This morning was chilly and gray, and a little fog hung over the pasture when we met Robert at the mailbox. Mini hopped right into the cab, and I sat between her and Sister Mary Claire. Robert said the air smelled like rain, but I thought it smelled like October—kind and quiet. The church bell was still ringing when we pulled up to St. Mary’s, and Mini gave one soft bark, as if to say she was glad to be there too.
Father LeRoy read from the Gospel of St. Luke about the man who kept knocking on his friend’s door at midnight. He told us that Jesus wants us to pray just like that—persistently and trustfully—never giving up even when Heaven seems silent. “God is never annoyed by your knocking,” Father said. “He opens the door at the right time, and gives not just bread, but Himself.” I liked that very much. Sister Mary Claire whispered afterward that even a simple prayer said with faith is like tapping gently on God’s heart.
After chores this afternoon, Mini and I went to the cave. The air inside was cool and still, and the little stream trickled softly at the grotto. I lit the tiny candle near Our Lady’s statue and knelt to say The Rosary I prayed slowly, thinking about each mystery as if I could see them through Mary’s eyes. When I finished, I said the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary—one title at a time—until the cave felt filled with her gentle presence. Mini lay beside me, her head on her paws, watching the candlelight dance on the stone wall.
Love, Kathy
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