A Kettle-and-Chicken Day (–9°)

 

Dear Diary,

It was –9 degrees today, the kind of cold that bites your eyelashes and makes the whole world feel brittle. We were supposed to go to Mass, but Robert couldn’t come—he was having livestock trouble. One of his cows had gotten out on the corn stubble again, and he was trying to push her off the field and into his little cattle shed, and it just wouldn’t go right. So the church ride didn’t happen, and we stayed home, where the Lord had plenty of work waiting anyway.

Sister Mary Claire said, “Then we’ll do our duties with extra love,” and we spent the day caring for everything at Littlemore. The chickens were my special worry. Their water kept trying to turn into a solid block, so I kept a tea kettle on the stove all day. Every two hours, like a little bell inside my head, I took the kettle out to the chicken house. I gathered eggs, too—warm ones tucked under cold feathers—and then I poured hot water into the pan to melt what had started to ice over. It felt like such a small thing, but in that kind of weather it’s the difference between comfort and misery for our hens. Sister and I worked together, and even though the wind made our faces sting, we didn’t complain much—because there were hungry creatures counting on us.

Later, when we finally warmed our hands again, Sister and I read today’s meditation together about the labor of Jesus in His hidden life. It said Jesus chose poor, ordinary work—hard work—like a carpenter, and that He did it on purpose to sanctify labor and make it something holy. Sister explained it in a way I could really understand. She said Jesus didn’t just work with His hands—He worked with His heart pointed straight at His Father the whole time. Even when He was doing the plainest chores, He stayed in prayer inside, and He offered every bit of effort like a gift.

Sister told me that’s how we can make our own work shine to God too:

First, we should do our duties because they are God’s will for us right now, not because we feel like it.

Second, we should keep our intention clean—no showing off, no grumbling, no doing things only for praise—just doing them for love.

Third, we can keep a little “thread” of prayer going while we work, like whispering, “Jesus, I do this with You,”even if our hands are busy.

And lastly, when the work feels heavy or dull, we can offer that part as a small penance, the way Jesus bore the heat of the day without being seen by crowds.

When I went back out with the kettle again, I tried it. I held the warm handle and thought, Jesus worked in a little workshop. I’m working in a little chicken house. He knows what it is to do small things over and over. Somehow the cold didn’t feel quite so bossy after that.

Tonight the stove is still going, and the kettle is finally resting. Sister and I are tired in the good way—like the day was used up the way it ought to be.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, who did all things well, thank You for the hidden work of this day. Please bless Robert and help him with his cow, and keep all the animals safe in this terrible cold. Teach me to do even the smallest chores with a clean heart, without complaining, and to stay close to You while I work. Let my hands be helpful, and let my work be an offering of love. Mary, keep us under your mantle tonight, and keep our home warm and peaceful. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Omelette is Safe Inside

Dear Diary,

Today the temperature took a tumble clear down to minus 15 degrees, and it felt like the whole world got hushed up and told to stay put. Everything was called off—no Church, no travel, no going anywhere—just a stay-at-home day where you listen to the stove and the wind and try to keep things alive and warm.

Right away I carried firewood indoors and filled the wood box heaping, like I was building a little wall of safety right in the kitchen. I kept thinking about Robert and his generous nature, and how he makes sure we’re never caught short. Because of him, we were warm and safe, even when the cold tried to boss the whole farm around.

I brought Omelette inside, too. She was so sweet and calm, like she understood the rules of a bitter day. I kept her close while Sister Mary Claire and I watched the clock and planned our little dashes outside. Because the hens can’t be forgotten on a day like this.

And Mini helped us every time.

Every two hours, I’d pull on my coat and mittens, and Mini would come bouncing up like she was saying, “I’m ready! I’m on duty!” Sister would open the door just quick, and Mini and I would run out together—straight to the henhouse like a little rescue team. The cold air bit hard, and the snow squeaked under our boots, but Mini didn’t care. She trotted right beside me, nose up, ears alert, and when I crouched to gather eggs, she stood watch like a tiny farm guardian.

