At the beginning of Advent, her sufferings were a little soothed by
sweet visions of the preparations made by the Blessed Virgin to leave
her home, and then of her whole journey with St. Joseph to Bethlehem.
She accompanied them each day to the humble inns where they rested for
the night, or went on before them to prepare their lodgings. During
this time she used to take old pieces of linen, and at night, while
sleeping, make them into baby clothes and caps for the children of poor
women, the times of whose confinements were near at hand. The next day
she would be surprised to see all these things neatly arranged in her
drawers. This happened to her every year about the same time, but this
year she had more fatigue and less consolation. Thus, at the hour of
our Saviour's birth, when she was usually perfectly overwhelmed with joy,
she could only crawl with the greatest difficulty to the crib where the
Child Jesus was lying, and bring him no present but myrrh, no offering
but her cross, beneath the weight of which she sank down half dying at
his feet. It seemed as though she were for the last time making up her
earthly accounts with God, and for the last time also offering herself
in the place of a countless number of men who were spiritually and
corporally afflicted. Even the little that is known of the manner in
which she took upon herself the sufferings of others is almost
incomprehensible. She very truly said: 'This year the Child Jesus has
only brought me a cross and instruments of suffering.'

She became each day more and more absorbed in her sufferings, and
although she continued to see Jesus travelling from city to city during
his public life, the utmost she ever said on the subject was, briefly
to name in which direction he was going. Once, she asked suddenly in a
scarcely audible voice, 'What day is it?' When told that it was the 14th of
January, she added: 'Had I but a few days more, I should have related the