Yesterday I was so down and was feeling so badly that I could not add anything else. Not even the sweet comforts received in the night between the 9th and 10th - first, briefly, from Mary, and then, more at length, from Jesus.
I was crying, with my head under the covers, so as not to be heard by Paola and Marta, who were sleeping with me. I was thinking that in a few hours I would no longer have Paola... and I was weeping desolately. And I was praying. The Mother came to pray with me and caress me. But She did not stay long. She gave up her place to Jesus, who, with his left arm, drew me against his chest so tightly that my cheek was resting on his heart, and I felt the warmth of his flesh reaching my cheek and heard the steady, very vigorous beating of his heart. I compared it to mine, a poor old crop, rickety and exhausted.... How perfect it was! And Jesus let me do so. He let the warmth of his person heat up the poor, sick, frozen, weeping little sparrow and let the music of his heart distract it from its torment. It is lovely, you know, to rest like this!
I saw a line of light filtering through the robe of ivory-white wool which corresponded to the wound in his side, and, pointing to it, I asked, “Why this wound?” And Jesus, very softly, said in my hair, “Out of love for God and men.” And, after some time, without letting me go, with his right arm He lightly touched my side, where I felt so much pain, between my heart and my pleura, and, smiling, He asked, “Why this suffering?” And I said, “Out of love for God and men.” And Jesus clasped me more tightly and held me until I calmed down in my suffering, almost drowsing off on his chest, and then He set me down, like a loving father, and remained there so that I would not weep any more....
I was looking at Him! How handsome He is! No, there is no painting which resembles Him. There cannot be.
That was last night. Then, tonight, from 2 a.m. on I was agonizing with pleuritis and fever. In that condition I observed the Hour of Mary’s Desolation. And as I contemplated the Mother weeping over her Son, extended upon the anointing stone, and observed Mary Magdalene weeping on her knees at the foot of the marble funeral bed - with John standing upright and anguished alongside Mary and gazing with the eyes of a frightened, tearful child at his new desolate Mother, and the other women, crowded together near the opening, and the two embalmers, in their corner - my inner advisor said to me, “Around Jesus’ funeral bed is a representation of the whole human race. Mary Magdalene represents sinful, repentant humanity; John, pure, consecrated humanity; the devout women, believers; and Nicodemus and Joseph represent the world, with its mists of science, human respect, and doubt.... Do you see? There is everything.” It’s true. I had never noticed.
I received nothing else. Jesus, given the intense fever, lets me rest. But He does not abandon me. Oh, He is here! It is not as in April, when He was silent and did not reveal Himself! I cannot forget the warmth of his flesh - my cheek still seems to preserve this warmth, and I caress it. And I cannot forget the forceful beating of his Divine Heart. My Jesus...!