THE HOLY NAME

 

Dear Diary,

It was 18 degrees when we stood out by the mailbox, waiting for Robert. The cold made everything look extra clear, like even the bare trees were holding their breath. When Robert’s truck came, it felt like a little rescue, and off we went to Mass with MINI tucked in close.

Today’s meditation was about the Holy Name of Jesus, and Fr. LeRoy helped us understand why that name is not just a name—it is a gift Heaven chose on purpose. He reminded us how the angel told Mary and St. Joseph exactly what to call Him: Jesus, because He would save His people from their sins. That part made me feel both small and safe at the same time. Small, because I forget how serious sin is. Safe, because Jesus didn’t come to scold us from far away—He came to save us from close up.

The meditation said that from the very beginning, even as a tiny Baby, Jesus already showed He was willing to suffer for love of us. And Fr. LeRoy said something like, “If the first drops of His Precious Blood were given so early, then His love is not a late thing—it is an early thing, a forever thing.” I thought about that all through Mass.

But the part that stayed brightest in my mind was how the meditation ties the Holy Name to our whole day. It said we should do everything in the Name of Jesus—our thoughts, words, chores, joys, and even the hard parts. And then it said the motto plain as day:

All for Jesus.

That’s the part I was particularly taken with. Because “All for Jesus” doesn’t feel like a poster or a slogan when you really think about the Holy Name. It feels like a key that opens the right way to live. Like if I say, “Jesus,” with reverence, it pulls my mind back into the light, and makes me want my actions to match my prayers.

So I decided I want to begin things more carefully. Not only the big things—also the little ones, like washing up, doing chores, starting my schoolwork, and being patient when I don’t feel like it. If Jesus’ Name is above all names, then my day should lean toward it, like a sunflower leans toward the sun.

After Communion, I whispered His Name very softly—just “Jesus”—and it felt like a small peace dropped right into my heart. MINI was quiet and steady too, and I noticed that even her stillness helped me stay still inside.

On the ride home, I kept thinking how the meditation said we should carry His Name in our hearts and on our lips. I want that this year. I want to belong to Him in a real way—not halfway.

Resolution: I will often whisper the Holy Name “Jesus” today with love and confidence, and I will begin my work by saying, “All for Jesus.”

Spiritual Bouquet: “O Jesus, be to me Jesus, and save me.”

Love,

Kathy

January 1st — Something Waiting in the Grove

Dear Diary,

I woke up while it was still quiet-dark, and I don’t know how to explain it except that something pulled at me to go to the old garage in the grove. Not like a loud voice—more like a steady tug in my heart, the way you suddenly remember something important and can’t rest until you go and see.

I bundled up and slipped outside. The cold woke me up fast. The grove was all white and hushed, and the branches were frosted like they had been dipped in sugar. The garage was almost out of sight, tucked back where you have to know it’s there.

Inside, hanging right where it always hangs, was that old calendar page—faded, worn, and a little torn around the edges. It shows Baby Jesus with angels leaning close, and the dates are printed beneath, but some of the ink has gone pale. It is just paper, and it has never changed.

But this morning it felt like something was waiting for me there.

I looked at the calendar and my heart began to “see” more than my eyes were seeing. For a moment it was as if God allowed that worn old picture to become part of the real scene—like the poor little garage was a shelter, and the gentle faces were truly near. Not in a way I could prove—just in the quiet way a gift is given to a tender heart.

Then I thought of the meditation for today, and how Jesus shed His Precious Blood even at the beginning—how love started right away for Him. And when I remembered what was ahead of Him later, my eyes filled up and I cried right there in the grove where nobody could see me.

I came back inside still feeling it. The Spiritual Bouquet kept repeating in my mind like a little bell: “Today I will begin.”I want to begin this year by giving Jesus my first moments, not my leftovers, and by letting Him cut away what is vain or proud in me.

Evening Prayer

O dear Jesus, thank You for loving me first, and for beginning my salvation at the very beginning of Your life. Please help me begin this new year with true love and steady obedience. Remove what is proud, impatient, or lazy in me, and make me faithful in little duties. Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, keep me close to Your Son. Amen.

Love, Kathy.

The Last Day of the Year

Dear Diary,

The cold spell is still hanging on like it has a claim on us. The windows looked all frosty again this morning, and even the floors felt extra hard on my feet. But Sister Mary Claire said, “We’ll begin the last day of the year the right way,” and she did.

First off was breakfast, and it was so good it felt like a little feast. Sister made hot ham and egg sandwiches with mayo and butter lettuce. And the best part was how she grilled the buns—she put a bit of soft butter on the inside of each one and pressed them down in the frying pan until they turned warm and toasty and just perfect. The kitchen smelled like comfort. I kept thinking, If the whole year could taste like this, it would be a fine year indeed.

