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Pope John XXIII healed me Pope John XXIII the good Pope Witnesses

Pope John XXIII healed me Pope John XXIII the good Pope Witnesses of Miracles

Dear Sara, Every promise is a debt (as we say in Italy) So here I am  paying my debt. I’m very pleased to do so. I promised to tell you about my experience with the good Pope John XXIII.

For a little nine year old girl, falling ill with typhoid and paratyphoid in the late 60s isn’t a joke. I was a little curious and effusive girl. And like every child I was attracted by everything that was forbidden, like raw seafood. I wondered why the adults could eat it and I couldn’t. I wanted to know what raw clams tasted like. That’s certainly very strange for a little girl. But seeing that in my family, those years, the adults used to eat them, I thought they must have been very tasty. And as you know, the forbidden fruit attracts us most, worst luck.

At that time the fishmongers used to pass with their peddler carts to sell their goods and that afternoon while I was playing in the yard with my little friends, I saw the lady who lived below us buy at that peddler’s a nice bag of clams. At that time the fishmongers used to put their items in a cone made of old newspapers and so the lady, after having bought the clams, started to go back towards the stairs to go and cook her clams for supper.

After a short time my mother called me because it was tea time. As I was going up the stairs, I noticed that the lady had lost a couple of clams from her paper bag on the stairs, like “Pollicino.” The paper wrapper obviously broke having got wet with the seafood water. The lady on the floor below us has never discovered that she lost the “poisoned” clams, that unluckly for me, were just there to tempt me along the stairs.

“When will I be able to taste them again?” I thought. So trying not to let anyone see me, I broke the clams against the steps and I ate them.  “How tasty!” I thought. “I wonder why mum doesn’t want me to eat them.”

A week later I understood why: I started to be really very   ill, because I was suffering from typhoid and paratyphoid all together. I don’t remember much about that time. The very high fevers and delirium, a lot of injections, and so  many doctors who couldn’t cure me. I kept on getting worse. I didn’t hardly eat anymore and after a couple of months like that, seeing my mother couldn’t hide her despair anymore, I started to think I was going to die.  I had a very high fever every day. And the cures seemed really useless.

I remember my father tried to make me do my homework that he himself went to get at school every day, but owing to my weakness and strong headaches, I couldn’t even sit  up on my bed. I was afraid. Although I didn’t understand what was happening around me, everything was confused and distorted.

My mother, being very religious, had put a little picture of Pope John XXIII, the good pope, on my night table and always prayed to him, begging him the grace of my healing. And promising she would have brought me to Rome to pray on his tomb if I would have se recovered.

I didn’t know Pope John well.  When he died, I was really too small. So I had no idea what he looked like. I only knew his face vaguely that looked at me from the little picture on my night table.

One night, being exhausted from all those months of illness and fevers, I had a vision of a smallish and chubby man with a sweet face, dressed in white who came near my bed, and he said like a father. “I’m Pope John, You’ll be okay soon. I’ll be waiting for you in Rome.” After that vision, I fell sound asleep after such a long time. 

The following morning I was already better. So I told my mum about that strange “dream” too realistic to only be a dream I had.  It’s useless to say that in a short time it was as if there had been a rebirth for me. I started eating again, and my blood values went back to normal. In a few days, the doctors said I had recovered. There was no effect on my health, and some months later I was at Pope John’s tomb (his tomb was still at the Grotte Vaticane then), but today his body is exhibited in a glass showcase in the Basilica of Saint Peter) praying to thank him for having healed me, with my mother.

The doctors went on thinking for a long time that one of their medicine had healed me. But my mother and I have always known, deep in our hearts, that it just wasn’t so!

Pope John XXIII healed me Pope John XXIII the good Pope Witnesses of Miracles was told by Francesca

 

 

Pope John XXIII healed me Pope John XXIII the good Pope Witnesses of Miracles

 

www.leparoledegliangeli.com/en  The words of the Angels

 

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