January
2, 1946.
A
monastery cloister, with a portico, paved with black and white square
tiles. The long cloister fades into the darkness at the end […].
There is a small statue of Baby Jesus, about 28-30 months old. Blond,
handsome, wearing a pale blue robe with golden stars, his right hand
raised in blessing, his left holding a globe. An oil lamp illuminates
the statue.
As
I look at it, it comes to life and becomes real flesh. It smiles at
me and gestures with its little hand, saying, "Come here! Come
here!" And it becomes luminous, beautiful. The corner of the
cloister glows as if with starlight. I move a little closer, smiling
reverently. But I still stop too far away, and the Child insists with
his voice and his little hand: "Come here! Here, close!" I
approach him. He laughs happily and says: "Will you warm my
little feet with a kiss? I'm so cold!" and he offers me his bare
feet in turn, on which to warm them I place not only my lips but my
feverish cheek.
He
laughs. A clear, childish laugh, and says: "I am the Child of
little Thérèse of Lisieux. This is Carmel. Do you understand? I am
the Child Jesus of Sister Thérèse […]. " I contemplate him
in ecstasy, now that I am so close to him. He is so beautiful! Then
the light grows, grows, it is so violent, it obliterates the power of
seeing, and everything disappears. Only the memory and the peace
remain.
January
4, 1946.
And
as the other day, the Child of the cloister of Lisieux appears to me
again. He calls me close again. He consoles me, with his smiling
beauty, for my sorrows, which are so many. He once again gives me his
icy little feet to warm, saying again: 'I am so cold!', and I dare
take them in my hands to warm them more. This makes him very happy.
But
he seems tired of holding the globe in his left hand and takes it
with both hands, holding it to his chest. I watch him as I warm his
little feet in my hands. Perhaps he notices my surprise at his
gesture and says, "It's 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'm tired of holding it and always feeling it like this."
And
he offers me the little globe, which at first glance seems to be made
of golden glass, smooth and light. Instead, it is heavier than lead,
rough, covered in prickles that dig into my skin, causing pain. I
hold it with difficulty and anguish, because of the prickles and the
chill it transmits. I look at the holy Child with pity.
"It's
heavy, isn't it? And it's cold, isn't it! It even chills my heart.
Yet I have to carry it. If I abandon it, who can hold it anymore?"
"But
how can you, poor little Jesus, resist this torture? Because it's
real torture..."
"Yes.
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 hollows of his palms. But they are cold, cold.
"Thank
you, Maria. Give me back the globe. You can't hold it anymore. Only I
can. But just finding someone to hold it for a few minutes is enough
to give me relief. Do you know how you help me hold it, you who love
me? With your sacrificial love. Victim souls hold up the world
together with Jesus."
He
glows as brightly as the other night and withdraws his little
foot, saying, "Now they're both warm. And I feel better.
Goodbye, Maria. Thank you also for Mom. She's happy when there's
someone who loves and comforts me." And she fades into a
blinding light.
January
6, 1946.
While
I'm working on a piece for an altar, "Mom" comes with her
Baby in her arms.
She
says, "Here. Hold Him for me a little. I'll entrust Him to you,"
and she sits Him down on the bed, beside me.
Jesus
is truly the Baby
of
Egypt […],
because He is about two years old. Dressed in pale blue wool, a
rather short tunic, even at the sleeves, so that His forearms and
legs are exposed, plump, beautiful. He plays with His little hands
and His little dress, and chirps or watches me work with His
innocent, sapphire eyes. He spends the whole morning with me, and I
am so happy about it.
Based
on Maria Valtorta, The
Notebooks 1945-1950,
pp. 156-158.
View
my Catholic books HERE.
The SSPX Daily Newsletter for February 7, 2026 features a quote from their founder Archbishop Marcel Levebvre. He clearly asserts his view that the SSPX is the Catholic Church.
"We
must maintain absolutely our firm opposition and not doubt for an
instant the legitimacy of our position. We cannot remain indifferent
before the degradation of faith, morals, and the liturgy. That is out of
the question! We do not want to separate ourselves from the Church; on
the contrary, we want the Church to continue! A Church that breaks with
its past is no longer the Catholic Church. There is only one Catholic
Church; it is the one that continues Tradition. That is why I do not
hesitate to say that you are the Catholic Church! Why? Because you
continue what the Church has always done."
