Blessed Are the Eyes That See

Dear Diary,

It was already 70 degrees when Robert pulled up at the end of the driveway this morning. Mini barked once as if to say she was ready for Church, and Sister Mary Claire climbed in with her little Gospel book already open. On the way, she read today’s passage from Saint Luke — about the seventy-two disciples returning full of joy because even the demons obeyed them in Jesus’ name. Jesus told them not to rejoice because of that, but because their names were written in Heaven.

Sister said softly that it’s easy for us to feel proud when something goes right, but the true joy is belonging to God — that’s what Jesus meant. Then she smiled and read again the part about how God reveals Himself to the childlike. She said that doesn’t mean being childish, but trusting and humble, like children who listen with open hearts.

At Mass, Father LeRoy’s homily made it even clearer. He said Jesus was rejoicing because the disciples were beginning to understand that everything good comes from the Father through Him. “The wise and the proud,” Father said, “often miss Heaven’s simplest gifts — the ones seen best through childlike eyes.” I thought about that during Communion and wondered if maybe that’s why I notice small things — like the light in the grotto, or Mini’s quiet sighs — and feel God there.

This afternoon, the air turned warm and golden, so Sister and I decided to visit the cave while we could, before the weather turns cold like the radio said it would. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of earth and pine needles. The light in the grotto was especially lovely — a thin beam of sunshine slipping through the crack above and falling right on the little statue of Our Lady. It made the stone sparkle and the trickling water look alive, as if Heaven itself were breathing into that small corner. Sister said it reminded her of the Holy Spirit finding His way into every open heart, no matter how hidden. I just sat there, feeling wrapped in that light.

Mini lay beside me with her chin on my shoe, watching the glow move across the walls. It was one of those moments that felt full — like we were seeing something precious that prophets and kings longed to see.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for this gentle day and for showing Yourself in ways a child can understand. Keep my heart small enough to see You, and write my name forever in Heaven. Amen.

Love,

Kathy