Warm Hearts in the Cold

Dear Diary,

Brrrr! This morning the thermometer said 33 degrees, and the north wind came charging down the road like it had business of its own. Sister Mary Claire called it a “biting wind,” and she was right—it felt like a thousand tiny needles pricking at my cheeks. I wrapped my scarf twice around my neck, but Mini still squinted into the gusts as if it might blow her ears right off.

Robert’s old Ford pickup came rattling up the lane, and we hurried out, crunching through the frost. Sister climbed in and Mini leapt straight onto her lap. The heater hummed nicely, filling the cab with warmth and the smell of hay from Robert’s coat. Out the window, the fields were bare—just the brown stubble of corn left behind and a few crows hopping about, looking for what the pickers missed.

At St. Mary’s, the stove was glowing red, and everyone seemed thankful for it. Father LeRoy read from Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans, where Paul sent greetings to all those who had worked beside him—Prisca, Aquila, Mary, and so many others who gave their strength and love to the Church. Father said in his homily that these names remind us that every good work for Christ, no matter how small, is noticed by Heaven. He said the Church isn’t built from stone alone but from hearts joined in friendship and faith, just as Saint Paul’s helpers were his family in Christ.

I liked that thought—that even faraway names, read aloud on a cold morning, can warm us like friends gathered around a stove.

When we rode home, Mini’s nose left little fog prints on the window, and Sister smiled, saying, “Even the smallest one has her part in God’s great family.” Robert chuckled and said, “Then this little one must be the parish greeter.”

Now the wind still howls around the house, but inside it’s cozy. The stove crackles, Mini’s asleep by my feet, and Sister is knitting by the lamp. My heart feels thankful for every friend God’s placed in our path.

Love, Kathy

 

The Children of Light

Dear Diary,

It was another cold November morning, and the frost on the windows looked like tiny stars. Robert’s pickup rumbled at the end of the walk, and Sister Mary Claire called for me to hurry. Mini got her usual lift into the cab, and I climbed in beside her, my gloves stiff from the chill. The heater hummed warmly, and I watched the countryside roll past—rows of heavy, broken corn stalks bending low, the ears of corn all gone, leaving only the sharp stubble shining pale in the light.

At St. Mary’s, Father LeRoy spoke about the steward in today’s Gospel, the one who tried to fix his mistakes after wasting what was given to him. He said Jesus wants us to be clever too, but not in a selfish way—to use our minds and hearts for goodness and truth. “The children of light,” he said, “see things clearly and live honestly before God.” I liked that thought—it felt simple and right.

In the afternoon, when the sun peeked out for a bit, I went down to the grotto with Mini. The air was cold and still, and our breath floated like smoke. Mini followed close as I knelt before Mary’s statue. I prayed the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary softly, asking her to help me be one of those “children of light” Father talked about. Mini curled up in the dry grass behind me, and everything felt peaceful and good.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for this day and for Mary who listens when I speak from my heart. Help me to be honest, kind, and full of Your light in all I do. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Our Lady of Loreto (Camp Littlemore)

 

The Crackle of Kindness

 

Dear Diary,

It was another cold morning at Camp Littlemore, the kind that makes your nose tingle when you first step outside. Sister Mary Claire was up early with the stove going, and I could hear the crackle of the wooden pallet she’d cut up with her hand saw yesterday. The smell of the wood burning mixed with oatmeal and toast made the whole kitchen feel extra homey. Mini sat by the stove, her paws tucked under and her eyes half closed, looking as though she was saying her own morning prayer.

When we stepped outside, the frost still covered the steps, and our breath came out in little white puffs. Robert’s pickup was waiting at the end of the walk, engine running warm and steady. He leaned over and waved as we came down. Mini trotted ahead, but the step was too tall, so I gave her a little boost up into the cab. She landed right on Sister’s lap and pressed her nose against the glass, fogging it up with her breath.

The ride to St. Mary’s was quiet except for the hum of the heater and the sound of gravel under the tires. Inside the church, the stove was glowing red-hot, and everyone looked cheerful to be near it. Father LeRoy read from Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans, about how none of us live for ourselves but for the Lord, and how whether we live or die, we belong to Him.

In his homily, he said that we don’t need grand things to show love for God—only to live each day kindly and patiently, remembering that our lives are His gift. I thought of that as we drove home, with the cold air outside and the warmth still in my heart.

Now the stove crackles again, burning the rest of Sister’s pallet wood, and Mini is curled beside my chair. The house feels safe and peaceful.

Love,

Kathy

Queen of Mercy

Dear Diary,
 
It was 41 degrees this morning, and the countryside looked so still and bare. As Robert’s pickup rumbled down the lane, all I could see were empty fields of corn stubble left behind after the harvest—short, broken stalks sticking out of the brown earth, stretching as far as the eye could see. The wind skimmed low across them, whispering over the frozen ground. It felt like the whole land was resting after its long season of work.

Robert had the heater running, and the cab was warm and humming. Mini sat on Sister Mary Claire’s lap by the window, her nose pressed to the glass, leaving fog circles that faded as quickly as they appeared. I kept my gloves on and watched the fields slip by, feeling thankful for the quiet.

At St. Mary’s, the stove glowed and made the air smell faintly of oak wood. Father LeRoy’s homily today was from The Glories of Mary by Saint Alphonsus de Liguori. He told the story of a woman named Mary who had lived a sinful life and died all alone in a cave. Everyone believed she was lost forever. But just before her death, she turned to the Blessed Mother and prayed with her last breath:

“Lady, thou art the refuge of the abandoned; behold me at this hour deserted by all.”

