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.
Source: The Lady of All Nations Foundation,
The Messages of the Lady of All Nations, Amsterdam, 1999