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
Dear Diary,
We went back into the deep freeze today. It was 10 degrees above zero when I first looked out the window, and the snow was falling in flakes so big it seemed they could rest in a coffee cup without even melting.
By evening, Robert picked us up as usual and right on time, and we all went together to Saturday Mass. St. Mary’s was glowing when we arrived. Father LeRoy had the church all warm from the wood that Robert so faithfully keeps bringing.
Father LeRoy based his homily on today’s meditation from The Circling Year. He said Lent is not only about outside things we give up, but the inside places we let God reach. He explained that sometimes our hearts are like frozen ground in winter—hard on top—but life is still there underneath. God does not smash the ground open. He warms it slowly and patiently.
Father said prayer, sacrifice, and small hidden kindnesses are like steady warmth. They soften what has gotten stiff in us—pride, impatience, wanting our own way. And if we feel like we are not changing fast enough, we should not lose heart, because even a snow-covered field is preparing for spring.
We were all glad to get back home, and Mini was especially ready for her supper.
Tonight the snow is still falling, soft and steady, and the farm is quiet.
Evening Prayer
Dear Jesus,
Warm the frozen places in my heart.
Help me to be patient while You work in me.
Teach me to do small kindnesses without being noticed.
And keep our little church warm with Your love.
Love,
Kathy
Dear Diary,
Father LeRoy brought today’s meditation into his homily, and I do not think I shall ever forget it. He spoke about Our Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane and how the sorrow that pressed upon Him was not forced on Him, but chosen. Father said that Jesus willed to feel the weight of our sins. He could have stopped it, but He did not, because love held Him there.
That thought settled deep inside me.
Father said that when Jesus saw all the sins of the world — past and future — it was like a dark river pouring over His Heart. He even saw ours. Mine. And yet He stayed. Father’s voice grew quiet when he said, “If He grieved so deeply for your sins, how lightly can you treat them?” No one moved in the pews.
The ride home from Church was still and thoughtful. Sister Mary Claire held her rosary softly in her hands, and Mini sat close beside me without fidgeting, which is unusual for her. I think even she felt something solemn in the air.
After dinner I told Sister I needed to walk a bit. She understood.
I made my way down the worn path to the cave. The February air was cold and clean, and the creek moved quietly beneath its thin edge of ice. I wanted to see that everything was in order — the walnut door, my Underwood resting where it belongs, the little grotto with Our Lady. It all seemed steady and faithful.
And then — there was Shaggycoat.
He came up from the water’s edge, slick and busy-looking as ever, but when he saw me he paused, just long enough to look straight at me. It felt like a greeting meant only for me. As if he knew.
How did he know I needed something steady? Something simple? Who would have thought a beaver could lift a girl’s spirits? But perhaps that is how God works. Father LeRoy said Jesus sanctified our sorrow — that He does not waste it. Maybe even small creatures are sent to remind us that life keeps building, keeps repairing, keeps going on.
Shaggycoat never stops tending his lodge. Even in cold water, even when branches break loose. He just keeps at it. There is something holy about that kind of quiet perseverance.
Standing there, I realized that if Jesus bore sorrow for love, then I can bear my small discomforts for love too. Maybe my little contrition can be laid beside His great sorrow like a tiny stick added to a strong lodge.
Mini barked once at Shaggycoat — politely — and then pressed herself against my boots. No tail, of course, but her whole back end wiggled. That made me smile.
I came home lighter than I left.
Evening Prayer
O Jesus, sorrowful in the Garden, teach me to stay with You. When my heart feels heavy, let me not run from it but bring it to Your Sacred Heart. Help me to be faithful in small things, like Shaggycoat with his lodge. And when I forget, remind me gently that You saw me in Gethsemane and loved me still.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
Dear Diary,
Father brought today’s meditation into his homily for the second day of Lent. He told us the reflections we’ve been hearing come from The Circling Year, and he wove today’s meditation right into his sermon so gently that it felt like it belonged there all along.
He said Jesus did not walk into His Passion like someone forced—He walked forward because He loved us. Father spoke about Him leaving the Last Supper and going into Gethsemane, step by step, choosing love the whole way. When we look at Christ’s suffering as a lesson in love, Father said, it helps us carry our own small crosses—especially the ones that test our patience—without turning hard inside.
On the ride home in Robert’s pickup, the heater hummed softly while the fields lay gray and still. Mini sat warm on my lap, tucked against my coat. Sister Mary Claire said Lent teaches us not to step around hard things, but to walk with Jesus through them. Even shadowy places can grow bright if we let His love in.