View my website Here.
May
5, 1947. Maria Valtorta prays with Our Lady of Fatima:
The
morning rosary, and then the three rosaries in the afternoon and the
golden roses. Each Hail Mary is a rose that falls from the crown of
15 mysteries of Our Lady, because each bead has been transformed into
a golden rose, and the Virgin detaches one with each Hail Mary I say,
and lets it fall upon the world, in the places I have recognized and
on the nations that are deserving of it.
How beautiful it was to say
the rosary with Her! I never tired of it. Now I still have in my eyes
the luminous cascade of golden roses and in my heart the bliss of
having been with the Mother of God for so many hours.
May
8, 1947.
Our
Lady of Fatima, appearing to me as she usually appears, says:
“On
the 5th, I gave you the intellectual vision of what a well-recited
Rosary is: a shower of roses upon the world. With every Hail Mary
that a loving soul says with love and faith, I let a grace fall.
Where? Everywhere: on the righteous to make them more righteous, on
sinners to bring them to repentance. How many! How many graces rain
down because of the Hail Marys of the Rosary! White, red, and golden
roses. White roses of the joyful mysteries, red roses of the
sorrowful mysteries, golden roses of the glorious mysteries.
“All
powerful roses of grace through the merits of my Jesus. Because it is
His infinite merits that give value to every prayer. Everything that
is good and holy is and happens because of Him. I distribute, but He
gives the value. Oh! Blessed be my Child and Lord!
“I
give you the pure white roses of the great merits of the perfect
divine Innocence of My Son, perfect because
voluntarily chosen to be preserved as such by the Man. I give you
the crimson roses of the infinite
merits of the Suffering of my Son, so willingly endured for you. I
give you the golden roses of His most perfect Charity. I give you
everything of my Son, and everything of my Son sanctifies and saves
you.
“Oh!
I am nothing, I disappear in His splendor, I only perform the act of
giving, but He, He alone
is the inexhaustible source of all graces! And you, my beloved souls,
listen to these words of mine: Do the will of the Lord with a
cheerful spirit. Doing His Most Holy Will with sadness is to halve
the great merit of doing it. Resignation is already
something that God rewards. But the joy of doing God's Will
multiplies the merit a hundredfold, and therefore the reward, of
doing this divine Will, always, always, always just, even if perhaps
it does not seem so to man. Therefore, do with a cheerful spirit
whatever God wills. And you will be pleasing to Him and most beloved
to me, your Mother. Remain in peace under my watchful gaze, which
will never abandon you.”
Maria
Valtorta’s note:
Also today, the 8th, I said the Holy Rosary with
Our Lady of Fatima! But today Our Lady didn't pick the roses [… as
in]
the symbolic gesture on the 5th.
Now I know the value of a well-said Hail Mary! The rosary of 15
decades consisted of 5 white roses like pearls, 5 red roses like
rubies, and 5 golden ones like the other day. And Mary, as she went
through it, saying the Gloria and the first part of the Our Father,
from "Our Father" to "on earth," and of the Hail
Marys only "Blessed (she didn't say 'the fruit of your womb')
Jesus," looked down at the world with her indescribable gaze of
peace, love, and pity, and smiled a slightly sorrowful smile in its
sweetness.
I
understood why Our Lady of Fatima attracts me so much, even more than
Our Lady of Lourdes, whom
I also love so much. Because she is more ours, more of a Mother. Our
Lady of Lourdes looks at Heaven; she seems eager to return there, to
lose herself in God: she is the Immaculate Conception, the Woman of
Heaven. But Our Lady of Fatima looks at us, looks at this poor Earth
where she was a woman like every creature and whose sorrows and needs
she knows, this poor Earth that needs her so much, and she is all
pity for us: she is our Mother, she is the Heart of Mary that loves
and watches over us. The first is for the Lord and for the Angels.
But this Our Lady of Fatima is for us sinners. She prays for us. She
is truly "the Mother," the purest and most compassionate.
Based
on Maria Valtorta, The
Notebooks 1945-1950,
pp. 390-392.
View
my website Here.
