A Warm Ride Home and a Quiet Afternoon

 

Dear Diary,

Sister Mary Claire and I just got back from Church. It was only 24 degrees, and our breath looked like little clouds in the cold air, but Robert had the pickup running and warm for us. Mini hopped right in and settled between us like a little queen on her throne.

Once we got home, we finished our chores quickly—feeding the hens, checking on Omelette in her cozy nest, and warming the kitchen with a little fire. Then Sister said it would be the perfect afternoon to write the next part of the Little Flower story. I agreed right away. The whole farm felt extra quiet, like everything was wrapped in soft winter stillness, and I wanted to sit at my desk and keep writing.

So here is Part 4, just as Sister asked me to copy today.

Love,

Kathy

🌸 Part 4 – Thérèse and the Gentle Love That Filled Her Home 🌸

This was submitted by Sister Mary Claire and her little sister Kathy from Camp Littlemore Farm. It comes from their very old book about the Little Flower, St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus. They wrote it out together on a cold afternoon, imagining the warm, faithful home where Thérèse grew up.




Thérèse’s childhood was wrapped in love — the kind of love that makes a child trust without fear. Her papa, Louis Martin, called her his “little queen,” and her mama, Zélie, watched over all her daughters with a heart full of courage and tenderness. Even though she worked hard making lace, she always guided her girls toward God.




The Martin home was simple and prayerful. Morning and evening, they prayed together. They learned to offer little sacrifices — giving up what they wanted, helping without being asked, or being cheerful when things didn’t go their way. Everything, even small things, could become a gift to Jesus.




But when Thérèse was just four years old, sorrow visited their house. Her mother grew ill, and though Thérèse didn’t fully understand, she felt something sad and heavy in the air. She clung to her mother more than ever.




One August morning, Zélie Martin went to Heaven.




The whole house felt changed. Louis gathered his daughters close and told them their mother was watching over them. The older sisters tried to be brave, and little Thérèse looked toward Heaven, wishing she could run straight into her mother’s arms.




Yet even in this sadness, God planted something beautiful in her small heart — a seed of deep trust. Thérèse began to understand that Jesus could hold her in His arms the same way her mother once had, and this trust would grow into her “Little Way,” the simple path she would one day share with the whole world.





If you’d like Part 5 next, friend, I’ll write it gladly.

Little Thérèse Grows in God’s Garden

Dear Diary,


I’m at my little desk this morning looking out the window, I can see Mary’s shrine in the distance. That little sight is enough to steady me, so I’ll go on now with little Thérèse’s story.

When the long-awaited day finally arrived and permission was given, Thérèse entered the Carmelite convent with a heart full of joy. She had wanted this since she was very young, and now the dream God placed inside her was unfolding. She stepped into Carmel at fifteen, not with fear, but with a quiet, steady trust — like a little bird finding its nest at last.

She knew Carmel meant sacrifice. It was not a place for grand achievements, but for hidden love. Thérèse believed that holiness wasn’t found in doing great things, but in doing small things with great love. So she promised Jesus she would give Him everything — the smallest chores, the smallest smiles, even the little moments when her heart felt tired.

Her new life had a simple rhythm: prayer, silence, work, rest, and then more prayer. She swept floors, tended to the sacristy, helped the older sisters, and did all sorts of tiny unnoticed tasks. She learned quickly that the loveliest sacrifices were often the ones no one else saw. She wanted to stay small and unnoticed, pleasing only Jesus.

She loved the convent’s quiet. She said the silence felt like Jesus Himself was holding her heart. Even when another sister misunderstood her or corrected her sharply, she offered it to Jesus, trying her best not to defend herself. These were the small moments where her Little Way began to bloom.

But even in Carmel, her heart carried sorrow. Her dear father — the “King” of her childhood — began losing his memory and slipping into confusion. Thérèse couldn’t care for him physically, but she carried his suffering inside her soul. Every tiny sacrifice she made became a prayer for him.

At the same time, she grew stronger in spirit. She learned to depend completely on God instead of on her own efforts. She tried never to waste a single moment, believing that even picking up a fallen pin with love could save a soul. Everything became an offering.

