When I sing in my verses of the happiness of heaven and of the eternal possession of God, I feel no joy. I sing out of what I wish to believe. Sometimes, I confess a feeble ray of sunshine penetrates my dark night and brings me a moment’s relief, but after it has gone, the remembrance of it, instead of consoling me, makes the blackness seem denser still. And yet I have never experienced more fully the sweetne­ss and mercy of the Lord. He did not send this heavy cross when it would, I believe, have discouraged me, but chose a time when I was able to bear it. Now it does no more than deprive me of all natural satisfaction in my longing for heaven.St Therese of Lisieux (1873-97) IN Treasury of the Catholic Church: 2,000 years of spiritual writing compiled by Teresa de Bertodano (Da