Chp: The Child Jesus Returns
The spiritualized and glorious figure of St. Peter appears to me. He orders:
"Write this for your Father: 'I, Head of the Priesthood, say to you: "Be vigilant, for Satan, like a roaring lion, is circling around you trying to devour and destroy. Woe to us priests if out of carelessness we let God's flock and God's food be devoured by the perpetual adversary!"' There is nothing else to be said. May you, little voice, receive ever greater grace and knowledge of Our Lord Jesus Christ."
And, as happened the other day, the Child from the Lisieux cloister appears to me. He again calls me to come close. He consoles me, with his laughing beauty, in my motives for sadness, which are numerous. He again gives me his chilly feet to warm, saying once more, "I am so cold!" And I dare to take them in my hands to warm them more. He does so very happily.
But he seems to be tired of holding the globe in his left hand and takes it in both hands, clasping it to his chest. I look at Him while warming his feet in my hands. Perhaps He notices that I am stupefied by his act and says, "It is heavy, you know? And this globe of the world is so cold. Hold it. Feel how cold and heavy it is. Hold it a little. I am tired of holding it up and always feeling it to be like this." And He offers me the little globe, which at first sight would seem to be made of golden glass, smooth and light. It is instead heavier than lead, rough, entirely coated with prickles which stick into one's skin, causing pain. I hold it up with difficulty and agony, because of both the points and the cold it emits. I look at the Holy Child with compassion.
"It's heavy, isn't it? And it's cold, isn't it? It chills even your heart. And yet I must carry it. If I abandon it, who will go on holding it up?"
"But how do You, poor little Jesus, manage to endure this torture? For it is a real torture..."
"It is. Look. My little hands are bleeding. Kiss them to heal them." And He offers me his tender hands covered with tiny droplets of blood. I kiss them in the soft hollow of his palms. But they are cold, cold. "Thank you Maria. Give Me back the globe. You cannot hold it up any longer: Only I can. But it is enough for Me to find someone to hold it for a few minutes to bring Me relief. Do you know how you that love Me help me to hold it up? With your love for sacrifice. The victim souls hold up the world together with Jesus."
He becomes very luminous, as happened the other evening, and withdraws his foot, saying, "Now both of them are warm. And I feel better. Good-bye, Maria. Thank you for the sake of my Mother, too. She is happy when there is someone who loves and consoles Me." And He vanishes in a blinding light.
If I did not have these comforts, I would be very unhappy crestfallen, for I feel a great treachery working around me and you....
Peace be with you always