Dear Diary,
It was 22 degrees today, bright and biting cold. Sister Mary Claire and I spent most of the day catching up on housework and chores. There were floors to sweep, dishes to wash, and everything to put back into order. It felt good to be busy, even if my hands were a little pink from the cold water.
All through the day I kept thinking about today’s meditation from The Circling Year—how Jesus allowed Himself to be taken and did not resist, even when His friends scattered in fear. He stayed steady and obedient. While I worked, I tried to remember that. Sometimes I want to hurry or complain, but Jesus bore far more and did it quietly.
When it was time for Vigil Mass, Robert picked us up and drove us to Church, and of course Mini came along too. The church felt warm after the sharp air outside. Father LeRoy explained the meditation so clearly. He said real strength is quiet and faithful. Jesus could have defended Himself, but He chose love instead. Father said courage often looks small from the outside, but it is very big in the eyes of God.
After Mass, Robert brought us home, and Sister Mary Claire invited him in for hot chocolate. We had baked Nestlé Toll House chocolate chip cookies earlier, and by then they were all cooled but still sitting neatly on the wire rack. When we lifted the cookies right off the rack, they were perfect—just crisp enough at the edges and soft in the middle. Robert took a bite, smiled, and called them “Baked Right Cookies.” That made us all laugh.
The recipe says to bake them 10 to 12 minutes, but Sister Mary Claire always takes them out at 9 minutes to make them just right. She says you must watch carefully and trust your eyes more than the clock. I think that is true about other things too.
Here is the recipe we used:
Nestlé Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies
2¼ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup butter
¾ cup sugar
¾ cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 package (12 oz.) semi-sweet chocolate morsels
Cream butter and sugars. Add eggs and vanilla.
Mix dry ingredients and combine.
Stir in chocolate morsels.
Bake at 375° for 10–12 minutes (or 9 minutes if you want them just right). Cool on a wire rack.
Tonight I feel thankful for warm kitchens, good teaching, and cookies baked just right.
Evening Prayer
Dear Jesus,
Help me to be faithful in small things and brave in quiet ways.
When I feel tempted to run from what is hard, help me stay near You with trust.
Bless Sister Mary Claire, Father LeRoy, Robert, and dear little Mini.
Keep our home warm and our hearts steady.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
Dear Diary,
It was 35 degrees this morning and muddy everywhere. The snow is giving way, and the ground has that soft, messy feel where your boots want to stick and slip at the same time. Sister Mary Claire and I met Robert at the mailbox, and Sister carried Mini so she would keep her little feet clean for Church. Mini looked perfectly content in Sister’s arms, like she knew she was being protected from the mud on purpose.
On the way to Church we talked about today’s meditation from The Circling Year. It was about the Garden, when they came to take Jesus, and Peter drew his sword and struck the servant—Malchus—and cut off his ear. I can almost see it in my mind: Peter stepping forward so fast, his heart hot and brave, wanting to protect Our Lord the best way he knew how. Sister said it is a frightening thing, how love can be true and still become rough when it doesn’t listen.
Father LeRoy brought that right into his homily. He said Peter’s zeal was real—Peter loved Jesus—but Peter acted before he prayed. Father said that in Lent we are learning the difference between fighting for Jesus in our own way and following Jesus in His way. And Jesus did not praise the sword. He told Peter to put it away. Then, as if His Heart could not bear even one wound in the middle of His own sorrow, Jesus healed the ear that had been cut. Father said that is the lesson: when our temper, our quick words, or our “I’ll fix it right now” spirit hurts someone—even if we meant well—Jesus wants healing, not winning.
On the ride home with Robert, Sister and I kept talking about it. I told her I feel like Peter sometimes, especially when I think something is unfair. I want to jump in and fix it right away, and I feel strong in my mind, like that must be courage. Sister said courage is real, but Lent teaches courage with gentleness. She said, “Kathy, the Lord does not need our sharpness. He asks for our faithfulness.” Mini sat with us like part of the conversation, clean paws tucked up, looking from one face to the other.
I keep thinking about Jesus healing Malchus’ ear—how calm He was, how kind, even while He was being taken away. I want to be like that. I want my love to be more like His.
Evening Prayer
Dear Jesus,
When I feel quick and bold like Peter, please help me to listen first. Put Your gentle hand on my heart before I speak or act. Teach me to love You without sharpness, and to choose healing over winning. Make me brave in the right way—quiet, faithful, and kind.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
Dear Diary,
Father brought today’s meditation from The Circling Year right into his homily. It said that believing isn’t only something we say—it is something we must live, especially when following Jesus feels costly.
