“I will prove I am speaking with you,” said St. Thérése. “Bend down and pick up a four-leaf clover.” I’d not seen a four-leaf clover in at least twenty years and the barren, trampled yard where I was standing showed more sand than weeds and grass. But, I asked for a sign that I was really enjoying a valid time of prayer this morning and not just fooling myself.
Had any one noticed me at the moment I heard those words ring interiorly within my imagination they would have noticed only a 53year old prisoner keeping to himself within a crowd of other prisoners, locked inside an enclosed yard waiting on the gate to open. Yet, for me it was a moment of providential experience wherein I crossed a boundary into a deeper understanding of the divine conversation where the Holy Spirit is the engine of grace.
Thérése of Lisieux, also known as St. Thérése of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face, became very dear to me early on in my 8 1/2 years in prison. Suffering can be very intense and unending in prison and she taught and demonstrated that suffering can be a road to power, to sainthood and even a grace itself. But most of all she taught me faith.
In prison I became Catholic. Nevertheless, most if not all of the prayer experiences and epiphanies I practiced are available for Christians of any stripe. I was a Pentecostal pastor who converted to the Episcopal communion. By study and prayer, I developed a hunger and eventually adoration for Holy Communion. In prison I found no access to Holy Eucharist except in the weekly Catholic service hosted by Sister Dorothea Murphy. Mary, the Blessed Virgin, had already become dear to me so it was not too difficult to make application to be received into the Roman Catholic Church. I jumped all the hurdles and followed the instruction from Sister and shortly became Catholic. It was a sweet and holy transition.
Soon I began to study and experiment with the communion of the saints. Out of loneliness really. Very little opportunity to find good friends within a prison environment. It can happen but it takes time, risk and good luck. So, I asked the Holy Spirit to provide me with prayer-friends to help me learn what I came to call the divine conversation. Through a few books and pamphlets that “magically” appeared I began to learn of Thérése. She wrote, rather prophetically, “In heaven one sole expectation makes my heart beat fast. It is the love that I shall receive, and the love that I shall be able to give . . .. I think of all the good I shall be able to do after my death. . .. I will help priests, missionaries, the whole church.” When one is in extreme circumstances as I was and so hungry for love, hope and holiness such words can have a marvelous and powerful impact. I was part of “the whole church”. So, I assumed she would be willing to help me.
It made me want to experience divine things. Yet, Thérése halted or softened such desires. For I found her words, “I love the Blessed Virgin and the saints very much, yet I do not desire to see them. I prefer to live by faith.” So, I decided it was not experience I wanted but faith; and, of course, peace. Nevertheless, quite a few experiences were granted me.
Her example and words encouraged me. She lifted suffering up to an accessible mystery with a deep spiritual value. Sensible joy was not vitally important to her. Peace certainly was. She helped me lift my suffering up to heaven to transmute it into something valuable for my soul and for the power of my brand new life of intercession. She wrote:
It must be made known that these transports and joys are only in the depth of my soul. It would not greatly encourage souls if they believed I had not suffered much . . . peace is not always accompanied by joy, not at least by sensible joy. To suffer with peace, it suffices that we truly will all that God wills.
God’s will. All that God wills. This is how Thérése chose to anchor my new experience in faith. To Thérése faith was a matter of supernatural confidence in God’s love that led her into an intimate audacity in her holy communication. This set an example for me to experiment in prayer. Within the bounds of reason, church teaching and tradition as well as her guidance I began to explore a new dimension in prayer.
For the two hours before I was let outside and was instructed to reach for a four-leaf clover I’d been on a hard wooden bench waiting for a medical check-up. While crowded cheek to cheek with profane, grumbling, joking and obscene inmates I, with the help of a prayer manual, had spent time in my sanctified imagination, with St.
Thérése.
For two hours I would hear in my spirit such as, “Let’s pray for your children.” And, so we would. We would pray quietly on my crowded bench as I exercised meditations of peace and faith for my children. When I was through Thérése would nudge me (all in my imagination, you understand), “Now go to page 231 and pray the prayer for your children.” So I would turn as she directed and there would be a beautiful prayer for children. Such coincidences and communications occurred for two hours as I sat and waited in the crowded, noisy room. During this time, I would be called abruptly and rudely by corrections staff and then treated indifferently and coldly by medical staff and then returned to the waiting room of bored, impatient, disrespectful prisoners. Yet, in the midst of an environment barren of good will I was enjoying roses fresh from heaven. In my little spot in hell I was receiving ice water.
