
I’m reminded of this passage from Thomas Merton: “One reason I am so grateful for this morning’s sermon is that my worst and inmost sickness is the despair of every being able to truly love, because I despair of ever being worthy of love. But the way out is to be able to trust one’s friends and thus accept in them acts and things which a sick mind grabs as evidence of a lack of love—as pretexts for avoiding the obligation of love.”
I’m reminded of Kirsten Arnesen Clay, the Lee Remick character in The Days of Wine and Roses who, by way of explaining why she can't or won't stop drinking, says: “...I want things to look prettier than they are”...
I’m reminded of Dostoevsky’s line about
I think I am FINALLY done with that damn, I mean the blessed book I have been graced to write about my year-long walk with the literally sainted St. Thérèse of Lisieux. From whom, believe me, I have learned A LOT. Meanwhile, I'm off to Palm Springs tomorrow to stay for three days with my friend Christine who hails from Zermatt, Switzerland, and wears pointy Moroccan leather slippers, and has an orange tree in her backyard and...I'll give a full report!...