Back in Medjugorje, Bosnia Herzegovina I felt like I had come home. All of the nonsense occupying my mind over previous days fell away. This village is formerly communist. The people here endured great oppression for their Catholic faith.
That first day of arrival I spoke to a priest about carrying what felt like the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Feelings that I’d failed at everything I’d set out to do in my work and this Substack. That I had failed the general public, unable to warn them they were pawns in a pharmaceutical fraud. Unable to hold authorities to account, in government or public health. That the hundreds of hours and thousands of written words had come to nothing.
I told him how I’d been telling myself on repeat it was because “I am not good enough.”
The priest I spoke to, was a young Polish man with dark hair and glasses, dressed in a long black cassock. He apologised for his limited English.
“Who told you that?” he asked me pointedly.
“Nobody,” I said. “It’s coming from me. I said it.”
He paused for a moment, took a breath and then delivered the following response.
“What you are doing is elevating your opinion above God’s,” he declared. Watching my reaction, as the penny began to drop, he used his hands to illustrate the point.
“You have placed your opinion of yourself on a higher scale than God’s. Do you see?” he said, holding one palm flat to the floor, above the other.
“You need to switch the balance. Elevate God’s opinion above your own,” he said, slowly moving the right hand level with the left.
“There is an element of pride at play here, in what you are doing, holding your own opinion of yourself above God’s opinion of you. God created you perfectly. Exactly as he wants you. What you tell yourself about yourself cannot and should not supersede God’s opinion of you,” he said, raising the right hand above the left.
Hallelujah.
We had a good chat. I thanked him for his insight.
“You have really helped me!” I told him.
“Not me. God is helping you,” he smiled back. In that moment, he looked so familiar. Like I knew him well, somehow, but could not place him.
It was genius really, because no amount of counselling or therapy or psychoanalysis or woo-woo healing can smash up a lie the way reason and logic can. This was exactly what I needed to hear.
I did realise all along, that advocating for the vaccine dead and injured was going to be a battle. In the early days of the roll out, during the summer of the 2021, I was talking to multiple vaccine injured people. They were under attack from all sides.
You will never read these personal testimonies, because I do not have permission to publish them.
Their families and friends refused to believe these people. Doctors ridiculed the assertion the vaccine was the cause. Jobs were lost. Incomes dried up. Nobody wanted to speak publicly, due to the chronic and catastrophic demonisation of anyone asking questions.
One profound conversation took place at the side of the road, when I’d pulled over to take a call. A man in Cork was suffering so badly after his first Pfizer vaccine he could barely function. He was refusing the second shot. His doctor didn’t believe him. He was facing the loss of his career and his income. His family were raging with him, for technically, he was ‘unvaccinated.’
As such, he was isolated from all family gatherings. He was suffering chronic pain, for which he could not find any help or solace. He would not speak publicly, for the fear of a vicious backlash, which would certainly have been the case.
For almost two hours, he talked about this excruciating scenario. There was nothing I could do, but listen, empathise, apologise.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the feeling after that call ended. As if all the blood had drained from my body.
Essentially, that state has continued for three years. It can’t be healthy of course, to know the truth but to be swept under the carpet and ignored, all the while knowing, that if even just one media outlet would publish the work, I could have perhaps have put a dent in the disaster.
Some of us have to reach the end of our tether to emerge back into the light, fighting. I am there now.
Thank God.
This trip to Medjugorje, a slavic name meaning ‘between two mountains’ has been illuminating on many fronts.
I’ve been here multiple times and I’ve learned that, when Our Blessed Mother wants you here, she will engineer the circumstances in inexplicable ways.
At Holy Mass on Monday, the Feast of the Annunciation, I took a seat beside a lady whom I knew I needed to speak to. I’d never seen her before. She must have known too, as when I turned to her after the closing blessing and whispered ‘will we talk outside?’ she smiled and said yes.
It’s an unusual feature of communication here, that chats are not idle words about weather or such things, but more usually profound insight specifically for your ears. Her name is Anne, she is from the UK and she spoke about ‘spiritual discouragement.’
“What is that?” I asked.
“When you become too involved in and weighed down by the world - you know, ordinary life, problems, challenges - everyday things, that draw you in and drag you down, causing you to lose your peace.”
“Demons hate it when someone is close to God,” she said.
“Such a person is always a target for them. They will seize on our reactions to worldly problems that get us down and use those vulnerable moments to attack us. They know our weaknesses and use them against us,” she said.
Hmm. That sounded plausible. I’d never heard of the phrase ‘spiritual discouragement’ before.
“It’s not so much demonic oppression, more of a state of discouragement. So coming here to a place like this is a wonderful remedy,” she said.
I asked Anne how things are in the UK, faith wise.
“Oh, well, it’s not great. But we have our own Catholic community locally, the numbers are small, but many of us are here, having a beautiful inspiring pilgrimage.”
“How are things in Ireland?” she asked.
“Crazy,” I told her.
“Ireland has really undergone quite a profound departure from the faith in such a short time. But being here, seeing so many devoted Irish priests and pilgrims gives me a lot of hope. I think through this place, the depth of Irish faith on display here, these people will be the saving of Ireland.”
Just as I said that l spoke that line, a flicker of light flashed between us. We both looked at the wall of the building by which we were standing and then to the ground below, looking for tangible evidence. I thought perhaps a feather or something had fallen from the roof. But there was nothing there.
“What was that?” she said.
“I don’t know,” I said, thinking privately, that perhaps it was a sign the heavens might that agree Ireland will turn again. There is hope.
Yesterday, looking for a particular place, I got lost. The weather’s been hot here for early Spring, up to 28 or 30 degrees most days. I found a church I’d never been in and went inside. It was cool and quiet and empty. On the altar, a simple slab of glass, was an open bible, nothing else.
The extract had the title: The Advocate:
‘And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to be with you always, the Spirit of Truth which the world cannot accept because it neither sees or knows it. But you know it, because it remains in you and will be in you.’
This morning I woke up early and got dressed before checking the time. When I looked at the phone, it was 3.33am. It’s beginning to get light outside. I am climbing up Krizevac or ‘Cross Mountain’ for the final time on this trip. The village cocks are crowing outside and the birds are beginning to sing. I have lots to think about and be thankful for. Many of you messaging privately mentioned your own faith, your inspirations and your woes. I am bringing you all up to the cross on the mountain with me this morning. So if there’s something you want to leave with the Lord, you need only send it this direction and let’s see what happens.
Thank you to Our Blessed Mother for bringing me here.
Thank you dear readers for your support.
Your advocation for the injured , dead and the silenced is Gods work . Keep going . Between two mountains .
Those that are ready to hear your messages will hear them. Keep up the good work Louise.