“Holding Close to the Sacred Heart”

Dear Diary,

This morning the air was 26 degrees, and everything outside felt like it had been held still by a quiet hand. The ground was frozen hard, and even the weeds by the fence looked stiff and silvered. It made me feel peaceful, because it meant there would be no muddy footprints in Church — not mine, and not Mini’s either. She stepped along like a little careful soldier, neat and proper, as if she understood that today was meant to be clean and solemn.

In Church, the world seemed softer. The candles flickered like tiny steady stars, and the hush in the pews felt like a blanket laid over everyone’s shoulders. When Father LeRoy began his homily, his voice didn’t feel like it was only filling the air — it felt like it was reaching down inside me, like a bell that keeps ringing even after you can’t see it swinging anymore.

He spoke about Jesus at the Last Supper, and about the apostles — His own friends — and how He knew they would be afraid. Father said Jesus didn’t stop loving them because they were weak. He looked at them with truth in His eyes, and still He stayed with them. Still He fed them. Still He prayed for them.

And then… I don’t know how to explain it, but I sort of floated away inside my thoughts. It was like I was sitting in the pew, and also somewhere else at the same time.

I could see it — a room lit in gentle shadows, a long table, and Jesus there, not harsh, not angry, but serious in a way that is almost more tender than smiling. His hand lifted as He spoke, like He was trying to gather their hearts back to Him before the night scattered them. The apostles leaned in, troubled and slow to understand, like men who can feel a storm coming but don’t know where to stand.

And in my imagination, Sister Mary Claire and I were across the room, holding on to each other, and I was hanging onto Mini too — the three of us watching, quiet as can be. I felt a little shiver in my heart, not from cold, but from how real it seemed: Jesus loving them so much, and still warning them, because love doesn’t pretend the hard things aren’t coming.

Father’s homily made me wonder about my own bravery. Not the brave that runs toward danger like in storybooks… but the brave that stays close. The brave that keeps loving. The brave that doesn’t disappear when things get frightening inside.

Could I be strong?

Could I be faithful?

Could I stay near Jesus when it would be easier to drift away like smoke?

Tonight, when the house got quiet, I kept thinking of that table and that look on His face. And I decided I’m going to keep my Sacred Heart badge close to me — right on my bedside table — so when I wake up and when I fall asleep, I’ll remember that Jesus is near, and He wants my heart to stay with His.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

When I am weak, please be my strength.

When I feel afraid, please be my courage.

Let me stay close to You like a little lamp that won’t blow out.

Teach my heart to be faithful — not all at once, but day by day,

until I can love You bravely.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy 💙

Mailbox Pickup & Jesus Prays for Us

Dear Diary,

The yard was muddy today, so Robert picked us up at the mailbox for evening Mass.

Mini came too, of course. She acted like muddy paws were part of her job, and she sat there on her towel looking proud, ears alert, like she was guarding us all the way to church.

At Mass, Father LeRoy based his homily on today’s meditation about Jesus’ pontifical prayer—how Jesus prayed to His Father for His followers. Father said Jesus wasn’t asking that we be taken out of the world, but that we be protected from the spirit of it.

He explained that the “spirit of the world” is when comfort, attention, and getting our own way starts to matter more than God. Father told us Jesus wants our hearts to stay simple and clean—full of faith, hope, and love—and ready to turn away from sin, even from the shadow of it.

Then Father spoke about how Jesus also prayed that we may be one—one family in the Church, one heart and one soul—because our Head is Jesus, and He desires peace and love among His people.

Father said unity doesn’t start with big speeches. It starts with little choices: gentle words, quick forgiveness, doing our duties without dragging our feet, and not stirring up trouble where peace should live.

When we came home, I kept thinking how sweet it is that Jesus actually prayed for us like that—so carefully, so lovingly—before He suffered. It made me want to answer His prayer by trying harder tomorrow.

Evening Prayer

Dear Jesus, thank You for praying for me. Please guard my heart from the world’s proud spirit. Make me love what You love, and help our home and our parish be one—peaceful, faithful, and kind. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Muddy Mini and Careful Steps

 
Dear Diary,

At Mass, Father LeRoy based his homily on today’s meditation—Jesus’ great prayer before His Passion. Father said Jesus knew His hardest hour was coming, and still He lifted His eyes to the Father and prayed—first to do the Father’s will, and then for His own, because He loves us and wants us kept close to God. Father explained that trusting Jesus isn’t only for bright, easy days. It’s for the days that feel slippery and mixed-up too—when you can’t go where you want, and you have to take careful steps and simply do the next right thing. He said if Jesus could pray with such love on the night before His suffering, then we can offer Him our little troubles and stay close to Him instead of getting fretful.