Céline, her closest sister and best friend, longed to join her in Carmel someday. Thérèse wished for it too, though she placed even that desire in God’s hands. She believed that trusting Him in the littlest ways was a path straighter than any she could make for herself.

Inside the convent walls, something beautiful unfolded. Her confidence in God grew, her kindness deepened, and her heart became lighter — not because her days were easy, but because she offered every small difficulty to Jesus. The sisters began to notice her gentle patience and purity of intention, even though she never drew attention to herself.

The little flower was blooming quietly in the hidden garden of Carmel, watered by sacrifice and warmed by God’s steady love.

The Little Queen - Part 2

 

Dear Diary,

This afternoon after my chores, I sat down again with my St. Thérèse book. It was so quiet in the house that I could almost hear the little pops from the stove in the next room. Mini settled herself right under my chair, and I felt ready to keep going with Thérèse’s story.

This part is about the sorrows that came into her life after her mother died, and how God began teaching her to love Him even through tears. I want to write it softly, because it feels like I’m holding something delicate.

Love,

Kathy

Kathy’s Gentle Retelling — Part 2 

After the Martins moved to Lisieux, their new home at Les Buissonnets slowly filled with peace again. But even in peaceful places, a little heart can feel lonely, especially a heart like Thérèse’s, which loved deeply and noticed everything.

Her father often took her with him on quiet outings, giving her small adventures that helped heal her sorrow. Sometimes he brought her fishing. Thérèse had her own little line but was more interested in the soft grassy bank nearby. She would wander off a bit, sit among the flowers, and fall into a kind of gentle dreaming. She said she didn’t even know she was praying — her heart just lifted itself to God without words. The wind spoke, and distant sounds from the town floated to her, making her feel a kind of tender sadness, as though the world was only a place one passed through on the way to Heaven.

When she was six or seven, she saw the sea for the first time, and it struck her with a wonder she never forgot. She stood so still, watching the wide blue stretch into the distance. As the sun set, it left a golden path across the water. Thérèse sat by her sister Pauline, who told her the shining path looked like God’s grace leading souls to Him. Thérèse imagined herself as a tiny boat with a white sail, wishing only to glide straight across that golden path to Heaven. She promised Jesus she would keep her eyes fixed on Him, no matter what storms came.

But before she could reach that golden shore, she had to pass through a cold winter of trials.

The first was the hardest: her “little mother” Pauline, the sister who taught her lessons, comforted her, and became like a second mother after Zélie’s death, announced that she was entering the Carmelite convent. For Thérèse, it felt like losing her mother all over again. She loved Pauline so dearly that the separation cut deeply. But even through her tears, Thérèse knew that God was calling Pauline, and she wanted to be brave for Him.

When she received her First Communion, something beautiful happened. She said it was like Heaven opened and poured itself right into her soul. She felt loved in a way she had never felt before, and she promised Jesus that her heart would always be His. She spent the rest of that day reading the Imitation of Christ, trying to hold onto the sweetness of the moment. And at Benediction that evening, she felt Jesus rest upon her soul so gently that she never forgot the grace of it.

But where grace shines bright, suffering sometimes follows. After her First Communion, Thérèse fell into years of scruples — fears that she had offended God even in the smallest things. Her tender conscience became a weight she didn’t know how to carry. She tried so hard to please Jesus that she frightened herself, believing He was displeased with her when He wasn’t. These years were heavy for her, and she wrote later that she lived like a little bird trembling under a storm cloud.

Then, like the sudden lifting of a veil, Jesus healed her heart in an instant. Two years after her First Communion, she experienced what she called her “conversion.” In one moment, the fears that had held her captive fell away. She said it was as though Jesus bent down from Heaven and touched her soul, making her courageous and strong. From that day, she stopped relying on her own efforts and trusted in God’s mercy instead.

She began reading good books again, choosing the ones that helped her love God more simply. She realized that holiness wasn’t about doing great things, but doing small things with great love. She tried not to waste any moment, because she wanted every little action to be a gift for Jesus.

As she grew, something beautiful bloomed in her heart — a longing to give her entire life to God. She wanted to enter Carmel like Pauline. But she was still young, only fourteen, and people told her it was too soon. Still, she felt the call quietly but firmly, like sunlight drawing a flower upward. She believed Jesus was asking for her whole heart, and she could not turn away from Him.