As I stood outside I wondered if the previous two hours had been a schizoid dream or a moment of religious hysteria. But, when the now familiar voice of St. Thérése of Lisieux said, “. . . bend down and pick a four-leaf clover,” I immediately obeyed. In less than three seconds I was again erect with a four-leaf clover in my hand. Tears streamed down my face. God’s presence and favor were all over me. Thérése had given me a rose. In fact, I taped it inside a card and mailed it and the story to my daughter.
Towards the end of my sentence I found my need for the Little Flower’s help even more critical. Even though I continued to enjoy the communion of the saints for the whole of my prison experience I found that as I approached the end of my sentence I became filled with anxiety and even horror at the prospects of probation. In Florida probation is so full of trip wires and land mines that very few can successfully comply. To illustrate briefly let me say probation costs a man who is already beaten down, in poverty with very poor job prospects from $250.00 to $1500.00 per month.
I began to have panic attacks as I came within four months of my release. I often found my legs trembling in fear as I watched my release date approach. I wanted out of prison but the severe, anti-reconciliation and anti-restoration policies in place in Florida filled me with terror that I would be quickly violated and returned to prison. I already knew that of the five or so places available to me through friends and family I would not be allowed to be housed in any of them. I would need $1000.00 a month for rent at a very old, unattractive motel near the border of the county or as my classification officer told me, “I’ll have to assign you a place under a bridge. I think we can get a tent for you.” (I imagine she enjoyed sharing this story with co-workers and family. However, I did not think of it as a joke. It scared me. For some men this certainly did happen. I was fortunate in that I had friends and family to prop me up. Their payment of the costs of my probation is only one of many of the state’s hidden taxes on the poor).
While in such a mental state of anxiety I was praying my regular daily prayer to St. Thérése when she spoke to me. I can’t remember exactly what she said. It was such a difficult promise – so hard to embrace in the face of my tangible anxiety and fear (terrors, really). She said, “I will begin showering you with roses your last several months in prison and into your time on probation.” I felt she also told me not to worry she would take care of me.
Beginning May 18, 2010, I began to pray, Dear sister, my flower, may Christ be honored by the way you shower roses upon me for the next 108 days (and, beyond). This is your desire. My delight. And, has Mary’s blessings. Amen.” Thérése has spoken to me many times but seldom prophetically and I do not (remember her cautious words regarding faith) covet such. However, after she spoke to me I received the two best roommates possible which meant my last four months were lubricated with rich Christian fellowship and not with screaming, cursing, loud music, bullies or rowdy crowds as I experienced with previous roommates.
I began to receive a series of letters as well as a special visit from a man I met on a KAIROS weekend (prison’s version of Cursillo) who pledged and followed through on a promise to befriend me during my probation/transition period. Retired Bishop of St. Augustine Diocese, John J. Snyder, came through on his promise to keep in touch by phone and visits after my release. Another friend gave a 1998 Dodge Caravan. One of my daughters had it repaired for me in an automotive repair shop she runs. Two other daughters, my mother and wife showered me with clothing, money and many other gifts. Another friend gave me a cell phone with unlimited minutes for two years. Even though I had a mortgage on a home where I lived prior to my arrest I had to live in the motel mentioned above. My mother paid over $20,000 so I could avoid living under a bridge. People in government who make such laws must not realize their laws and civil codes punish and burden the family and friends sometimes more than the released inmate. An old friend gave me a job painting houses with his company which provided good work, money and easy comfortable safe fellowship. On and on the love has poured out upon me. All of my friends stayed in touch and supported me. Some have given me money and gifts and many prayers. During this time my wife died and in the grief of her loss I found she left me with proceeds of a life insurance policy that allowed me to purchase a home. Shortly thereafter I met up with an old friend of 40 years and she became the love of my life and asked me to marry her. Roses. Just as Thérése promised.
My Protestant friends are amazed when I tell such stories. Hopefully, they will come to believe that the divine conversation is for all believers, but many have no theological mechanism by which to process such experiences. Nevertheless, how can they doubt the facts? St.
Thérése has become a friend and protector for me.
I have roses and a four-leaf clover to prove it.
Below: A scan of the four-leaf clover mentioned in the story. I attached it to a card and mailed it to my daughter. One of the leaves was damaged in mailing and handling. It is still evident it has four leaves.
