It was cool and still this morning, with the corn stalks standing quiet in the fields like rows of golden sentinels. Sister Mary Claire, Mini, and I walked down the gravel road to meet Robert’s pickup for Holy Mass. Mini sat between us in the cab, her ears straight out like airplane wings whenever the wind slipped through the cracked window.
At Church, Father LeRoy read from the Gospel of St. Luke where the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray. Jesus gave them the beautiful words we all know so well—the Our Father. Father said that prayer is like breathing for the soul, and the Our Father is the most perfect breath of all, because it was taught by Our Lord Himself. He reminded us that each time we pray it, we’re speaking to God as His children—trusting Him for our daily bread, forgiveness, and protection.
After dinner, Mini and I went to the grotto. The little stream murmured softly, and the statue of Our Lady looked peaceful under the gray autumn sky. I sat on the rock and practiced Mary’s Little Litany, the one I’m trying to memorize. I said each line slowly, looking up at her gentle face. Mini laid down beside me, her chin on her paws, as if she, too, were listening. I whispered St. Bernard’s Memorare first, the way I always do, and it made me feel so close to Mary—as though she were right there beside me, nodding kindly.
Love, Kathy
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