All day, that line from the meditation stayed in my mind: “Work whilst it is day.” It didn’t make me feel scared exactly… it made me feel awake. Like the year is a gift and you’re supposed to notice it, and use it, and not just let it slide by like water under the ice.

We went to Evening Mass, bundled up tight. The air out there bit at our cheeks, and the sky looked pale and serious, like it knew what day it was. At church, Father LeRoy talked about year’s end—how we can’t go back and fix yesterday, but we can bring it to God, and start again with more love and more attention. He said that when we stand before Jesus someday, it won’t be our big talk that matters, but our daily duties done with faith—our kindness, our patience, our prayers, and our little sacrifices.

On the way home, I thought about the past year like the meditation said—both the blessings and the hard parts. I thought about how God fed us in so many ways, and how many times He helped me when I didn’t even know I needed it. And I also thought about my faults. I don’t want to be lazy with my heart. I don’t want to waste days.

Tonight the house is quiet, and it feels like 1956 is packing its little suitcase and standing at the door. I’m sad to say goodbye, but also kind of hopeful, like the Lord is giving me a clean page.

So… good-bye, dear diary, for 1956.

New Year’s Resolution

In 1957, I will do my duties right away, without complaining, and I will offer them to Jesus with special fervor and zeal—especially when I don’t feel like it. And I will say a small prayer before I begin my work, so I remember who I’m working for.

Good night, dear Diary.

What Will January Bring?

 

Dear Diary,

This morning the thermometer said 7° below zero, and the wind chill was 40 below—the kind of cold that doesn’t just bite, it feels like it’s trying to steal your breath. Even the world outside looked scared of itself.

Because it was so terribly cold, Holy Mass at St. Mary’s was canceled, and everyone was encouraged to stay indoors except for the most necessary chores—especially tending the livestock. I missed church so much, but I understood. Sister Mary Claire said that when the weather turns dangerous, obedience can look like staying put and keeping life safe.

We kept the stove working like it was our little guardian. That load of oak our good neighbor brought is being put to very good use—each log feels like a gift all over again. The house warmed up in layers, slowly, the way a person warms up after being out in the cold too long.

I brought Omelette inside, my brown hen, because I couldn’t stand the thought of her in that sharp air. She blinked her eyes like she couldn’t believe she had been invited into the warm house, and then she settled as calm as anything. Mini stayed close to us and watched everything like she was on duty too.

Sister Mary Claire had me let the water trickle at the hydrant so the pipes wouldn’t freeze. That soft little sound of running water felt almost brave, like a small voice saying, “We are not giving up.”

And today I kept thinking about the shepherds in the meditation—how they hastened to the crib without waiting for comfort or perfect conditions. They went because God called. And even though we couldn’t “go” to Mass today, I felt like we could still hasten in our own way: hasten to our duties, hasten to protect what God has placed in our care, hasten to gratitude instead of complaining.

Still… I looked out at the drifting snow and that hard blue sky and thought, what will January bring? If December can be this fierce, I wonder what the next month is saving up. Sister Mary Claire said we shouldn’t borrow trouble, but it’s hard not to wonder when the cold feels so strong.

Tonight I am praying for everyone—especially anyone who has to be out in this weather, and anyone whose stove is weak or whose woodpile is low.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus,

Please keep us safe in this bitter cold. Watch over our animals, our neighbors, and everyone who has to work outdoors. Thank You for our warm stove and the oak wood that is keeping us alive and comfortable. Help me to be simple and faithful like the shepherds—quick to do Your will, and quick to thank You.

Amen.

Resolution

Tomorrow I will do my duties promptly and cheerfully, and I will offer the day’s cold and inconvenience to Jesus without grumbling.

Love, Kathy

Little Bethlehem

Dear Diary,

This morning Sister Mary Claire and I woke up and the thermometer said +6°. It was the kind of cold that makes the whole world feel extra quiet, like even the trees are trying not to crackle.

Sister had the stove going right away, and our little house warmed up so quickly it felt like it wanted to be cozy for us. We ate oatmeal with heavy whipping cream, and honestly it brought all things together in a way that felt almost like a promise—plain and good and steady.

Mini was right there, of course, watching every spoonful like it was her personal duty to make sure nothing bad happened to even one flake of oatmeal. Her reward was a spoonful oatmeal left in my dish topped with another spoon of whipping cream.

When I put on my parka and scarf, I bundled so tight my face was hardly showing. Sister laughed softly and said I looked like a little winter pilgrim. Mini trotted around my boots like she was helping.

Robert picked us up for Mass, and when we stepped outside the cold grabbed hold of us again. I climbed into the pickup with my scarf pulled up high, and Sister tucked me in just a little more, the way she does, like she’s making sure I’m safe from the whole wide winter.

At Church, Father LeRoy talked about the angels singing over Bethlehem—how they gave glory to God first, and then how peace came to men of good will. He said the angels weren’t just making a beautiful sound. They were showing what order our hearts should be in: God first, and then everything else finds its right place.

