It Was Nothing but Affection

*A retelling based on **The Diary of Juliet Thompson** (Kalimát Press; diary entry dated 25 August 1911). The narrative is retold in our own words; the lines in quotation marks are verbatim from the Diary. Read the [full text](https://bahai-library.com/thompson_diary) for Juliet's own account.*

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It was early in the morning, the 25th of August, 1911, in a hotel room in the little Swiss town of Thonon, on the shore of Lake Geneva. 'Abdu'l-Bahá was in Europe; Juliet Thompson had been called to come to Him there, and now she slipped into His room and sat down, as she loved to do, at His feet.

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Juliet carried things in her heart that morning. She was a sensitive soul, an artist, and she knew there were people who talked about her — who questioned her, found fault, passed the small unkind judgments that travel so easily between people. To be summoned across a continent by the Master, and then to sit before Him, must have stirred up all of that: the longing to be found worthy, and the fear that she was not.

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She spoke to Him in Persian, the little she had, telling Him of her love. And 'Abdu'l-Bahá took her hand in His and pressed it. He turned and said something to Tamaddunu'l-Mulk, His interpreter, who then gave Juliet the Master's words: that He was praising her; that her heart was pure; that He Himself bore witness to this — and that since He bore witness, it did not matter in the least what anyone else might say of her.

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Then He told her why He had sent for her at all. Not for any task, not for any reason she would have to earn. He had brought her to Him, the interpreter explained, simply because He loved her — and because, with Him in Europe and the journey to 'Akka so much harder, this was a chance for her to be near. The words Juliet wrote down were as plain and as warming as a hand on the shoulder:

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> He says He sent for you out of pure affection. It was nothing but affection.

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She had come braced, perhaps, to be measured. Instead she was simply loved — told, in effect, that the verdict of the One whose verdict mattered was already in, and it was tender. For a heart that had been listening too long to the murmurs of others, it was the gentlest possible release: to be reminded that she was cherished not for what she achieved or how she was seen, but purely, and only, because she was His.

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*This account is retold for the Bahai Story Library; it is a paraphrase, not the original text. The quoted words are verbatim from The Diary of Juliet Thompson. See the source for Juliet's complete entry.*

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