Sometimes I had to laugh because she looked so serious out there, like she was counting eggs with me. Then we’d hurry back in, and Sister Mary Claire would shut the door fast and brush the snow off my shoulders, and Mini would do a quick happy circle by the stove like she’d just completed an important mission.

Since we couldn’t go to Mass, Sister Mary Claire said, smiling, that she would fill in for Father LeRoy today. We sat down with our daily meditation and read about how Jesus lived at Nazareth and “was subject” to Mary and Joseph.

Sister explained it so I could understand: that Jesus is the Lord of everything, but He chose to obey anyway—cheerful and quick and loving—like obedience was His hidden work, the way we do chores without anyone clapping for us.

She said the prettiest part was that it wasn’t just “doing what you’re told”—it was Jesus giving His whole heart to it, to please His Heavenly Father.

And she told me something I’m going to try hard to remember: that real obedience brings a kind of peace, because you can say, “I am where God wants me, doing what He wants me to do.”

So I tried to live it today in small ways—getting up right away when it was time to check the hens, not fussing, not dragging my feet, and offering my little will to God like a warm gift instead of a stubborn stone. Even those quick runs with Mini felt like part of it—like my small obedience could be tucked right in with Jesus’ hidden days.

The rest of the day settled around the stove and the ticking clock and the radio weather updates, with the wind moaning outside like it was looking for a crack to sneak through. But our home felt steady. Sister kept the fire going, I kept the wood coming, Mini kept helping with every egg-gathering dash, and Omelette kept blinking at us like she was thankful for every warm minute.

Tonight, before bed, I’m making my resolution simple: In all my actions, I will try to unite myself with the obedience of Jesus.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, hidden and humble at Nazareth, help me to obey with a willing heart. Keep our home warm and safe tonight, bless Robert for his goodness, and watch over our hens in this hard cold. Bless Mini for her faithful little help, and let me be where You want me, doing what You want, with peace. Amen.

Love, Kathy

The Hidden Life at Indian Creek

Dear Diary,


This morning Robert came to pick us up for Church, and it felt like the whole world was still half-asleep—fields all white and quiet, and the road looking like it went on forever through the cold. Sister Mary Claire sat close and calm, like she always does, and Mini rode along like a little lady, sitting up proper with her show-dog face, watching everything out the window as if she was guarding us.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained the meditation about the Hidden Life of Jesus at Nazareth—how Jesus, even though He is the Son of God, chose to live for years where hardly anyone noticed Him, working in an ordinary little town, doing humble duties, and being subject to Mary and Joseph. Father said that the hidden life isn’t wasted at all. Jesus was doing the Will of His Father the whole time, and teaching us that the small, plain things can be very great when they’re done for God. 

All the way home, I kept thinking about that word hidden. It made me think of Littlemore Farm, because so much of our life is quiet and ordinary too—chores that don’t look important to anybody else, like carrying wood, helping where Sister needs me, keeping things tidy, and doing what I’m told without making a fuss. And then it made me think of my hidden cave by Indian Creek—how it’s tucked away and you wouldn’t even know it’s there unless you were really looking. When I’m down there, it feels like the world can’t reach me, and it’s easier to remember that God sees things even when nobody else does.

Sometimes I like being hidden because it feels safe and peaceful. But sometimes I want to do something big so people will notice, and then I feel a little ashamed of that. Today I understood better what Father meant: Jesus could have “manifested Himself,” but He didn’t—He chose quiet obedience, and He loved it, because it pleased His Father. So maybe my cave isn’t only a hiding place. Maybe it can be like my little Nazareth—where I learn how to do my plain duties with love, and where I practice being happy with Jesus even if nobody is clapping for me.

Mini doesn’t worry about being seen at all. If she’s with us, she’s content—and that made me think: maybe the secret of the hidden life is just that… being with Jesus, and letting that be enough.