By afternoon the warm-up really came, and that’s when everything turned messy. The snow went soft and shiny and then it all started to melt at once, and the yard looked like it couldn’t decide if it was winter or spring. Sister told me to stay put except for the chicken house, because the path to the cave was steep and slick and too risky to walk.

Mini, though, had other ideas. She started down the way toward the cave like she was on an important mission, and before I could call her back she slipped and rolled in the soft mud—one whole little tumble, ears and paws and all. That settled it: the cave was officially off limits until things dry up.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Jesus, thank You for being with me today. When my plans get stopped and everything feels messy, help me to trust You and do the next right thing with a peaceful heart. Keep Sister Mary Claire, Father LeRoy, and our little farm safe tonight, and let Mini rest easy after her warm bath. Amen.




Love,

Kathy

Take, O Lord, Even This Cold Morning

Dear Diary,

This morning felt almost friendly compared to the last few days. It warmed up to 30 degrees, which still sounds cold on paper, but it made such a difference. Everything outside was frozen solid—the ground hard as a board, the water pails crusted over, and the fence rails rimmed with ice—but at least the air was breathable. I didn’t feel like my lungs were cracking when I took a deep breath. Mini stood beside me with her ears up, sniffing the cold like she was checking to see if winter was finally behaving itself.

After a bit, Robert picked us up as usual and right on time. Mini came too, of course, sitting nice and steady like she knows church rides are important business. The truck was still chilly inside, but it warmed as we went along, and it felt good just knowing we were headed to Mass. Sister Mary Claire was quiet, holding the meditation, and I hadn’t read it yet—I just watched the frosty fields go by and wondered what Jesus might ask of me today.

At church, Father LeRoy’s homily followed the meditation so closely it felt like he was answering the thoughts I didn’t even know how to say yet. He talked about how the prayer “Take, O Lord” isn’t only about giving Jesus the nice parts—our prayers, our good intentions, or the things we’re proud of—but also the cold, stiff parts of our days. He said we can offer Him our tiredness, our impatience, the chores we do when we don’t feel like it, and even the parts of ourselves that still feel frozen. Father said Jesus doesn’t ask us to warm ourselves up first; He asks us to hand everything over, trusting that He knows what to do with it. Sitting there, I thought about the frozen ground outside and how spring will soften it without the earth doing anything at all.

Tonight, as the house settled and the cold pressed against the windows again, I tried to remember that. I don’t have to fix everything before I give it to Jesus. I can just give it.

Evening Prayer

Sweet Jesus,

Take, O Lord, all that I am today—my small efforts, my cold hands, my wandering thoughts, and even the parts of my heart that feel stiff and slow. Teach me to trust You with everything, not just the easy things. Warm what is frozen in me, and help me rest in knowing that You will make something good of it all. Amen.

Love, Kathy

Staying Close to Jesus

Dear Diary,

Robert picked us up as usual and right on time. Sister Mary Claire and I hurried out with Mini, and she hopped in like she’d been waiting for this ride all morning, sitting up nice and proper with her ears alert.

At Mass, Father LeRoy explained that today’s meditation was from Jesus’ words at the Last Supper, when He tells us to abide in His love, and that His joy can be in us, and our joy can be full. Father said “abide” means stay close, like staying near the light when it’s dark, or staying near someone you trust when you feel small. He told us Jesus isn’t offering a quick happy feeling—He’s offering His own deep joy, the kind that comes from living inside His love.

Father LeRoy said the way we stay in that love is by keeping Jesus’ commandments, not like chores we dread, but like loving paths that keep our hearts joined to His. And he said this fits so perfectly with the Eucharist, because Jesus didn’t only talk about love—He stayed with us. He remains in the tabernacle, and He comes to us in Holy Communion, so we can truly remain with Him. Father said every time we come to Mass, we are answering Jesus’ invitation: “Stay with Me. Remain in My love.”

I tried to listen extra carefully, because I don’t want Jesus to offer me His love and joy and have me act like it’s not a big deal. On the ride home, Sister Mary Claire spoke softly about how obeying Jesus isn’t meant to feel like fear—it’s meant to feel like love. Little things, like being patient when chores take longer than I want, or being gentle when somebody is tired, are ways to stay close to Jesus all day.

