This morning began softly, with a pale pink sky over Camp Littlemore and a little bit of frost along the fence rails. Mini followed me around with her squeak ball, but even she could tell I had something on my mind. I had started a new book last night—The Life of St. Thérèse—and I couldn’t wait to read more of it today.
I curled up near the stove with my blanket and opened to the pages I marked. Sister Mary Claire said it was the perfect book for these quiet winter days, and she was right. It feels like walking into a warm room full of light. I don’t know why, but every time I read about little Thérèse, I feel like she’s sitting beside me, swinging her feet and smiling shyly.
One part especially stayed with me. I wrote it in my own words so I could remember it:
Thérèse said she loved to look at the stars because they made her heart feel big and full of Heaven. When she saw the little row of stars in Orion’s belt, she thought they looked like the letter T and told her papa, “My name is written in Heaven!” I liked that so much I had to stop reading for a moment. I almost whispered it out loud—because maybe God writes our names in the sky too, in ways we don’t see right away.
I read that part twice. It made me think of the cottonwoods above Indian Creek and the way the branches look like writing when the moon shines through them. Maybe all the world is full of letters from God if I just remember to look up.
Sister Mary Claire said Thérèse’s papa used to rock her gently and sing until she almost fell asleep. I tried to picture that, and it made my heart feel warm. I wondered if Thérèse knew, even as a little girl, that God was weaving something beautiful in her life—like a quiet song only she and Jesus could hear.
Tomorrow I’ll read the next part. I already feel like I’ve met a new friend, someone gentle and brave in the smallest ways. I want to learn how to love God like she did—simply, with a big open heart that sees Heaven even in the tiny things.
Mini is scratching at the door now, hoping for her evening bowl of oatmeal and cream. Sister Mary Claire is humming in the kitchen, and the house smells like wood smoke and comfort. I think Thérèse would have liked it here.
Love,
Kathy
No comments:
Post a Comment