Jesus says:
“Come, little John. Like the small Benjamin, the vision of whom you liked so much,617 place your hand in mine, that I may lead you through my fields of graces. Graces for you and for others. Gifts and gifts. For everything I reveal to you or say to you is a great gift.
“You don’t even know their value. Not the spiritual value. That is infinite for you. I mean the cultural value - historical, if you prefer. They are jewels of great price. You, like a child, find them placed in your hands and love them for their varied colors, but are unable to attribute any other value to them except that of a gift and a thing of beauty and a proof of my love. Others, however, more learned than you, but less beloved than you, observe them anxiously and anxiously ask you for these spiritual jewels which your Jesus gives to you, and they observe and study and evaluate them with greater knowledge than yours and, if only their wills should so desire, with your manner of loving. But that is harder for them, who are complicated. It is only children who are able to love simply, sincerely, and purely.
“You are able only to love. But always remain like this for Me. Take delight in the variegated jewels which I give you and then give them generously and happily to those awaiting them. I shall always fill your little hand with new treasures. Do not fear. Give and give. Your King has inexhaustible coffers for the joy of his small ones.”
And I see the following.618
The first part of what bears today’s date was provoked by the fact that I, throughout the hours in which I was awake during the night, had been thinking of the beautiful things Jesus reveals to me, and I was saying, “How good You are to your poor Maria! How many things You teach me! And how lovely!” I was certainly not saying sublime words. I was speaking exactly like a child, for, ignorant as I am, I am in fact unable to understand the historical value of the things I see and write and delight in them because they are supernaturally beautiful and make me live with Jesus or with Jesus’ friends. For no other reason. And Jesus acts properly in having me live this way.
Since you came here619 - that is, for the past month - it seems that I have been calmer and more serene. I have obeyed your advice, seeking to turn my gaze away from my condition as an exile in a town I don’t like and cannot like, seeking not to say a word more, to myself or others, in this regard. Seeking to distract myself from the pain pulverizing me.
If I examine myself with penetrating observation and sincerity, I think I have been at fault in my words only three times and even less in my thoughts, for every time my heart and mind move towards my house, my need for you, Father, and the memories of these months - my father’s death, my mother’s saint’s day, my father’s birthday, my mother’s illness,620 because of which I can say I lost her on August 24, for I never saw her again after that date - I flee from them immediately. Look. Only on Sunday, August 6, did I dare to correct the sheaf of pages you brought to me - from March 30 to May 26 - pages which thus contain the desperate chronicle of the black days. And I suffered unspeakably. I knew I would suffer. This care in not poking at the wounds on my heart seems to have extended a thin veil of skin over them, and they thus appear to be healed. It is not true. Rather, the wound, under the veil, which does not allow any outlet for its acrid humors, acts more and more on a deep level and consumes me. I alone know how my heart is breaking. To react was a vent. Not to react is to break.
But I obey and break.
Out of obedience I do not want to consider or recall that God allowed me to know hell. But that memory is in me, even without my knowledge. And if my spirit does not want to remember it, my mind does. And if my mind orders itself not to remember, my heart cries out. And if my heart is shredded to make it be silent, my flesh screams. When you have experienced hell, you never forget, even if you are in Paradise. I think that those who, for a mysterious reason, have undergone this torture on earth, will, in the light of Paradise, always see a black dot: their hell; in the sweetness of Paradise they will always taste a drop of gall: their hell; in the joy of Paradise they will from time to time be quite shaken by a jolt of horror at the memory of their hell.
And I say to Jesus, “Don’t let me think, my Master and Love. Hold my poor head in your dear hands so that I won’t see, feel, or remember the past, the voices of the past, the memories of the past, and not see the shadows of the future, either.... Don’t let me think.... Don’t let me think, my Jesus. To think means to taste the bitterness of desperation and madness again. Have mercy, good Jesus!” And I lean upon the heart of the Mother, who since August 2 has always been close to me, a loving Mother who does not impose Herself, but I find Her again at once as soon as I seek Her as a refuge.
But, if reading the chronicle of those days has done me harm, the other pages have done me a lot of good.
On the first sheet - the vision of the death of Mary Magdalene - it says, “There is no waiting for Mary,” and Jesus, with a caress, whispered to me, “For little Maria there is no waiting, either.” And it then says, “I bless you, blessed one.” And Jesus said to me, “I bless you, blessed one.”
And, in addition: “It is only I who have drunk the chalice to the dregs without tempering it with honey, and I don’t want you to suffer what I suffered.” And Jesus said, “Believe this for yourself.”
And, in addition: “Our suffering must be yours.” And Jesus said, “Do you see how I love you? I associate you with my pain and my Mother’s.”
And, later, Mary says to John, “He [Jesus] did not take your bewilderment into account.” And Jesus said, “It is true. I have not taken your bewilderment in April into account. Be at peace.”
And, on April 9: “I ask you for charity [in suffering even more in the Easter period] for souls.” And Jesus said, “You gave it to me. With pain. But you remained faithful. Thank you.”
I shall not comment on the unfortunate twenty days. I shall only say that the accounts of these, as well as the others that were not continuous, but scattered in their agony among the oases of divine mercy, when reread now, at a certain distance in time, and in the arms of Jesus and Mary, still seem to me too gentle and moderate in relation to what I really suffered. I did not think I would still be able to remain so faithful when pressed so hard by Satan.
And how right Jesus’ dictations are, the first ones after the storm! Always right, of course, but these were right in stating my torment, which only He could evaluate justly.
I did not go beyond May 12, for I correct on Sundays, when I am not doing needlework. But, in conclusion, I have received comfort mixed with pain. The comfort has been more than the pain, though. And that’s enough, since my back is destroyed.
617 A reference to a vision on March 7. See note 238.
618 The ensuing vision concerns “The Appearance to the Apostles with Thomas,” found in the Glorification cycle.
619 Father Migliorini’s visit to St. Andrea di Compito, July 10-11.
620 See notes 465 and 466 for information on the writer’s parents.