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94 pages

English

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Gifts were piled high for 5-year-old Imelda's birthday. Imelda was delighted, but still she asked, "I was wondering if I could have just one more present." "Greedy girl!" laughed her father. Unfortunately, her parents could not give her this one present--Our Lord in Holy Communion. But Imelda decided to ask Our Lord Himself. What would He reply? This book gives the answer and tells how little Imelda came to be the Patroness of First Communicants.

Sujets

Catholic Church

Christian theology

Philosophie et théologie

Children's

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Publié par	TAN Books
Date de parution	01 janvier 1992
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781618902795
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	3 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0224€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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BOOKS BY MARY FABYAN WINDEATT
In This Series
Stories of the Saints for Young People ages 10 to 100
THE CHILDREN OF FATIMA
And Our Lady’s Message to the World
THE CURÉ OF ARS
The Story of St. John Vianney,
Patron Saint of Parish Priests
THE LITTLE FLOWER
The Story of St. Therese of the Child Jesus
PATRON SAINT OF FIRST COMMUNICANTS
The Story of Blessed Imelda Lambertini
THE MIRACULOUS MEDAL
The Story of Our Lady’s Appearances
to St. Catherine Labouré
ST. LOUIS DE MONTFORT
The Story of Our Lady’s Slave,
St. Louis Mary Grignion De Montfort

I MPRIMI P OTEST : Ignatius Esser, O.S.B. Archabbot of St. Meinrad Archabbey
N IHIL O BSTAT : Gabriel Verkamp, O.S.B., S.T.D., Ph.D. Censor Deputatus
I MPRIMATUR : Joseph E. Ritter, D.D. Archbishop of St. Louis
Copyright © 1944 by Grail Publications, St. Meinrad Archabbey, Inc.
First published in 1944, as “A Grail Publication,” at St. Meinrad, Indiana, under the title Little Sister: The Story of Blessed Imelda Lambertini, Patroness of First Communicants .
ISBN: 978-0-89555-416-1
Library of Congress Catalog Card No.: 90-71824
Printed and bound in the United States of America.
TAN Books An Imprint of Saint Benedict Press, LLC Charlotte, North Carolina 2013
For Rev. William LaVerdiere, S.S.S.
CONTENTS
1. A Child Is Born
2. The Dream
3. Another Birthday
4. The Dominicans in Bologna
5. A New Life
6. The Miracle
7. Little Saint
Prayer
Historical Note
Supplemental Reading
Confession Its Fruitful Practice
1. The Blessings of Confession
2. The Five Things Necessary for a Good Confession
Examination of Conscience
False Consciences and Their Remedies — The Lax Conscience — The Scrupulous Conscience — The Doubtful Conscience — How to Make a Good Examination of Conscience.
Contrition
The Qualities of Contrition — Interior Contrition — Supernatural Contrition — Perfect and Imperfect Contrition — Universal Contrition — Sovereign Contrition — Relapses into Former Sins.
Purpose of Amendment
Occasions of Sin — Purpose of Amendment Must Be Specific.
Confession and Absolution
The Confession of Sins — Qualities of a Good Confession — Confession of Venial Sins — Sacrilegious Confessions — General Confession — Frequent Confession — The Absolution of the Priest.
Satisfaction
The Sacramental Penance — Voluntary Penances — Indulgences.
3. How to Make a Good Confession
The Examination of Conscience
Beginning Prayer — Points for the Examination of Conscience — The Ten Commandments of God — The Six Precepts of the Church — The Seven Capital Sins — Duties of Particular States of Life — Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy.
Considerations to Excite Contrition
The Enormity of Sin — God’s Benefits to Me — The Love of Jesus Christ.
Prayers Before Confession
Act of Contrition and Purpose of Amendment — Prayer before a Crucifix — Prayer of St. Gertrude — A Short and Efficacious Act of Contrition.
An Easy Method of Going to Confession
Prayers After Confession
Psalm 102 — Prayer of Thanksgiving — Prayer before Performing the Sacramental Penance.