And the Blessed Mother heard her. Through that single, sorrowful prayer, Our Lady helped her make an act of contrition, and her soul was saved. Later, she appeared shining like the sun to tell how Mary’s mercy had lifted her to Heaven. Father said this shows that Mary is not a faraway queen but a merciful one—her greatest joy is helping souls who seem beyond hope. He said her crown in Heaven will be made of all those she has helped save.

On the drive home, the fields looked lonelier than ever—just acres of corn stubble glinting in the weak sunlight—but somehow they didn’t seem empty anymore. I thought of that woman’s last prayer and how even a single whisper to Mary can be enough.


Evening Prayer:

Dear Mother Mary, Queen of Mercy, thank you for hearing every prayer, even from hearts that seem lost. Help me to trust your love always, and let your mercy shine through the quiet fields tonight.


Love,

Kathy

Waiting for the Seeds of Grace

Dear Diary,

The morning was mild, about 45°, and a soft fog drifted over the corn stubble as Robert’s pickup came to the end of our walk. Sister Mary Claire and I climbed in while Robert reached down to lift little Mini into the cab—she can never quite make the jump herself. The new heater filled the cab with warm air, and we rode the gravel road to St. Mary’s with the windows slowly clearing and the countryside still half-asleep.

At morning Mass, Father LeRoy was full of cheer. Afterward, he told Sister and me that he had started re-reading The Glories of Mary again. He said it feels new every time, like drawing from a fountain that never runs dry. He smiled and quoted St. Augustine, who wrote that even if all the members of men were turned into tongues, they still couldn’t praise her enough. “You see,” he said, “the more you praise Mary, the more there is to praise—because love, when it’s true, keeps growing.”

On the ride home, Robert talked about how he’d soon be moving the cattle closer to the barn for the winter. I looked out the window at the brown, quiet fields. Though they seemed still, they didn’t look empty—only waiting. Waiting for spring, when new seeds will be tucked into the soil again. It made me think of Our Lady, whose heart was always ready for whatever God wished to plant there.

Evening Prayer:

O Blessed Mother, let my heart, like the fields, be open and waiting—ready for the seeds of grace God chooses to sow.

Love, Kathy

A Kindness that Cannot be Repaid

Dear Diary,

It was milder this morning, about 46°, which felt almost warm after the frosty days we’ve had. The gravel road was damp but not frozen, and the air smelled sweet and earthy. Robert’s pickup rumbled up right on time, and Mini gave her little hop of excitement before he helped her into the cab. At church, Father LeRoy already had the wood stove going, and the warmth filled the plaster walls so nicely.

Today’s Gospel reading was from Saint Luke, about Jesus telling the Pharisee not to invite only his friends or relatives to dinner, but to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. Father LeRoy said that Jesus wants us to give without expecting anything in return—that’s how we share in God’s generosity. He told us that true charity means doing good quietly, for those who cannot repay us, because God Himself will repay in His own time. I liked that. I thought about how Sister Mary Claire always saves a basket of eggs for Mrs. Donovan at the edge of town. She never tells anyone.

Mini stayed perfectly still under the pew between my legs, her warm little body pressed against my shoes. I think she likes the quiet hum of Father’s voice and the soft echo of prayers around her. When we knelt, she shifted just enough to keep her chin on my shoe.

After chores this evening, Sister read a few pages from The Glories of Mary, and Mini snoozed beside the stove. The night feels gentle and peaceful, and I keep thinking about how kindness doesn’t always have to be seen to be real.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, teach me to give with a happy heart, and to love others the way You do, quietly and kindly.

Amen.

Love, Kathy 

All Souls Day

Dear Diary,

This morning was gray and still, the kind of November quiet that makes your heart slow down and listen. Robert’s pickup was warm as toast—he’s proud of that new heater—and Mini curled up on Sister Mary Claire’s lap for the ride to St. Mary’s. The cornfields looked bare and silvery under the cold sky, and I thought of how everything seems to sleep, waiting for spring.

At Mass, Father LeRoy’s homily was about the holy souls in purgatory—the faithful departed who are being cleansed in God’s mercy before they see Him face to face. He said love never ends at the grave, it only deepens. He spoke about St. Thomas Aquinas too, how he taught that the soul is the “form of the body”—the light God breathes into each of us that doesn’t die when our body does. Sister Mary Claire whispered afterward that it’s like the wick that keeps the flame alive. I liked that. It made me think how prayers are like little sparks sent upward to brighten the souls still waiting.

This afternoon the wind rattled the windows, so we stayed close to the stove. Sister brought out her old hymn and prayer book from Sister Doloretta, and together we prayed the Litany of Loreto for the holy souls. Mini lay at our feet, her chin resting on her paws, as if she understood every word. We prayed slowly, with pauses between the “pray for us,” so each name we remembered might drift heavenward like incense.

After supper, we listened to Bishop Barron’s radio sermon. He said All Souls Day is a feast of friendship—that we pray not out of duty, but out of love, because the Church is one family stretching from earth to Heaven. I thought that was the nicest way to say it.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

hold close the souls who wait in Your mercy.
Let our prayers be gentle lights
guiding them safely home to You.

Love,

Kathy