Then in a poetic way, Eugene invites us to re-read the events from God\u2019s perspective:<\/p>\n
\nNormally the same fate would have been in store for us. But divine Providence, which from our cradle has surrounded us with vigilant care, and has thereafter extended over us its wings and protected us, has directed our footsteps and, shielding us with much goodness from the arrows of our adversaries, has now finally inspired us to put in the hands of the Father of every Christian the concern we have for our existence, the ardour which impels us to promote the glory of God and the salvation of souls, the ceaseless desire with which we burn for our own perfection, in a word the fate of our poor new-born Society, divine Providence, I say, has arranged everything so powerfully and so gently that we were able to foresee, from the moment of our first audience with the Holy Father, a most favourable outcome.<\/strong><\/h5>\n<\/blockquote>\n
Letter to all the Oblates, 25 March 1826, EO VII n 232<\/em><\/p>\n
\u00a0Today, each Oblate unit could echo the same sentiments. Our first missionaries \u2013 and every other Oblate since then -were sent to places of seemingly \u201cclosed doors\u201d and insurmountable obstacles. Yet, the God who has loved us from our birth two hundred years ago has cared for us, protected us and guided our efforts \u2013 and continues to do so. All members of the Mazenodian family are invited to re-read our history and recognize the presence of God behind every event.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from.” \u00a0 Elisabeth Kubler-Ross<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Then in a poetic way, Eugene invites us to re-read the events from God\u2019s perspective: Normally the same fate would have been in store for us. But divine Providence, which from our cradle has surrounded us with vigilant care, and … Continue reading