When she finally told her father, she found him sitting in the garden one evening. The sun was making gold on the tops of the trees, and the birds were singing their last songs of the day. She sat near him and began to cry softly, resting her head on his chest as she told him everything. Her father listened with love and sorrow mixed together, but also with a noble heart. He understood that God was asking for his youngest daughter, and though it hurt, he wanted to give her freely.

To show his joy, he picked a tiny white flower from the garden and handed it to her. He told her it reminded him of her soul — delicate, simple, and belonging entirely to God. The broken stem meant God would soon gather her for Himself.

But even with her father’s blessing, more obstacles rose. The parish priest said she was too young. The Bishop wouldn’t decide. So Thérèse resolved to ask the Holy Father himself on a pilgrimage to Rome.

When she knelt before Pope Leo XIII, the guards tried to hurry her along, but she held fast. Through tears she asked permission to enter Carmel at fifteen. The Pope touched her cheek kindly and said, “If God wills it, you shall enter.” Those words filled her with peace, though he did not give the permission himself.

At last, after much waiting and praying, permission came. Her father took her to the convent on the appointed day, giving her his blessing even though his heart was breaking. Thérèse kissed her sisters, especially dear Céline, and stepped joyfully into Carmel, taking the name Sister Thérèse of the Child Jesus.

And so, the quiet dream she had since childhood began its tender unfolding.

https://youtube.com/shorts/Q7qeY9TnedM?si=AGwQnKBtYsvOKc8S

The Little Queen

Dear Diary,

I’m starting the first part of little Thérèse’s story tonight. As I read, it feels almost like meeting her for the very first time — a tiny girl loved by God from the moment she opened her eyes. I want to write it all down gently so I don’t lose any of the sweetness.

Love,

Kathy

Thérèse Martin was born on a cold January day in 1873, in the French town of Alençon. Her parents, Louis and Zélie Martin, were the kind of people who wanted to give everything to God. Before they married, each had tried to enter religious life — Louis with the monks on the Great Saint-Bernard mountain, and Zélie with the Sisters of Charity — but God had other plans. He wanted them to serve Him together.

When they married, they prayed with all their hearts for children who would love God. God answered so generously — nine times. Four of their little ones went to Heaven in their infancy, and five daughters remained. All five grew up wanting to give their lives to Him. The youngest, their last baby, was Thérèse — instead of the strong boy they had hoped would become a missionary. Instead, God gave them a different kind of missionary, a very tiny one.

From the moment she came into the world, Thérèse was welcomed like a gift from Heaven. In the Martin family, they called her the Little Queen. You can almost hear the softness of that name — as if everyone saw something bright and delicate in her even as a baby.

Her childhood was gentle and filled with joy. She grew up with a mind that awakened early, remembering everything with the tenderness of someone who knows how to notice goodness. She recalled summer evenings in the countryside — tall grasses swaying, tiny wildflowers blooming near the path, little streams glimmering like mirrors under the sky. All these small beauties left deep marks on her heart, the kind that stay forever.

Thérèse loved learning about Heaven. Once, when her mother told her how happy the saints were there, she kissed her and said, with all the innocence of a child, “Oh, how I wish you would die, little mother!” She didn’t mean it sadly — she simply wanted her mother to be with God. Children sometimes say things with pure hearts that grown-ups worry over, but Jesus must have smiled tenderly at the innocence of it.

Not long afterward, when Thérèse was just four and a half, her beloved mother died. It left a great ache in her heart. Monsieur Martin decided to move the family to Lisieux so the children could be near their aunt and uncle, who could help care for them. Though it was a great sacrifice to leave his home, he did it for the sake of his daughters, trusting God with everything.

People said that Mr. Martin’s business succeeded so well because he honored the Day of Rest. He would not open his shop on Sundays, no matter what others said. Some told him he would lose money, but instead God blessed him. It reminds me of how Father LeRoy talks about trusting God first, and how everything else falls into place.

