Appendix V
A letter written by the visionary Ida Peerdeman to Fr. Frehe, her spiritual
director, concerning the message of May 31, 1958
June 21, 1958
Dear Father Frehe,
It has already been three weeks since I was privileged to
witness that great event. I believe that I will think about it every Saturday
and count the weeks. Earlier it wasn’t possible for me to give a better and
more detailed account. I don’t know why, but that’s how it was.
But now, today, I would like to try to give you some more
details, and especially to tell about it once again. Father, it was something
so great—really, I’m not exaggerating. You know, at first when I knelt down,
I didn’t see anyone, yet I dare say that someone was present. But it wasn’t
the Lady. Understand well, I saw nothing. I just had the feeling that someone
was present, someone unspeakably mighty, great, pure—and much, much more.
It is so difficult to describe. And yet I feel it is my duty to do so, to
give you a better account.
When I knelt down, a high-pitched, exquisite music sounded
in my ears, and the room was completely filled with light. It was so bright
that I had to fold my hands on my breast and bow deeply. At first I didn’t
dare look at it, and I even couldn’t look at it. But suddenly I did look,
and I was overcome by such a heavenly, supernatural feeling. All of it was
much, much stronger than last year. When I think about it, I am still overwhelmed.
And, forgive me, it is so difficult to keep oneself busy with the daily routine;
yet I try, for the others should not notice anything.
While the first vision was as if screened by a veil, the
Lady was standing far in the distance. She looked so friendly and lovely.
But I found it very unpleasant that she was so far away. She spoke the first
part without pausing, all the while looking at me. I thought, “I hope I’ll
be able to remember this.” And I think the Lady understood me, because she
smiled and repeated the whole first part. Then I nodded ‘yes’, as a sign to
her that I would now remember it. Later, when everything was over, I wrote
it down immediately, as you saw. Then the Lady straightened up, looked forward,
and said, “But …”, and then started to say, “In all tranquility I came”, etc.
But while saying this, she went up very slowly, ever higher and higher.
Father, if only you knew what this moment meant for me. I
felt: she is leaving me. I stretched out my hands and said in my heart, “Please,
Lady, don’t leave me here alone.” I started crying like a little child. I
hope you don’t think I’m exaggerating, for that’s how it was. I’ve never cried
like that before. Father, it was as if someone who is very, very dear to you
and whom you love very much were wrenched away. Something in me started to
tear. O, don’t think it strange—I have to tell you, and I hope I can tell
you. She went away, and as she was going she said, “Listen.” She moved her
head in a certain way as if to say, “Don’t cry”, and she said, “Follow the
light.” Then she was gone. For a moment the light was still there but, as
I already told you, it disappeared, too.
You know what happened then: how I searched for it and went
to the front door, because the light was there, and I went down the stairs
and stood in the street, and how I saw the light at the corner and followed
it. Around me I heard cars speeding by on the road, but I didn’t care. The
light was waiting for me at the other side. I continued to follow it and then
arrived at the place on the Wandelweg by the—as
we call it—teahouse. The whole area there was ablaze in light, and I was searching
the ground, because the words “Follow the light” kept ringing in my ears.
And then all of a sudden I heard the voice from up high, “What are you looking
for?” You know the rest. Yet I feel the need to tell you once again what a
beautiful sight it was. She was standing there in the radiant blue sky, between
two white clouds, which the others around me didn’t see, I believe. When she
spoke the words, “This is the place...”—you know the rest of the text—she
moved upwards, further and further away. And suddenly a luminous cloud enveloped
her and took her from my sight.
Then I felt that deep sadness again. But at the same moment,
there in the same place—yet it seems that it was closer, now that I think
about it—appeared that large Holy Host. This wasn’t told to me, but inwardly
I understood what it was. Father, how beautiful it would have been if only
you and the others could have seen this, something so immense, so great, so
overwhelming. Whenever I go to Communion now I think: am I really worthy to
receive something so exalted? And during the consecration I think: why don’t
we have trumpets sounding, for truly the greatest emperor, the greatest king
is appearing here. While you and other priests are saying those words, you
don’t know what is really happening. He is there as God and as Man. His humanity
is in that piece of bread in order to make it easy for us—so it seems to me—but,
at the same moment, His divinity comes to the altar. I am so convinced of
this. And now, every day since May 31, 1958, I feel that Christ is coming
there in all glory, just as I saw the Holy Host at the Wandelweg. But alas,
people don’t see it. It must be His will. But it is a pity. For it is really
the great Miracle the Lady was speaking about.
Father, I don’t know where I got the nerve to write you all
of this. But last night I already had an inner urge to do this. I couldn’t
sleep, and all these thoughts arose, even clearer than now. This is just a
poor attempt to write it down. But I didn’t dare disturb the others by getting
up—otherwise I would have written this letter to you last night. I desire
very much for you to know how beautiful and how, yes, my words are failing
me, but I hope that you will understand me and not find it strange that I
am speaking so freely. I would like to tell every priest: know what you have
in your hands; be happy and joyful that you have sacrificed everything, because
it is not in vain. Believe me. If only we would be more aware of what happens
among us every day: this great Miracle. We are human beings, of course, and
the Lord knows this, and this is how he wants us to be—so I think—just as
we are. But we should be more grateful to Him; we should experience the moment
of Holy Mass better; we would be happy, and yet sad because at present we
still cannot see Him.
Father, it is so strange, but very silently within me a longing
has arisen to see everything once again, to see her again and to experience
once again that great moment which I cannot explain. But who am I to dare
wish this?
Once again, I cannot stop talking and thinking about those
twenty minutes on May 31, 1958. Of one thing I am sure—that leaving this earth
will certainly be no punishment for us. How vain is all this rushing about
and noise around us; why be so busied with it all. Over there something so
great awaits us. How much patience and goodness the Lord Jesus Christ shows
towards us. How infinite His love must be. I know that when you love someone,
you can forgive immediately and spontaneously and put up with everything.
How immensely great His love for us must be, then. I don’t know, but it is
nothing other than love, I would say. And also that He comes to the altar
everyday. And then a simple Mass with no music and nothing special, with just
a couple of people who are mainly concerned about their own interests, and
just asking, asking for temporal things. And He appears there in our midst.
And we don’t even experience it as something tremendous. A tinkling of the
bells and we go on as if nothing had happened. Everything is gone. And again
we are occupied with our daily bread.
It should be done with much more reverence, and please let
it be with some form of outward display—let the trumpets sound, as I thought
to have heard them in our room, followed by beautiful, heavenly music. We
make so much noise with jazz, but for Him there is no reception, as would
be necessary for a king or queen.
How strange, Father, that I write all this to you, but my
pen is going on by itself. Again, don’t think it strange. But I am relieved
that I dared to write all of this to you in this way. And now I will stop,
for I have taken up enough of your time with my long letter. With kind regards.
P.S. There’s one more thing I want to tell you.
When I saw the Lady going further and further away, one more
thing came to my mind: thank goodness, she’s taking us with her. For she went
away in the same manner as I had always seen her—with the sheep, globe and
Cross.