He said if we try to glorify God in the small things—our chores, our words, our “yes” when we don’t feel like it—then peace starts to settle in us, not like a loud feeling, but like a steady one that doesn’t get knocked over so easily. He even said the angels adore Jesus with such purity and love, and we can join them in our own little way, even if we’re just ordinary people in winter coats.

I kept thinking about that: joining the angels in a “little way.” It made me feel like even my small prayers count, like I can kneel there with my cold hands and still be close to Bethlehem.

When we got home, the house felt warm again, and Mini looked so pleased, like she had successfully guided us through the whole adventure.

My Resolution

Today I will try to give God glory first—especially in the little moments—so His peace can stay in my heart.

Evening Prayer

O Jesus, newborn King, let me love You with a clean and happy heart. Help me to praise You like the angels do, and to do my duties with good will. Put Your peace inside our home and inside me. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Feast of the Holy Innocents

Dear Diary,

It was 29 degrees today, and the world looked quiet and frosty, like it was holding its breath. Robert came to pick us up for Church, and the truck felt like a little warm shelter from the cold. Sister Mary Claire reminded me to offer up the chill as a small gift to Baby Jesus.

At Mass, Father LeRoy spoke about the Holy Innocents Meditation. He said their suffering was terribly unjust, but that God can gather even sorrow into His hands and bring good from it. Father explained that we don’t need big dramatic trials to love God well—sometimes it’s the little hardships that teach us patience and courage, if we unite them to Jesus instead of complaining.

After Church, before we went home, Sister Mary Claire treated Robert and me to waffles at the Breakfast Club, and we got to see the four cousins again—Hayden, Caleb, Sasha, and Max—busy and cheerful as always. Caleb showed us their small butter churn from England, and he was already studying it like a puzzle, talking about how he could motorize it so it would churn steady and smooth without wearing anyone out. He kept turning the handle, peeking at the parts, and explaining his ideas with that serious, excited look. Robert watched him for a minute and said, “That boy’s got the hand of an engineer,” and Caleb just grinned like he’d been told something important.

The waffle tasted extra wonderful with butter churned right there.

On the way out, Sister said something she once read from G. K. Chesterton—that the world is full of wonders when we don’t get too heavy inside. I liked that, because it made me think: even on a day with a sad feast, God still gives warm trucks, good people, and butter-churned waffles.

Back home, I kept thinking about Father’s words—how God can turn even hard things toward good, and how I want to be brave in the small ways.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, keep my heart gentle and faithful.

Help me carry today’s little hardships with love, and not with grumbling.

Bless Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and our cousins.

Amen.

Love, Kathy

A Clean Heart Walk to The Grotto

 

Dear Diary,

This morning Sister Mary Claire and I read the meditation for St. John before Mass, while the church was still quiet and cold and everything felt extra still—like the world was holding its breath after Christmas.

It said St. John loved Jesus with such a clean heart that he could rest close to Him at the Last Supper, right against His Sacred Heart. I kept thinking about that word clean… not just hands and aprons and kitchen towels, but a clean heart—like nothing sticky inside, nothing mean, nothing secret that I wouldn’t want Jesus to find.

Sister told me, “Purity of heart doesn’t mean you never get tempted, Kathy. It means you don’t invite the ugly thoughts in and make a home for them.” That helped me, because sometimes thoughts come like cold wind sneaking under the door.

Father LeRoy expounded on it in his homily and said St. John was trusted because his love was simple and true—like a child’s love. Then Father talked about how Jesus gave Mary to St. John at the Cross and said, “Behold thy mother.” Father said it’s like Jesus was making a warm family right in the middle of sorrow—so no one would be alone. I looked at Sister then, and I felt that same thing: like our little life is tucked under Mary’s mantle if we let it be.

After Mass it was another clear, cold day—blue sky and bright sun that doesn’t warm much, but makes everything sparkle anyway. We made a quick trip to Indian Creek. The path was crunchy under our boots, and the air pinched my nose. We visited Shaggy Coat (he was busy, like always) and then we went to the Blessed Mother at the grotto. I stood there and tried to be quiet in my thoughts—not just quiet in my mouth—and I asked Mary to help me love Jesus the way St. John did: close up, not far away.

Tonight, as I’m writing this, I keep remembering the line: “Blessed are the clean of heart.” I want to be that kind of blessed—not the loud kind, but the kind that makes room for Jesus to stay.

Evening Prayer

O Jesus, give me a clean heart like a little white dish that’s been rinsed and set out for You. Dear Mary, be my Mother and keep me close to Your Son. St. John, help me love Jesus simply and truly. Amen.

Resolution

For love of Jesus and Mary, I will guard my heart today—especially my eyes, my words, and my thoughts—and I will choose what is pure and kind.

Love, Kathy.