CHAPTER ONE A C HILD I S B ORN
T HE blind basket-maker knew someone had stopped outside his door. His ears were very sharp and not a sound that echoed through the busy streets ever escaped him. Sometimes people felt that he really saw, so keen was his hearing, so dependable his memory. Then there were his baskets, shelves of them, deftly woven of colored reeds. It was hard to believe that they came from the hands of a man who could not see.
“It’s the baker,” he called out cheerfully. “Why don’t you come inside, John?”
There was a deep laugh and the baker entered, a great hulk of a man, squeezing his way through the narrow entrance with difficulty.
“Some day I’ll come so quietly that you’ll never guess I’m here, Peter. But not today. Today I couldn’t be quiet if I tried.”
The blind man looked up curiously, while his thin fingers stopped their accustomed task of weaving reeds. “You sound as though you had good news, old friend. What is it?”
The baker put two loaves of bread on a nearby table, then clapped the blind man on the back. “My boy came home last night, Peter! What do you think of that?”
“ Philip came home? ”
“That’s right. You know how we’ve all thought him dead these past five years. Well, he’s not dead, Peter. He’s very much alive. And he’s made a tidy little fortune as a merchant in Algiers. Ah, if you only knew what it means to have him back again!”
The blind man smiled. He understood how his old friend had suffered. Young Philip, a boy of daring and rash spirits, had run away from home five years ago. No word had ever been heard of him since, and those in the city of Bologna who knew the baker were convinced the lad had come to no good.
“I’m very glad for you,” said Peter simply. “I have no family but I can understand how you love Philip. And I’m quite sure….”
“Yes?”
“That Philip is back only because of prayer.”
A blank look struck the baker’s face and he made a devout Sign of the Cross. “May God forgive me that I forgot to thank Him!” he murmured. “Of course, Peter. What else but prayer brought Philip back? Yours and mine. And perhaps there were others who thought of me in my trouble.”
The blind man nodded. “Many others. It isn’t for nothing that you give away bread to the poor, old friend. Be sure of that.”
The baker shifted restlessly, his eyes upon a crucifix over the basket-maker’s head. “I … I think I’ll go to church a minute,” he said lamely. “It seems only right that before the Blessed Sacrament I should make some kind of thanksgiving.”
Peter laughed at the sudden concern in his friend’s voice. “Are you afraid God will take your boy away again because you forgot to thank Him? Ah, John, yours is a common failing. We pray when we want something. We pray very hard indeed. But when our wish is granted, what do we do? Very little usually. And no one knows this better than I, who have so often failed my Maker. But come along. If you’re going to church, I’ll go with you. It’s almost noon and I generally pay a visit at this time.”
So the two men set out together down the narrow street—the one tall and strong, full of high spirits, the other stooped and grey, but with a face strongly marked with the peace of Christ. Their destination was the Dominican church a few blocks away, where the holy founder of the Dominican Order had been buried for over a hundred years.
“I can’t stay very long,” the baker whispered as they mounted the stone steps and approached the open door. “There’s no one to watch my shop. But I want you to come tonight for supper, Peter. We’re arranging a little celebration for Philip. You will be there, won’t you?”
Peter smiled. “I’ll be there. It’s been many a day since I saw your boy.”
Time passed. Far up the aisle, near the main altar, Peter arose from his knees and put away his rosary. He sensed that he was now alone in the church, and for a moment he considered whether he should not stay a little longer. Was it courteous to leave the King of Heaven without a single adorer? But presently a rustle of silk told him that some pious woman was about to take his place. Even now she was walking slowly up the aisle.
Peter gripped his cane in firm fingers and made his way to the door. The warm noon sunlight struck his face as he stepped outside, and he smiled at the pleasant feeling of warmth. June! It was a beautiful month. Always it was kind to the poor who must lodge in miserable quarters. It did not seek them out with the cruel fingers of frost.
With only slight hesitation, the blind man came down the church steps into the sunny street. As he turned resolutely to the right, away from his own shop, his mind was busy with a beautiful thought. It concerned the mercy of God the Father, Who allows sorrow to strike His children only for their own good. Sorrow, reflected Peter, is a powerful means to make souls remember that earth is not their true home. Sorrow, bravely borne, is nothing more than a key to the wonders of heaven.
“In heaven, my good friend John will be happier than he is at his son’s return,” thought Peter. “Even I, a blind man, will be able to see beautiful things.”
Slowly the basket-maker walked through the June sunshine, his cane beating out a gentle rhythm on the cobblestones. Sometimes a familiar voice greeted him, and he stopped for a brief chat with an old friend. But he heeded no invitation to rest himself, to stop for food and drink. He was interested in only one thing. He wanted to reach the palace of the Captain General of Bologna. Egano Lambertini might be a wealthy man, powerful in government circles, but he was not proud. He always had time for the poor. And it was the same with his wife, Donna Castora. The two were Christians in the real sense.
“Perhaps I’m wrong,” thought Peter, as he tapped his way slowly along the street, “but I have a feeling that Donna Castora has much to do with Philip’s return. It was only a few months ago that she came to my shop and bought a few baskets. I told her then of John’s sorrow and she promised to pray for his boy. Now it seems only right that someone should go to her and say that her prayer is answered.”
As the blind man turned into the spacious avenue leading toward the Lambertini castle, the air was suddenly filled with the pealing of bells. It was a joyous sound, and Peter looked up curiously. The bells were not church bells. They were those of the castle. He could almost see them swinging in the grey stone towers.
“What’s happened?” cried an excited voice from a shop door.
The question was immediately taken up by others—merchants, children, beggars, wives who had been busy in their kitchens. Of a sudden the street was a beehive of excitement as people rushed out to gaze at the grey castle on the hill where flocks of startled pigeons were circling through the air.
“It’s good news of some sort!” someone cried. “Maybe Donna Castora has had a son!