Etty Hillesum - Matthew 26: 38-39

Les écrits d'Etty Hillesum. Journaux et lettres 1941-1943 (The writings of Etty Hillesum. Diaries and letters 1941-1943. Complete edition). Paris: Seuil, 2008, 1081 p.

38 Then he said to them, "I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me." 39 And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want."

Saturday morning [October 3, 1942], 6:30 a.m., in the bathroom.
I am starting to suffer from insomnia; I don't have to! At dawn I jumped out of bed and knelt at the window. The familiar tree stood still in the gray morning. And I prayed: My God, grant me that deep and powerful peace which is spread in your nature: and if you want to make me suffer, inflict on me a great suffering, of the kind that invades everything, but not those thousand little worries that eat you to the bone and leave nothing of you. Give me peace and confidence. Make me a little more, make each of my days a little more than the sum of the worries of daily life. Aren't all our worries about food, clothing, cold, our health, so many "notions of censorship" towards you, my God? And don't you send us an immediate punishment? In the form of insomnia, or a life that is not a life?

I'm willing to rest a few more days, but only as long as it's one big uninterrupted prayer. And a great peace. I must begin again to carry my peace within me. "The sick person must lead a quiet life." Will you take care of my rest and peace, God, wherever I am? I may have lost that peace, because I may be doing questionable things. It may be; I don't know. I am so made for community life, my God, and I didn't even suspect it! I want to stand among men, among their anxieties, I want to see and understand everything myself and then tell it. But I would like so much to be well. I worry too much about my health, and that is worth nothing to me. If only I could be won over by that impassivity that permeated your grayish dawn this morning. May my day finally be a little more than the preoccupation of my body alone.

That was always my last resort, to jump out of bed and kneel in a protected corner of the room.

I don't want to force you, my God, to heal me in two days either. I know that everything has to develop organically, in a slow process. It is almost 7 o'clock. I will wash myself, sprinkle myself with cold water from head to toe, then I will lie down again and not move, not at all, I will not write in this notebook, I will try to stay lying down and to be only prayer. I've felt so bad so many times before that I was sure I wouldn't be able to get back on my feet for weeks - and after a few days it was over. But right now I'm not living right, I'm trying to force things. If I have any chance at all, I would love to go on Wednesday. I know that in my present state I won't be of much help to the community, I would like to get a little bit healthy on Wednesday. Besides, it's enough for me to feel a little better, I don't ask for more. But if I want something by all means, there is already a break in the rhythm. I don't have to want things, I have to let them happen in me, and that's precisely what I'm forgetting to do right now. Thy will be done and not mine.

749-750.