title: The Truth About Therese: An Unflinching Look at Lisieux, the Little Flower, and the Little Way
author: Henri Gheon
description: Discover the burning secrets of St. Th r se's soul: Scores of books have been written about St. Th r se of Lisieux, but this is the first aimed at those persons, Catholic or not, who resist her, put off by all those roses and crudely painted plastic statues . . . and even by her virtues. (Not long before she died, Th r se's confessor assured her she had never committed a mortal sin!) <P> Author Henri Gh on was once among those put off by Th r se's sweet reputation and by the tinseled, sugary devotions to this "little saint." Then he discovered how many good Catholics, at home in such simple devotions, were soon freed, without even realizing it, from the pretty-pretties that led them on, fnding the real Th r se beneath the sugar roses and puffy clouds, behind the platitudes and pet-names that took all the salt out of her heroic story. <P> They discovered as will readers of these remarkable pages the real Th r se of Lisieux, an intense soul living a life of heroic grandeur amidst dull and all-too-worldly associates, a soul driven by a burning love of God even as she wrestled privately with great physical and emotional pain. <P> That, shows Gh on, is what lay behind her smile. That's why she was canonized. And that's why Th r se is the saint most fitted for our day, a model for those of us whom, whether we like it or not, God has called to hidden lives of quiet drama, desire, and holy sacrifice.
zlib_text: Again he looked at St. Pierre. And this was the man who was no match for
  Concombre Bateese! It was inconceivable. Yet he heard Marie-Anne's voice
  repeating those very words in his ear. But she had surely been joking with
  him. She had been storing up this little surprise for him. She had wanted him
  to discover with his own eyes what a splendid man was this chief of the
  Boulains. And yet, as David stared, there came to him an unpleasant thought of
  the incongruity of this thing he was looking upon. It struck upon him like a
  clashing discord, the fact of matehood between these two--a condition
  inconsistent and out of tune with the beautiful things he had built up in his
  mind about the woman. In his soul he had enshrined her as a lovely wildflower,
  easily crushed, easily destroyed, a sweet treasure to be guarded from all that
  was rough and savage, a little violet-goddess as fragile as she was brave and
  loyal. And St. Pierre, standing there at the edge of his raft, looked as if he
  had come u