Robert said he offers his long workdays for people who are struggling, and that remembering Jesus chose love makes ordinary work feel holy. That made me think about my own quiet sacrifices.
As we turned into the farm lane, I felt calmer. I want to walk this Lent step by step—choosing love, even when it costs something.
Love, Kathy
Dear Diary,
This morning was 39 degrees and windy, which made it feel much colder than it sounds. The wind pushed at our coats as we waited, and I tucked my chin down deep into my scarf. Robert picked us up as usual and right on time, and we were grateful not to have to walk in that sharp wind on Ash Wednesday.
At Church, Father LeRoy spoke about the ashes and how they are not just a smudge on our foreheads, but a reminder that we belong to God and must turn our hearts back to Him. The meditation said that Lent is not only about giving things up, but about giving our hearts more fully to Jesus. It said that we must remember how small we are without Him — like dust — but also how loved we are, because He breathed His life into us.
When Father pressed the cool ashes on my forehead, I felt very quiet inside. I thought about how quickly things pass — winter, childhood, even warm days. And I thought about how I want my love for Jesus not to pass, but to grow.
On the ride home, the truck rocked a little in the wind. Sister Mary Claire said Lent is like standing steady when the wind blows — holding onto Jesus instead of complaining about the weather. I liked that.
This evening I decided to give up hot chocolate. I do love it, especially on cold nights like this. Sister smiled softly when I told her and said she thought that would be a good thing for her to give up too. We both laughed a little, knowing how we warm our hands around those mugs.
I told Mini she didn’t have to give up one single thing — not even the bone broth topping on her breakfast. She wagged her little bottom as if she understood perfectly. I think dogs already live simply and gratefully, which is something I should learn.
The house feels plainer tonight without the thought of hot chocolate, but also a little brighter inside my heart. A small sacrifice, but I am offering it with love.
Evening Prayer
Dear Jesus,
As the ashes rest lightly on my forehead, let Your love rest deeply in my heart.
Help me to give up small comforts with a glad spirit,
And to hold fast to You when the winds blow cold.
Make this Lent a time of quiet growing,
So that by Easter my heart will be warmer than any cup of cocoa.
Amen.
Love, Kathy
At breakfast, I pulled a folded slip of paper from my pocket and showed Sister Mary Claire the quotation I had written down from Father LeRoy’s homily:
“O Jesus, my Love, at last I have found my vocation. My vocation is to love. In the heart of my Mother the Church, I will be the Love.”
Mini lay quietly near my chair, listening in her own way.
“I love how it sounds,” I told Sister, “but I don’t quite understand it.”
Sister read it slowly and said, “St. Thérèse is telling Jesus she finally understands what God made her for. Not something loud or grand — but love.”
She explained, “The Church is like a living body. Some people are like hands that help, feet that go, voices that teach. But the heart is hidden, and it keeps everything alive. Thérèse wanted to be that heart — praying, loving, doing little duties with great love — so warmth could reach the whole Church.”
“So my vocation can be love too?” I asked.
Sister smiled. “Yes, Kathy. Love in ordinary things is never small.”
Evening Prayer
O Jesus, my Love,
Teach me to love You in small, faithful ways.
Make my heart gentle and steady,
And let my love bring warmth to Your Church.
Bless Sister Mary Claire, Father LeRoy, and Mini tonight.
Keep us close to You.
Amen.
Love,
Kathy
Dear Diary,
Today I read something St. Thérèse once said:
“Jesus, Jesus, if it is so sweet to desire love, how sweet will it be to possess it, to enjoy it for all eternity?”
I kept thinking about it while Mini was sitting beside me. She had her little chin resting on my knee, looking up at me the way she does when she wants to be close. She doesn’t always jump or bark. Sometimes she just leans. She just wants to be near.
And I thought — maybe that is what St. Thérèse means.
Even when I only want to love Jesus better, there is already something warm inside. It’s like when Mini waits at the door for Sister to come home. She isn’t with her yet, but her tail (well… her little bottom) wiggles anyway because she knows love is coming.
If it is already sweet just to long for Jesus, just to whisper His name and wish to be closer — then how sweet will it be when we are truly with Him? Not just hoping. Not just reaching. But resting in Him forever.
Sometimes my heart aches a little because I know I don’t love Him as much as I should. But maybe that ache is not a bad thing. Maybe it is like Mini pressing closer when she wants to be held — a sign that I was made for more closeness than I have right now.
If wanting Him feels this gentle and hopeful, then Heaven must feel like finally being gathered up and never having to wait again.
Tonight I will let my heart lean toward Jesus the way Mini leans toward me — quiet, trusting, and sure that love is near.
Love,
Kathy