With his five daughters — Marie, Pauline, Léonie, Céline, and little Thérèse — he made a new home at a house called Les Buissonnets in Lisieux. At first, the sorrow of losing their mother pressed heavily on all of them. But slowly, light entered again. Les Buissonnets became a place of calm days and gentle beginnings. There Thérèse learned to love God in her own small, shining way, and Jesus and Mary watched over her with special tenderness.

Winter evenings were her favorite. The family would gather close together, and the “Little Queen” always sat upon her father’s knee. She called him her “King,” which is the sweetest thing, and her sisters read aloud from holy books. Her father had a beautiful singing voice, and he would sometimes sing softly until she grew sleepy, resting against him as though she were the safest child in the world.

Every day, after lessons with Pauline, little Thérèse walked with her father to visit Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. People who saw them — the noble, white-haired papa walking slowly with his small, fair-haired daughter — would often pause and smile. Her father trusted her with alms for the poor, and she gave them with such gentleness that she brought joy to the hearts of those who received them.

Thérèse loved the night sky. She liked to look up at the stars until her heart felt full to bursting. Her favorite was the little line of stars in Orion’s belt. It reminded her of the letter T, and she would say to her father, “Look, Papa — my name is written in Heaven!” And she walked with her head tilted up, holding his hand, too enchanted to watch where she stepped.

Those were glorious days for her — days filled with early grace, innocence, and treasures known only to little ones who love God without even thinking about it.

End of Part 1

Staying Steady With Jesus

Dear Diary, 

This morning the three of us—Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and me—were seated together in our usual pew at St. Mary’s. The church was chilly, and before Mass started, Father LeRoy added wood to the stove. It helped take the edge off the cold, and the quiet crackle behind us made everything feel a little more settled.

The Gospel today was about Jesus telling His friends that one day the great temple would fall, and that there would be wars, troubles, and frightening signs in the world. Father LeRoy explained that Jesus wasn’t trying to scare anyone. He wanted His friends to stay calm, not to follow voices that weren’t His, and to remember that God is steady even when everything else feels uncertain. Sister leaned over and whispered, “Kathy, Jesus wants your heart peaceful, no matter what storms come.” I thought about that for a long time.

At the very end of Mass, Robert slipped out quietly to warm up the pickup and Mini went right along with him, happy to help. By the time Sister and I stepped outside, the pickup was humming and warm, and Robert opened the door for us as usual.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for the warm places You give us, even on cold days. Help me stay calm and close to You when the world feels troubled. Bless Sister, bless Robert, and bless little Mini. Keep our home peaceful tonight.

Love, Kathy

The Saint Therese Story

Dear Diary,

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

Christ the King Sunday

Dear Diary,

This morning began in the shimmering cold at 28 degrees. Frost covered the grass in a soft whiteness, and Mini hurried back inside after only a moment, shaking her paws like the ground had surprised her.

Sister Mary Claire and I bundled up and walked down to the mailbox, our breath puffing in little clouds. Just as we reached it, we heard the familiar rumble of Robert’s pickup coming up the road. He rolled down the window with his usual cheerful greeting—“Morning, girls!”—his voice warm against the cold air. After we climbed in, he leaned over and scooped Mini up gently, settling her right onto Sister’s lap the way he always does. Mini gave one happy wiggle, then curled herself into a neat little ball.

The pickup heater had things toasty warm, and the windows slowly cleared as we drove toward St. Mary’s. The world outside looked silver and still.

At Mass, Father LeRoy reminded us that today is the Feast of Christ the King and also the very last Sunday of the whole Liturgical Year. He explained that Christ’s kingship isn’t like earthly kings with jeweled crowns—it is the kingship of a Savior who rules from the Cross with mercy. Father said that the Gospel today, where Jesus tells the good thief, “Today you will be with me in Paradise,” shows the true heart of our King. Loving. Merciful. Always remembering us.

He said the whole Liturgical Year leads us to this point, inviting us to let Christ reign in our hearts and in the way we treat others. “Let Him be King of your choices and your hopes,” Father said softly.

After Mass, the cold seemed sharper, but everything felt clearer too. Mini trotted ahead with her ears perked, as if she sensed the day was special.

Now we’re home again. The quiet tells me Advent is close—just one week away.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, my King, thank You for walking with us through this whole Church year. Reign in my heart and help me begin the new one with hope, trust, and love.

Love, Kathy