It’s a good story, it hurts.
Jo March, my childhood heroine, was a writer, something I wanted to be too when I was a little woman myself. She had wonderful sisters as loving companions in her childhood. She lives in a century that lives only in my mind. She was strong-willed, boyish, and well, the free spirit you can safely say. She was my childhood hero, yes she was. I love her story, her life. It’s so good it hurts. Having watched the movie now I’m older, another spectrum of emotions manifest that can only be known by age, experience, and circumstances. My heart broke over Beth’s death, my heart still does today. I didn’t understand the pain of Jo’s rejection of Laurie’s proposal, but now, I feel it so clearly and keenly now like the light of the day. I didn’t mind that every other character is leaving home to go out there in the world, it seemed the normal and natural thing to do. But now, I miss my old home, I miss my childhood, I miss a lot of things. I don’t have them anymore now.
It’s so good it hurts. I don’t want to be reminded of what I no longer have.
But I do have another childhood hero whose story was as good as Jo’s, far better actually, a story that transcends death, loneliness, and heart breaks for all these are translated only to eternal happiness. Therese of the Child Jesus. Her story was truly a good one, a story on how God worked on the soul of a little child so mysteriously yet rigidly clear, miraculously yet utterly hidden, so beautifully overall. Her writings are unpretentious, authentic, and outrageously simple as simple can be defined. It goes to the base of your understanding as she writes as simple as a bare soul can be. Just beautiful. Just inspiring.
Hers was a story of a great saint who witnessed no divine apparitions or grandiose miracles on this earth. But it was in her soul that God stirred a hurricane of love so strong that it is nowadays the model of perfection of love that the Church teaches us to follow. A Carmelite nun, a doctor of the Catholic Church, a saint, a little flower in heaven. What achievements are there greater than these?
Her life’s story entailed sufferings, loss, and separations, but not pain out of goodness. Hers was truly a good story, it doesn’t hurt. It gives you hope, gives you strength, gives you the grace to love God greatly through little ways.
I wish I could be a writer with a flair for words as they did. But far beyond the flair for words, a story as good as theirs. They both wrote about their lives, and what wonderful lives they were, lives that it seem to me could only be possible if lived in centuries of old when women wore long skirts, people rode in carriages, cities were young, families value marriage, and everything was simple as they should be.
Oh well, we have good stories nowadays too, but it does not hurt. It does not give hope. Unike the stories before us do.