A letter from Elisabeth Leseur to a friend.
Dear Friend,
I learn from my sister that your husband has been troubled with bad health this summer, which has perhaps been an even greater trial for you than for him, for the sufferings of those we love are harder to endure than our own. I want to send you all my sympathy and my most affectionate wishes for his complete and quick recovery.
I know what illness is and can guess what sacrifice it must entail for an active man accustomed to spend his energy freely; but I know also all that sufferring means, the fine and mysterious power it possesses, what it obtains and what it accomplishes. After all, our activity (a duty we owe to God and to others) is of little importance, and is exercised only when Providence wishes to make use of it.
And so when Providence prefers to work by means of suffering I think we should not complain too much, for we can then be sure that the work will be well done and not mixed up with all the misery of egotism and pride that sometimes spoils so much of our outward activity.
I know by experiencethat in hours of trial certain graces are obtained for others, which all our efforts had not hitherto obtained. Ihave thus come to the conclusion that sufferrng is the higher form of action, the highest expression of the wonderful Communion of Saints, and that in suffering one is sure not to make mistakes (as in action sometimes) – sure, too, to be useful to others and to the great causes that one longs to serve.
All this does not mean that I would not be very happy to see your husband resume his active career; it only means that I am persuaded of the good he now performs in the active and truly fruitful passivity of illness. You will permit and he will pardon this friendly “sermon” from one who has experienced what she speaks of, who has seen Providence gradually withdraw from her every form of activity, leaving her nothing but apparent inertia, and who feels that she never did more for God than on the day when to ignorant eyes she did nothing.
If someday I can get about again, I will do so; but tell your dear husband again and again that neither of us are now wasting our time.
This winter I shall still be condemned to all kinds of precautions. After my grave operation in April, I had in September serious trouble with an arm, which has much shaken me. You will therefore excuse my illegible writing. Since writing is a form of activity, God has wishes it to be a little difficult for me. I am, you see, destined to be a spiritual idler,
Once more, dear friend, forgive me for this letter, on account of our friendship. Our best remembrances to you and your husband, and my heartfelt embrace for you.