His footsteps, a sign of his dragging pain, are heavy on the staircase. Yet, in a strange way it was almost as if Zelie was with him now in his moment of great sorrow. Therese, the baby of the family...no...he could not bear this alone. That is why Zelie came to him, joining her husband and daughters in prayer in the sickroom.
Louis, a gentle, reverent man, strokes her smooth brown bun tied at the nape of her neck. Her busy hands, those of an accomplished lace-maker, the best in the lace-making city of Alencon, are stilled in prayer. His attention is distracted, and Louis is running his fingers through his beard, his gaze wandering to the blue and white statue of The Blessed Mother on a wooden table next to Therese's bed. Neither Zelie nor Louis Martin know that a miracle is about to take place in that obscure tiny place with flickering shadows dancing into a fast fading night...
Yes, dear readers, this is just a little part of the story of St. Therese of Lisieux, affectionately called "The Little Flower" for her promise of one day showering her love of roses from heaven to those who seek her intercession. And just as Zelie and Louis Martin did not know that little Therese would be a saint, neither did Therese know her shower of roses and her smile would be known throughout the entire world!
Her faith, however, was fostered at an early age by the good example of her parents and their devotion to family and their religion. Therese was the youngest of five daughters, four of whom entered the Carmel at Lisieux, one entering the Visitandine Order. Therese spent her childhood in a vine-covered brick, white-shuttered home surrounded by stone-walled gardens of pink, yelllow and white roses in the charming French countryside of Lisieux, France. Her life seems to be idyllic with devoted sisters and a doting father, and the early example of a hard-working mother with rarely a moment to spare as owner of a successful lace-making business. Louis Martin eventually left his enterprises to help his wife in managing her business.
