After reading Ida F. Goerres, The Hidden Face, I'm rather taken up with the idea of coming to a full understanding of St. Thèrése's, Little Way. It seems insipid, but I suspect that is due to unimpressive comparisons to the intellectual giants of theology, such as Aquinas, Augustine, and Bonaventure. She draws attention to this several times with statements about how she didn't want to be a great saint who achieved wonderful deeds. Thèrése did not want to go over the wall of obstacles, she wanted to go under it. The advantage to being little, to her, was the ability to just go under the walls of temptation and doubt.

Therese herself gave an excellent example. She relates that one afternoon during her childhood, a horse stopped in front of the garden gate, and although they spoke to the horse to make it move, it would not move. The others were not able to pass through the gate. However, Therese simply went between the horses legs, and got out of the yard.

There is no need to go through spiritual exertions, or raise a reasoned argument to resist temptation, when all one need do is realize that they are not capable of victory without the help of God.

“ I understand clearly how St. Peter fell. He placed too much reliance on his own ardent nature, instead of leaning solely on the Divine strength. Had he only said : 'Lord, give me strength to follow Thee unto death!’ the grace would not have been refused him.” That comes form her Councils and Reminiscences

Isn't that just another way of saying that the way is to go between the horses legs? That kind of attitude cuts a line right through a field of piety, and ascetic practices. There is no need, then, to develop a piety of fierce practices. We only have one way to prove to God our intentions, and that is to trust God. We can't all be great saints.

It is said that Therese never wrote theology. That is true, instead, she lived a theology called Love. Not a love that writes eloquent treatises, but one that simply 'commits love.' The word love is devalued in every way by our relentless confusion of it with the frissón of romantic urgings. It is an ascetic practice. One might try to love one's enemies, to discover just how much of an ascetic practice love really is.