My reawakening (from sopor) was characterized this morning at 7 by a great sweetness. I had been sunk for eight and a half hours in that state, and on regaining awareness and understanding I at once said to myself, “Ah! This morning there is no sun. There is no Communion with Father Migliorini. There is nothing....” And I felt tears over my wretchedness swelling up. I set about praying very softly, while Marta went on sleeping. I had begun only shortly before and was lying on my left side when, behind my back, I heard the barely perceptible sound of the familiar step of the Mother and then her small hands on my brow and head. She was caressing me. I shifted to lie face upwards so as not to turn my back to Her and was recollected and blissful under her light, soft caresses.
I dared even more. Since the motherly hand was moving downwards from my brow to caress my cheeks, turning my head a little, I kissed her palm, so smooth that it seemed like silk, as warm as the hollow of a nest and scented with an indefinable smell between violet and bitter almond, the smell of certain fully blooming flowers with fragrances containing a thousand nuances which become a single scent.
The Mother let me do so, and, just as in a nest, I settled my face in the hollow of the small hand, and, not yet content, I dared to grasp it with my right hand and kiss the back of her hand and her thin fingers and continue to move it over my face to feel her caress. The Mother smiled and let me do so. What sweetness!
And then She urged me to finish my prayers and remained there, nearby, still caressing me. And then She departed, leaving me as a reminder her fresh, gentle fragrance, which cannot be classified with certainty among earthly scents.
My sadness thus turned into peace.
She did not speak, though. For the time being, no one is speaking.
Observe, Father, that, since I was praying to St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus, when I heard the rustling and the first caress of the tapering hand, I thought it was Her assuring me that She heard my prayers. Out of the corner of my eye I also saw the edge of a piece of cloth which seemed dark brown over her white, thin wrist, and that made me think even more of St. Thérèse. But afterwards I had no more doubts. It was our Mother. Dressed darkly, however, as She is in household life. The Mother Herself, coming to say good morning to her sick daughter.
Later, as I think of the joy in the morning, Mary says:
“It was really me, in my robe as the Queen of Carmel. You pray to me under this title and pray to my daughter Thérèse of the Child Jesus, and, since you pray, offer, and suffer for the priesthood and for sinners,515 with your intentions you fall within the Carmelite intentions, even though you do not belong to this Order. And I wanted to take my kiss of peace to my little Mary and tell her that she is under the protection of my caresses - for you are loved by the saints of Carmel - and tell her not to be afraid. Always love me under all of my titles. All of them are equally dear to me because they all come from love. And I shall love you in every need of yours. Do you know what the Mother's love is? It is often a miracle of grace. It is always comfort and blessing. Have faith.”
515 Cf. May 29.