Resolution (Hidden Life): I will try to do my ordinary actions carefully and sweetly—especially the hidden ones—so Jesus can be pleased with me, even if nobody notices.




Love, Kathy

About My Father's Business

 

Dear Diary,

This morning the air felt shaxrp enough to snap, but it was warmer than it has been, and the thermometer said 17 degrees above zero. Sister Mary Claire and I were already waiting at the mailbox when Robert came along in his pickup, and we were all glad we didn’t have to walk in that biting cold. Mini was up on the big rock like a little sentry, sitting so proud and still, as if she had been put in charge of watching the whole farm.

At Mass, Father LeRoy tied our meditation to the scene of Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the Temple. He explained how Mary said, “Son, why hast Thou done so to us?”—not like a scolding at all, but like a loving mother who had been worried sick, and she spoke her sorrow honestly because she loved Him so much. Father said it helped me to see that it isn’t wrong to tell Jesus when something hurts, as long as we do it humbly and don’t let our hearts get cranky and hopeless. He said if we would pour our grief out at Jesus’ feet instead of scattering it all over the world, we’d find a kind of consolation the world can’t give.

Then Father talked about Jesus’ answer: “Did you not know, that I must be about my Father’s business?” He said Mary and Joseph didn’t understand everything right away, but they adored God’s plan anyway, and Mary kept the words in her heart. He told us to learn that—accepting what God shows us, doing the duties right in front of us, and not prying into tomorrow like we can force it open. And he said before we begin things—especially prayers and devotions—we should renew our good intention, so our day belongs to God on purpose and not just by accident.

All day long I kept thinking about that: my Father’s business. Even simple things can be His business if I do them for love. When I was helping with our ordinary tasks and trying not to drift into silly thoughts, I kept whispering inside, “Jesus, I’m doing this for You.” And when I felt a little lonely in the cold air, I remembered Mary searching for Jesus sorrowing, and I asked her to teach me how to keep my heart steady and faithful.

Resolution: Before my prayers and my work, I will quietly renew my intention: “Jesus, this is for You.”

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, keep my mind and heart turned toward You. If I feel sorrow or confusion, help me to bring it straight to You—humbly and trustfully—like Mary did. Teach me to be about my Father’s business in the little things, and to love Your will more than my own. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Found in the Temple

Dear Diary,

 

It was 2 degrees above zero this morning, the kind of cold that makes the air feel like it has little sharp edges. Robert picked us up, and Mini sat so proper beside me, but I could tell she wanted to tuck her nose down and disappear into my coat.

When we got to St. Mary’s, it was colder than usual inside—because Father LeRoy had overslept. Robert didn’t even make a fuss. He just went right to the stove like he belonged there and started the fire up. Sister Mary Claire hurried over to the rectory to wake Father, and no one looked shocked at all. It’s almost like everyone already knows: Father is a good man, and once in a while he just sleeps too hard.

By the time Father came in, his cheeks were red—partly from the cold and partly from being embarrassed. But he had his homily notes all ready, and the church was already starting to warm. Nobody said one cross word. I think it’s because Father is the kind of priest that makes you feel safe, like he’s truly trying his best for Jesus and for us.

Father talked about Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the Temple after searching for three days. He said if we want to find Jesus, we shouldn’t go hunting through noisy, mixed-up places first. We should go where He loves to be found: in God’s house, and especially near the Blessed Sacrament, where He waits so quietly. Father also said there is another “temple” we forget about—our own heart—and Jesus wants to dwell there too, if we keep it peaceful and let Him speak inside.

Mini was very still during the homily (as still as a corgi can be), only giving one little sigh that sounded like she agreed with everything. When we got home, the cold followed us right in the door, but it felt warmer in my mind, like I had found something important and didn’t want to lose it again.

Evening Prayer:

O Jesus, help me to find You quickly when I feel far away. Help me to look for You in Your church, close to the tabernacle, and also in the quiet temple of my own heart. Make me humble and ready to listen. Keep Father LeRoy, Robert, Sister Mary Claire, and Mini safe through this bitter cold night. Amen.