Tonight, when it got quiet, I remembered Father saying that joy grows when we remain—when we keep coming back to Jesus instead of drifting off. So tomorrow I’m going to try to do my duties with a willing heart, and when I start to feel crabby or hurried, I’ll whisper, “Jesus, help me abide in Your love.”

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for inviting me to abide in Your love. Please help me stay close to You all day, not just at Church. Teach me to keep Your commandments with love, and to find my joy in You. Help me be kind and patient, even in small hidden ways. Jesus, let Your joy be in me, and make my joy full. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

Good Ground at Littlemore

Dear Diary,

Robert picked us up as usual and right on time, and we rode to church together—Sister Mary Claire and me all bundled up, with Mini sitting straight and proud like she knew exactly where we were going.

At Mass, Father LeRoy talked about today’s meditation—the parable of the sower. He said Jesus isn’t just talking about seeds and soil, but about our hearts. Some hearts are like the hard path, where good things can’t sink in because we’re too rushed or closed off. Some are like rocky ground, where we start out strong but give up when things get hard. Others are like the thorny ground, where worries and little selfish things crowd out what God is trying to grow.

Then Father said something that really stayed with me. He said the good soil isn’t perfect soil—it’s just soil that keeps letting itself be worked on. It gets plowed, turned over, sometimes even hurt a little, but it stays open. He said God does the sowing, but we have to say yes to being good ground by listening, praying, and trying again even when we mess up.

I thought about that all day. I don’t want Jesus’ words to just land on me and bounce off. I want them to sink in and stay. I asked Him to help me be patient when I don’t understand things right away, and to keep my heart soft instead of stubborn.

When evening came, the house felt calm, and I thought again of the sower walking steadily across the field, scattering seeds without holding back. Jesus gives His love like that—freely, even when He knows some of it won’t grow. That made me love Him more.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for sowing Your words in my heart today. Please help me be good ground—open, patient, and willing to grow, even when it’s hard. Pull out the weeds in me and help Your love take root. Stay close to me tonight and help me belong to You always. Amen.

Love,

Kathy

“Tended Like the Old Oak”

Dear Diary,

This morning felt cold but hopeful, the kind of cold where you can tell the day is trying to warm up. I stayed inside where it was cozy and watched the window glass turn a little cloudy from the chill. Mini kept sitting up and lying back down again, like she knew it was a church morning and didn’t want to miss a thing.

Then we heard Robert’s horn.

We bundled up quick, and Sister Mary Claire made sure my scarf was tucked in tight. Mini trotted right along with us, all business. Robert picked us up as usual and right on time in his pickup, and off we went down the road to church with the heater working hard and Mini looking proud to be coming along.

The church looked especially quiet this morning, like it was waiting for us.

During Mass, Father’s homily stayed with me the whole time. He spoke about Jesus being the true Vine and us being the branches, and how the branch has to stay joined to the vine if it wants to live and bear fruit. Father explained that when God “prunes” us, it can feel like little cuts—corrections, disappointments, sacrifices, or having to do something we don’t feel like doing—but it isn’t mean. It’s love. It’s careful love, meant to help us grow cleaner and stronger and more fruitful.

I thought about how sometimes I don’t like being corrected, or when something feels hard or unfair. But Father said those moments can actually be signs that God is paying close attention to our souls, like a gardener who doesn’t forget even one branch. That made me feel calmer inside, like even the hard things have a purpose.

After Mass, Robert took us home. The roads looked pale and wintry, and the fields went by like big quiet blankets. Sister Mary Claire and Robert talked about Father’s homily on the way back. Sister said that staying close to Jesus doesn’t mean doing big, noticeable things—it means being faithful in the small ones, especially when no one is watching. Robert said it’s like farming: you don’t see growth all at once, but it’s happening all the time, and you have to keep tending what you’ve been given.

I listened and looked out the window and decided I want to stay close to Jesus today in my own little way—by doing my chores carefully, by being patient, and by accepting the “pruning” without fussing. Mini sighed and leaned into my coat like she was saying, Yes, that’s the plan.

Evening Prayer:

Sweet Jesus, keep me close to You tonight. Help me to stay joined to You like a branch to the vine, even when things feel hard or confusing. Teach me to accept Your pruning with trust and love, and help me grow good fruit for You in the little duties of my day. Please bless Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and dear Mini, and keep us safe in Your care.

Amen.

Love,

Kathy