Father LeRoy spoke about the Garden, and how Our Lord let Himself be taken prisoner. Jesus could have stopped it, but He chose obedience and love. Father said Lent asks us to stay close to Jesus in that hour—when fear and confusion come—and not run away in our hearts. He said we can “keep watch” with Jesus by being faithful in small things: choosing prayer, choosing kindness, and returning our thoughts to God when they wander.
During the homily I held the old photograph from Gramma’s prayer book—only now I’m almost sure it is Gramma, when she was a little girl. She looks so much like me in it that it made my heart feel funny, like I was seeing myself in another time. The way she folds her hands, the way her eyes look up—she seems like she’s listening for God the way I try to.
I kept thinking: if Gramma was like me, then maybe she had wandering thoughts too, and still she learned to bring them back. Maybe she had days when she felt afraid inside, the way the disciples must have felt when Jesus was taken away. And maybe she whispered her prayers anyway, holding steady when everything felt uncertain. I imagined her kneeling quietly, loving Jesus, trying not to run away in her heart.
All at once Father was giving the final blessing. Sister Mary Claire tapped my shoulder and whispered, “Time to go.” I startled, then smiled, and slipped Gramma’s photograph back inside the prayer book like a little secret to keep safe. Mini stayed close with us as we walked out, as if she was helping me remember to keep watch.
Evening Prayer
Dear Jesus, as You were taken prisoner for love of us, help me stay close to You and not drift away. Help me live what I believe in the small, ordinary moments. And thank You for Gramma, who was so much like me—please let her prayers help me be brave and faithful too. Amen.
Love,
Kathy
February 25, 1957
Dear Diary,
Robert picked us up at the mailbox on his way to Church, just like always, and before we even reach the corner, we are already speaking about today’s Circling Year meditation. It is about Judas.
It sits heavy with me.
The meditation speaks about how Judas walks with Jesus, hears His voice, sees His miracles, even shares the bread—yet his heart drifts somewhere else. It says how frightening it is that a person can be so near to Our Lord outwardly and yet so far inwardly. Sister Mary Claire says that is what makes the story so serious. Judas does not begin as a villain. He begins as a chosen one.
Robert is quiet for a while and then says that perhaps Judas did not fall all at once. Perhaps it was small choices, small compromises, small loves that grew bigger than his love for Christ. That part stays with me. It makes the whole meditation feel close to home instead of far away in history.
At Mass, Father LeRoy speaks about it directly. He says the tragedy of Judas is not only betrayal, but that he stops trusting in mercy. He reminds us that Peter also falls, but Peter turns back. Judas turns away. Father says Lent is not given to frighten us, but to ask us gently: Where is your heart drifting? He says it very quietly, and it feels like the question lands right inside me.
On the ride home, the fields are wide and wintery, and I keep thinking how easy it would be to look steady on the outside but be wandering on the inside. I do not want that. I want my inside and outside to match.
Tonight the house is still, and I feel grateful for the warning hidden inside this Circling Year. The Church brings us back to Judas not so we can point at him, but so we can look at ourselves. And maybe turn back before it is too late.
Evening Prayer
Dear Jesus,
Keep my heart close to Yours.
If I begin to drift, please call me back.
Do not let small sins grow into something larger.
Give me Peter’s tears, not Judas’s despair.
Help me trust in Your mercy more than I trust in my fear.
Bless Father LeRoy, bless Robert, bless Sister Mary Claire, and bless Mini.
Hold us near You tonight.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy 🌾
Tuesday, February 24, 2026
Dear Diary,
The temperature has moderated, and it was 27 degrees this morning. After the bitter cold, it almost felt gentle. The air still had a sharp edge, but the sky was pale blue and hopeful.
I read today’s meditation from (Click on The Circling Year) before we left. It was about Our Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane, asking His friends to watch and pray — and finding them asleep. That line always makes my heart feel tender: “Could you not watch one hour with Me?” Not angry. Not harsh. Just sorrowful and loving. The meditation said how willing our spirit can be, yet how weak our flesh is. I understand that. I truly want to be faithful, but sometimes I drift or grow comfortable.
Robert picked us up in his pickup as usual and right on time. The engine sounded strong in the cold morning. Mini hopped right in like she belonged to the whole parish. She sat between us, ears perked and eyes bright, watching the fields slide by. The gravel road was firm with frost, and the tires made that steady humming sound I always like.
Father LeRoy met us at Church. During Mass he brought the meditation right into his homily. He said that Jesus did not scold His disciples as a schoolmaster might, but invited them again into prayer. He explained that watching with Christ does not always mean grand sacrifices — sometimes it means staying faithful in small duties, staying awake in spirit, choosing love when we are tired.