Love, Kathy

A Window-Seat Howl and Suspicious Tracks

 

Dear Diary,

It was minus 5 degrees when the alarm went off, but our day truly started at 3:00 a.m. because Mini suddenly jumped up onto the window seat and let out a howl—long and wild—like a little coyote right inside our own house.

Sister Mary Claire and I sat straight up. Thinking she needed to go out, we made it a quick trip. The cold air bit our cheeks, and the snow squeaked under our boots. Mini acted very watchful the whole time—ears out flat like airplane wings, nose working, eyes searching the dark as if she could hear something far away. We didn’t see anything moving, but when Sister held the lantern low, we found something amiss: suspicious tracks crossing the yard where they shouldn’t have been. That made my heart beat faster, because it meant something really had been out there, even if it had already slipped away.

When we got back inside, Sister Mary Claire said, in her gentle way, that Mini knows things we don’t, and we should always respect her wisdom and her sense of awareness. Sister said God sometimes warns us in quiet ways—through a sudden feeling, through signs we only notice if we look closely, or even through a faithful little creature who keeps watch when we are sleepy.

At Mass, Father LeRoy spoke about the Child Jesus remaining in the Temple, and how Mary and Joseph walked along thinking everything was fine—until they realized Jesus wasn’t with them. Father said they didn’t ignore that awful feeling or keep going out of pride or hurry. They turned back right away and searched until they found Him. And I kept thinking about Mini’s howl from the window seat—how she woke us up and made us look, and then we found the tracks. If we had stayed cozy and careless, we would have missed the warning.

I want to be the kind of girl who listens when my heart needs waking—so I don’t drift along pretending all is well when Jesus is calling me to turn back and seek Him.

Little Prayer:

Jesus, please wake up my heart when I’m getting careless, the way Mini woke us up tonight. Help me notice the “tracks” that show me I need to turn back to You, and give me courage to seek You quickly and faithfully. Amen.

Love, Kathy

A Warm Little Fire for Jesus

Dear Diary,

Today was still awfully cold — only 9 degrees — but it felt like a big victory anyway, because Robert’s truck popped right off this morning since he remembered to keep the engine heater plugged in. I like when something simple like that makes the whole day go smoother.

We all got to Church, and Mini was of course right there, so happy to see everyone, and everyone was happy to see her too. She greeted people like she belonged there (because she does), and it made me smile the whole time.

Father LeRoy talked about the meditation and he explained it so well that I felt like I could really understand it in my heart. He said the Holy Family going up to Jerusalem wasn’t just “a trip,” but an act of love and obedience — like they were showing God, “We are Yours.” And he reminded us that being faithful is often made of small steps done carefully, even when it’s cold, even when it’s inconvenient, even when we’d rather stay home where it’s warm.

After chores, I found a few minutes in the afternoon to slip away to the old garage — my backyard getaway. It was cold in there at first, the kind of cold that makes the air feel sharp. But I set a little fire in the stove, and it warmed everything up quickly, like the whole place was sighing and waking up again. I sat still and listened to the tiny pops and crackles.

Before I left the getaway, I wrapped Mother’s Crucifix in my green wool blanket and laid it on my pillow where the stove had made everything cozy. I wanted it kept right under that green blanket, safe and tucked in for the night. There will be plenty of time to hang it on the wall. Tonight, I wanted it kept warm and quiet.  I left it there as if it could be watched over from above, safe in the hush of the garage.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for getting us safely to Mass, and for Father LeRoy’s words that helped me understand. Please bless Robert for helping us, and keep him safe on the roads. Thank You for Mini and all the friendly faces at Church. Help me be faithful in little things, like the Holy Family was faithful, even when it’s hard. And please watch over our home and my little getaway, and keep us close to Your Heart as we sleep tonight. All for Jesus. Amen.

Love, Kathy.