May 25, 1949prev home
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Evening
Jesus came and drew me to his chest, covering me entirely with his white mantle. He supported me with his left arm and rested his right hand on my head. He consoled me. He wanted to console me. But his extraordinary tenderness brought tears to my eyes... for I sensed that if Jesus was acting that way, it was because He knew men were constructing new crosses for me - and I knew who they were....
Like this until the end! More and more pain! Only God, only Mary, only Heaven love us, poor instruments of theirs. But the others manage to infuse gall and vinegar even into the sweetness given us by Heaven....
Can there be such joy and such pain together in a heart? And yet there are. They seem like two currents clashing in a gulf, stirring up breakers. And the soul is in the middle, raised up, knocked down - towards heaven, towards the abyss, from blessedness to torment....
A martyrdom which is more exhausting than an illness, which everyone would have to experience to understand it, especially those who are so severe to us instruments, even more than severe...when they ought to help us with their charity....