He said something that struck me deeply: that Gethsemane comes to each of us in quiet ways — in temptations to give up, to complain, to turn away from prayer. And that even if we fail for a moment, Jesus still turns toward us with mercy.
I looked at the crucifix while he spoke and felt both small and safe at the same time.
Mini behaved beautifully. She curled under the pew and only lifted her head once when someone coughed behind us. I think she was keeping watch in her own little way.
This evening the sky is soft and gray, and the fields are still. Twenty-seven degrees feels almost warm now. I do not want to fall asleep in my soul. I want to stay near Him.
Evening Prayer
Dear Jesus,
Help me to watch with You.
When I grow tired or distracted, gently wake my heart.
Let my small acts of love be my hour with You.
Bless Robert, Father LeRoy, Sister Mary Claire, and dear little Mini.
Keep us faithful and close to Your Sacred Heart tonight.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
Dear Diary,
Today the temperature never climbed above five degrees, and the wind made it downright dangerous to stay outside for more than a few minutes. The chill is far below zero, and even the trees sound brittle when they sway. So we all stayed put, safe and warm in the cozy living room, with the stove working steady and faithful.
I began the new book The Story of Our Lady of Lourdes, and I could hardly lift my eyes from it. The first chapter tells about the little town of Lourdes in France, tucked near the mountains with a river running through it and an old castle standing watch. It feels like such an ordinary town — mills, narrow streets, simple homes — and that makes my heart stir, because it reminds me that God so often chooses very ordinary places for His greatest wonders.
Mini stayed curled up tight against my side on the rug, her little body warm as a hot water bottle. Every now and then she would lift her head when the wind rattled the windows, but she seemed content knowing we were staying in. I read aloud a few lines to her, and I told her that somewhere far across the ocean, in a quiet town much like our own, something beautiful was about to happen.
It feels special to begin a book like this on such a still and serious winter day. The cold outside makes the warmth inside feel like a blessing. And the quiet makes the story seem even closer.
Love,
Kathy
Dear Diary,
Today was so cold it almost made the air feel crisp instead of just cold. It was 7 degrees this morning, and the world looked stiff and still. Robert wasn’t able to pick us up for Church, so Sister Mary Claire and I were homebound.
But I was grateful all day long, because we had gone to the Vigil Mass, and after Church we spent extra time in front of the Blessed Sacrament. I keep thinking how the church can be warm and quiet even when it’s bitter outside, and how Jesus being there makes everything feel steady—like your heart can come in out of the weather.
Sister Mary Claire read to me from The Circling Year, that faithful old 1925 meditation book that was first written for religious sisters living quietly in the cloister. Sister says it’s like the book was made for people who want to listen carefully. Father LeRoy reads it too, and sometimes he brings its thoughts into his homily, like he’s handing us a lantern for the day.
Today’s meditation was about Jesus going into the desert to fast and pray, and then being tempted. It said Jesus didn’t rush into His great work without first going into silence—almost like He let the Holy Ghost lead Him away from noise so His heart could be strong and ready. Sister Mary Claire said that’s why silence is not just “being quiet,” but a kind of listening. She told me, “Kathy, the desert is a place where God can speak to the heart because there’s less crowding in there.”
The meditation also said temptation itself isn’t sin, because even Jesus allowed the devil to tempt Him. That helped me, because sometimes just having a bad thought makes me feel worried, even if I don’t want it. Sister said, “The important thing is what you do next—do you turn toward God, or do you play with the temptation like it’s a toy?” I thought that was a good way to say it.
It also talked about how the enemy can switch tactics—if he sees someone can resist one kind of temptation, he’ll try to puff them up with pride. Sister Mary Claire looked right at me when she said that, but she wasn’t scolding. She was just helping me watch my own heart.
Mini was a very good girl as usual. She stayed close, followed us from room to room, and curled up like a little warm loaf near the stove. When Sister read the part about “finding strength in silence,” Mini yawned and sighed like she agreed completely. I scratched behind her ears and told her she was practicing the desert life just fine.
Tonight, even though we couldn’t go to Mass this morning, I feel like Jesus still visited us—through the Vigil Mass memory, through the quiet of this cold day, and through the words from The Circling Year that keep pointing the heart back to Him.
Evening Prayer:
Jesus, lead me into the kind of silence where You can speak to my heart. Help me not to fear temptations, but to answer them the right way—by turning quickly to You. Give me strength to practice little mortifications that help me grow, and keep me humble and steady. Thank You for the Vigil Mass, for time near You in the Blessed Sacrament, and for a peaceful home on a seven-degree day. Please bless Sister Mary Claire, Father LeRoy, dear Robert, and sweet Mini, and keep us safe through the night. Amen.
Love, Kathy
