May 16, 1987

(Last night coming back from a dinner, I went up the stairs and a great odour of incense penetrated my nose again. I understood.)

Vassula, when you smell incense it is I, Jesus Christ, I wish you to feel my Presence; Vassula, I love you to distraction and beyond measure, alas! this Love which overflows my Heart, this ardent Flame of Love burning, is so little understood, so few come to draw from It … so few …

Jesus, many people don’t know how to approach You, I’m so sure of that.

they can come and talk to Me; I hear them; I can enjoy for hours any conversation; it brings Me so much joy when they would count Me among their friends;

Last night, a man told me that all women desire to be Magdalenes.

lo, not all;

Well, those that love you probably do then.

I want them to;

Jesus, I think we will have to rush.

where to?

Downstairs, check the oven. 1

come then, let us go;

Jesus when before Your approach I heard of You like a myth, I never realised how You are REAL. In my eyes, You were so far away. A story in a book!

I know Vassula, I know, for many I am still a myth;

find Me in Gethsemane next time we meet; I will reveal to you My anguishes, My sufferings and fears of that night; come, allow Me to rest in you, daughter;

1 I’d forgotten the oven which was lit.