Guide for the Journey

Rose-Philippine Duchesne (1769-1852) was one of the many women religious in France who were forced to return to their homes when convents were disbanded by the government during the French Revolution in 1792. After 10 years of charity work as a laywoman, in 1804, she and her companions joined Madeleine Sophie Barat’s new congregation, the Society of the Sacred Heart.

A missionary to the New World, for more than 35 years she endured the trials of frontier life until her death at the age of 83. The following excerpts from her letters reveal a woman of purpose, practicality, perseverance, and prayer—a true model of grace-filled aging.

The Native Americans whom she taught gave Philippine the name Quakahkanumad—"Woman-Who-Prays-Always."

If you want some news about me I shall tell you that, going into my seventieth year, I feel the infirmities of that age: I cough and totter and fall, and the thought of death is always with me.

I am really healthier than I like. During recent years I have often thought I should die soon. Now I fear I shall live to be a hundred—as there is no prospect of death in the near future. I am troubled at the prospect of the infirmities and uselessness of old age. However, I am not there yet.

Difficulties in prayer
I have just finished my retreat, which I made by myself shortly after coming here. I wish I could assure you that I shall lead a better life here in solitude and far from the occasions that so often caused me to fail.

The new regulations and directives frighten me. They are so detailed, and my memory is so faulty in regard to new things, much more so than for things of the past. My heart is so dry, I can scarcely think through all these rules and methods, so it will be far worse for me to try to carry them out.

My words seem so dry
There are just three of us together in the evening before night prayers. If I can say three sentences in three minutes on the subject of the morning’s meditation, that will be all, and I am sure the others will say nothing.

I have never been able to reflect on a subject. I see it as a whole, and what I have once seen I shall see for ten years without change or addition. I
never see things in detail or in parts. I see a thing, there is the whole thing; I do not see its divisions. When I hear a sermon or listen to a long instruction, in spite of myself I reduce it all to a few words, and I cannot understand how anyone can develop a topic.

In that state of soul all methods and considerations become mere distractions for me, and I am so dry and brief in my words, they only cause aridity and disgust to other people.

Christ’s heart gives courage
I feel that I am a worn-out instrument, a useless walking stick that is fit only to be hidden in a dark corner.

Old age and infirmities have changed the outward aspect of our life, but not the heart of him whom we took as our model and whom we have followed.

He warned us that this would mean carrying his cross, and he promised unending happiness in return for our struggles and sufferings.