Today, on a Wednesday, in 1430, Jeanne D'Arc was cruelly burned at the stake.
I have been reading a collection of her words, from her very mouth, written down, from that period of time prior to her death.
Today I may have burned myself. I opened up to the confessor about some aspects, and I know that I must not share of my interior life with others. It has cost me much trouble; however, I cannot seem to be stilled with the ups and downs of the physical pain and the unexpecteds of spiritual experiences.
I wrote a letter, one-page. I describe more and suggest that perhaps someone like me should not be considered for consecrated eremitic status.
O Lord, who but You could understand how it is inside of someone like me? I do feel much relieved, after confession, and I'm not sure if the letter helped in the relief, but it is done and we shall see. The pain gets to me in ways I cannot describe, making me seem erratic, and this also due to what I experience--of which I am not to share at all, for who could comprehend? And, otherwise, it is not only misunderstood but judged, not only then envied by some but also resented by others.
Yet I have such a difficult time pushing it all down, for some of it is much to deal with, and requires dealing. So, Lord, I beg You to make a decision, and it will be through the Vicar General who advises the Bishop. I will feel much assured if the decision is approval after what I said and wrote. But I think it needs to be known.
Also, Lord, I cannot express these things to anyone, and I need Your help in stoving it all. Then, I beg to be more self-mastered when things happen. And I do not understand what happens after the devil attacks, or how it is that so much pressure can build, to the point that I am helpless to master the feelings and thoughts, and am tossed this way and that.
Now, I must go to bed. It is quite early, but I am worn and wrung, but much better, thank You. I will conclude the words of Jehanne, the young woman who trusted God and her voices, and did His will no matter what, no matter the stake, no matter death. May she continue to give me chevrons for courage and an amulet to ward off the devil. I thank her, through You, Lord, for it is You who sends the help, unexpectedly, and gives me memory to not forget. I am so grateful, although I cannot tell about this except to the confessor, for he may as well know. There is a part of me that wants it all over, to be burned at the stake in this matter.
