Tuesday Morning on the Bluff

Dear Diary,

I woke early again with the wind softly pushing against the tent walls, like it was trying to speak. Sister Mary Claire was still curled under the quilt, and Mini had wriggled halfway out, paws stretched and ears twitching. The whole bluff felt hushed, like a church before Mass.

The tallgrass swayed all around us, silver-tipped and full of dew. From where I sat near the edge, I could see Indian Creek winding far below—just a ribbon of shine cutting through the greenest patchwork I’ve ever known. Sister says this land would’ve looked just like this a hundred years ago, maybe even more. I tried to imagine a prairie family camping here, no tent, just the stars and the firelight and the great unknown. It must’ve taken real courage. And faith.

Sister read the Gospel while we stirred up oatmeal over the fire. It was the story of Jesus walking on the sea. The disciples were out in their boat, scared by the waves, and Jesus came to them in the dark, walking right on top of the water. Peter tried to meet Him there, but when he saw how wild the wind was, he got scared and started to sink.

I think I’d be scared too. But Sister said the part to remember is what Jesus said: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Sometimes I wonder if life back then—when the prairie was first being settled—wasn’t a lot like being in that boat. Winds coming from all directions, nothing certain, and everything depending on trust. And even now, in our little canvas tent on the bluff, with the stars above and the wide land below, I feel that same hush. The kind that tells you: you are not alone out here. Not ever.

Sister said Jesus didn’t wait for Peter to sink all the way—He caught him right away. I hope I remember that when I’m older and the winds come for real.

We spent the rest of the morning gathering prairie flowers and tracing the path of the creek below with our eyes. Sister says tomorrow we’ll hike down again and maybe find a new place to sketch. Mini just hopes it includes something to chase.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus,
When the wind blows hard and I feel small,
remind me You are near.
When I begin to sink in worry or doubt,
reach for me like You reached for Peter.
Help me to walk toward You,
even when the waves are high.

Bless this prairie,
the old families who crossed it,
and our little tent on the hill.

Love,

Kathy